The largest Palestinian diaspora outside the Arab world has worked for decades to maintain their identity and struggle against Zionism.

My father’s uncle, a living archive of Gaza history, died in July 2025 as a result of famine.

The fantasy genre has always called to me ever since I was a little girl. I loved the idea of magic and the supernatural, especially if the main character was a girl. These stories showed me how characters I could relate to could overcome difficulties with bravery, ingenuity, and support. Reading books was a brief escape from my challenging childhood home.

Some of my favourite fantasy authors were Tamora Pierce, Garth Nix, and Ursula Le Guin. After much resistance, I eventually got into Tolkien and loved his lush prose. The common themes I loved throughout all the fantasy books were relatable characters facing impossible odds  (extra points for strong female characters!). I overlooked the fact that most, if not all, of these characters were default white.

Another unfortunate unifying theme that tied them together was the absence of the Islamic worldview. In the fantasy stories that I grew up consuming, there was no Necessary Being. There was either a total absence of the Divine, or human beings with supernatural powers instead of an Omnipotent God. This is still deeply concerning because every type of media we consume can either bring us closer to Allah or further away.  

Children and the Realm of Fantasy

The massive popularity and ongoing appeal of fantasy franchises like Harry Potter surely tell us something. Why do children like this genre so much? It’s exciting, interesting, and reminds us that there is more to this world than what we can understand with our senses. We know this as truth – the unseen realm and supernatural beings such as angels and jinn do exist.

“Fantasy novels are a creative expression of this curiosity about what we cannot explain through the material world alone.” [PC: Gabriela (unsplash)]

Human cultures across time and space have been intrigued by the Unseen, especially during eras that were not so oversaturated in technology. Once upon a time, our ancestors were so much more embedded in the natural world. In South East Asia, where I was born, it was common for humans to interact with jinn before Islam arrived on our shores. Alhamdulilah for the guidance of the Shari’ah, which forbade further contracts to be made with jinn, and instead, taught us to place our complete trust in Allah .

Fantasy novels are a creative expression of this curiosity about what we cannot explain through the material world alone. When fantasy novels are written by Muslims who love Allah and the Prophet , imagine the possibilities of the kinds of fantasy novels we can write. 

Conversations with Children about the Fantasy Genre

Beyond books, cartoons like K-Pop Demon Hunter are an incredible hit. This is an animated film about a K-pop girl band, who are secretly demon hunters, that must save their fans from a group of demons who have taken the form of a K-pop boy band.

My daughter watched the show with her friends during a playdate, and I made sure that we discussed it afterwards. That cartoon was a good opportunity to bring up a few points:

• Music really can make us forget about many things, including worship and the truth of the afterlife

• The depiction of the Underworld in that cartoon was false, compared to the truth of the different stages of our lives as humans: 
  • our souls being created
  • the world of the womb
  •  our life as human beings on earth
  •  our lives in the grave
  • Judgement Day
  •  our final destination in Jannah, inshaAllah. 

I am a big believer in talking to our children and listening to what they’re going through in every aspect of their lives – schoolwork, friends, Islamic studies, and media consumption. It’s not a good idea for parents to just let their kids watch or read whatever they like, as children are still developing their moral compass, spiritual understanding, and frontal lobe (the part of the brain that influences decision-making, emotional regulation, and personality). Cartoons, just like audiobooks, can be a family bonding activity and a good way to discuss reality versus fantasy. It’s an invaluable life lesson worth repeating: everything we consume can either bring us closer to Allah or further away.

It’s also never a good idea for parents – as tired as we often are – to mentally check out while our kids zone out to their favourite TV shows. We are responsible for nurturing them with praiseworthy habits, and in this day and age, a huge part of that is being aware of what kind of media they’re consuming.

We must talk to our kids about what they’re watching and teach them how to critically analyze the kind of themes the movies/books are teaching them, from both an Islamic and a healthy mindset point of view. This is how we can instill that active sense of learning in our kids from a young age, instead of allowing them to be default passive consumers. Teaching them the value of analyzing the media they consume might even encourage them to become God-centered creatives as well, if they are artistically inclined.

Writing My Own Fantasy Book

When I drafted my first middle-grade fantasy novel, How to Free A Jinn, I didn’t know if it would land a literary agent, let alone a publishing deal. I specifically wanted to write a fantasy novel from the Islamic worldview; the vast majority of fantasy novels I read have a total absence of Islam, and I wanted to add something beneficial to the existing body of fantasy literature. I wanted to write a book from the Muslim worldview, about a girl who has inherited the consequences of the pre-Islamic practice of making a contract with an ancestral jinn. I wanted readers to immerse themselves from a viewpoint I hadn’t read yet: a neurodiverse young Muslim girl who loves her faith, family, and culture. There’s nothing quite like seeing the lived experience of relatable characters on page.

For so many decades, I  have consumed media from characters from different worldviews. I wanted my own children, as well as other children, to experience something from my own worldview, for a change. It took less than a year to land my US literary agent, and at least another three more years before my Australian and then my American publisher took a chance on my book.
 I wanted other Muslim kids to see the love and bickering that happens in our families, and I wanted them to read about being only twelve and already facing hard decisions. Most of all, I wanted to write a character who made mistakes, but ultimately chose a path pleasing to Allah .

Book Reception

In Malaysia and Singapore, my book was incredibly well-received. So many of my readers shared that their families also had very similar jinn stories. It was so heartwarming to see young Malay girls cosplaying as Insyirah, my book’s main character, by wearing noise-cancelling headphones on top of their hijabs! To my surprise, there was a spectrum of reaction in Australia. Many Muslim readers and their families were very enthusiastic, because it was high time for our stories to get traditionally published. On the other hand, there were WhatsApp messages circulating, warning Muslim families not to read my book because it encouraged black magic – clearly, whoever started that rumor hadn’t even read my book!

How To Free A Jinn by Raidah Shah Idil

As my book will reach the US, Canada, and the UK at the end of this year, I hope and pray that the Islamic schools there will be more open to welcoming my book and the ensuing discussions in their schools. My book can actually be a launching pad for healthy discussions around the unseen, e.g., recognizing the difference between good jinn and bad jinn, staying away from sorcery, understanding the difference between mental illness and jinn possession, and, above all, turning back to Allah , always.

On the topic of jinn, a concerned Muslim parent asked me why I had ‘jinn’ in my title. I explained that the jinn stories in my novels could be taken literally, or metaphorically (ancestral trauma and resilience) – and either way, I didn’t want to mislead my readers by suggesting that my book was something that it wasn’t. There’s nothing inherently wrong with talking about jinn, as long as the actual lesson of the story is Islamic! I was shocked to learn that there are Muslim kids who honestly believe that Iblis is a fallen angel. I corrected this Christian misconception and taught them that angels do not ‘fall’ or sin, unlike jinn and humans. Iblis is a jinn who was elevated to the ranks of angels until he disobeyed Allah’s Command to prostrate to Prophet Adam .


Harnessing the Fantasy Genre To Influence Islam-Consciousness

Muslim children are already exposed to the fantasy genre at school and at home, either in books or through cartoons and movies. I believe in having proactive conversations with our children from a truth-based worldview. I also believe in writing our own high-quality fiction so both Muslim children and even non-Muslim children can enjoy reading our books, and perhaps one day, come to Islam too.

Reading fantasy novels is not the same as engaging in forbidden black magic. Those are two completely separate topics. If anything, a well-written fantasy novel can be a warning against engaging with black magic! If parents don’t feel equipped to have these conversations, then it’s time to learn and consult with experts who do. I’m not encouraging the outsourcing of hard conversations – this is a skill that gets better with practice – but I strongly believe that the natural bond between parents and children can be used in our favor when it comes to their media consumption choices, for as long as our kids trust our judgment and want our approval. That window of influence will reduce as they get older, so while they’re still young and long for connection with us, let’s make the most of it.

 In a nutshell:

• Ground your children in the truth of Islam and the Islamic worldview:
  • Completing the www.whyislamistrue.com course helped me immensely with this.
• Compare the Islamic worldview with the two different worldviews presented in cartoons, movies, and novels:
  • secular worldview (no God, only the laws of science)
  • supernatural worldview (superpowers and supernaturally strong human-like beings, but no Necessary Being) 
  • Islamic worldview (Allah is a Necessary Being who creates and maintains our contingent universe)

We come from a rich oral storytelling tradition teeming with fantasy elements; when done mindfully and consciously with Allah in mind,  fantasy novels can be a subtle and effective da’wah tool, inshaAllah. Muslim parents should not irrationally fear the impact of fantasy novels on our children, but navigate the genre with thoughtfulness and awareness of Islamic morals and values.

 

Related:

– [Podcast] How To Free A Jinn & Other Questions | Ustadha Raidah Shah Idil

– The Muslim Book Awards 2025

 

The post Muslim Kids Reading Fantasy Novels – Yea Or Nay? appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

the 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 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19

“You will not enter Paradise until you believe, and you will not believe until you love one another. Shall I tell you something which, if you do it, you will love one another? Spread peace between yourselves.”
– Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, Sahih Muslim, Kitab al-Iman

A Changed Appetite

Deek still felt weary, as he hadn’t gotten much sleep before the girls showed up and – thankfully – pulled him out of that awful dream with Queen Latifah embezzling all his treasure in exchange for a drink of water and a piss. Yes, he thought grudgingly. I understand the point of the dream. I get it.

Still, the makhlama had hit the spot, and he felt well enough to work. He’d been neglecting the cryptos, and that would not do. He fired up one of his computers. The girls had been impressed with his setup here, but it wasn’t that different from what he’d had back in the closet, except that the computers were state-of-the-art, and the screens were huge

Normally, he would grab a junk food snack before sitting down to work. His favorites were the Petit Ecolier cookies: buttery biscuits topped with chocolate squares. Somehow eating classy French cookies seemed like less of a sin.

Today, he felt no such craving. Though the emotional effects of the Namer’s potion had dissipated, it seemed the physical effects persisted. Instead, he put a bunch of grapes on a plate, said bismillah, and popped one into his mouth, relishing the bright sweetness. Forget Petit Ecolier! This tiny fruit, crisp on the outside yet bursting with juice, was the ultimate dessert. It was perfectly designed by Allah, and needed no factory or packaging. It was a miracle. How had he not realized this before?

Signs of a Frenzy

Reviewing his crypto holdings, he was stunned. Everything was up massively. Some of his tokens had tripled or more since he last checked. One of the AI tokens had done a x35. Even large-cap cryptos like Bitcoin, Ethereum, and Solana were skyrocketing. The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Rather than visiting the usual cryptocurrency news sites and blogs, he brought up a mainstream news aggregator website and, popping a few grapes into his mouth, looked over the headlines. He didn’t even have to search for “cryptocurrency.” It was right there in the mainstream headlines:

“‘I Sold Everything To Buy Crypto’ – Buyers Make Desperate Moves as Crypto Frenzy Spreads.”

“Crypto Market Cap Increases By Billions as Retail Money Pours In.”

“Crypto: Dangerous Bubble or New Financial Paradigm?”

Skimming the articles, he saw that enthusiasm for crypto had reached fever pitch. Middle-class working people were mortgaging homes and selling their cars to buy Bitcoin. Financial analysts and writers who, a year ago, had proclaimed that crypto was dead, were now singing its praises. One wrote:

“Crypto has made me a believer. We are witnessing the birth of a new paradigm, that of decentralization. In this new market, everyone gets rich.”

Another said:

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to acquire generational wealth. Crypto is changing the very definition of finance. You can throw all the old rules out of the window: the day of DeFi has arrived.”

He checked the crypto Fear and Greed Index. It was at 93 out of 100, signifying a state of extreme greed, which meant that confidence in crypto was nearly total.

As a final check, he visited a website that monitored crypto inflows and outflows, meaning how much crypto was being sent to centralized exchanges to be sold, and how much was being withdrawn, to be held in long-term storage.

He saw what he expected to see. Very large holders, known in crypto parlance as whales, were quietly selling. Meanwhile, small buyers – called retail buyers – were flooding in, paying any price for the most popular tokens. The pension funds, investment funds, banks, and corporations were using the retail buyers as exit liquidity.

Deek had been through three crypto cycles, and he knew what this reckless, panicked buying signified.

The entire crypto market was about to crash.

The fall would be dramatic and steep. Even blue-chip cryptos could lose as much as 90% of their value in a bear market, while smaller tokens would become worthless.

The Exit

With shaking hands, he went through his wallets and sold all his holdings: blue chips, alts, meme coins, everything. He converted them into U.S. Dollar Coin, which itself was a type of crypto called a stablecoin, pegged to the value of the United States dollar.

Even stablecoins were not necessarily safe in a bear market, however. Deek had seen other stablecoins lose all their value, especially those that used computer algorithms to maintain their price. USDC was supposedly backed by actual, physical US dollars, but Deek didn’t want to risk it.

He sent the bulk of the USDC to a centralized exchange account he’d opened in the name of Milestone Investments, and swapped it all for Euros.

He now had $40 million in USDC in a few different wallets, and 352 million euros in the Milestone account, which at the current exchange rate equaled about 440 million dollars. If he continued to value his real estate holdings at $22 million, his net worth was now $502 million.

That was it, he was out of the crypto market. He would hold the USDC until the coming bear cycle ended and the next bull run began, which might take two years. Until then, he was done.

This was far too much money to leave sitting inert in a non-interest-bearing account. Later, he would think about how to invest it, perhaps with BAM!’s guidance.

Half a Billion

He sat back, overwhelmed. The grapes remained on the plate, mostly uneaten. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he wiped it with his t-shirt sleeve. His breath came heavy, as if he’d just run a marathon.

He slid from the chair and fell onto his knees and elbows on the marble floor. Head down, he focused on breathing. La ilaha il-Allah, he breathed, and it became a mantra. With every exhalation, la ilaha il-Allah. He remained like that until his knees became sore. He rolled up into a sitting position with his back against the wall.

Half a billion dollars. His net worth was now half a billion dollars. He could not fathom it. The numbers were like the high score on a video game. It was cool, but what could you do with it?

He needed to talk to someone. He needed guidance. But who? He could not let it be known in the community that he possessed this kind of wealth. He’d never have a moment’s peace. Someone would always be after him for a loan, partnership, or favor.

There were three options:

He could talk to his genius Puerto Rican friend who didn’t care about money and had just saved his life with a trumpet.

There was Imam Saleh, who Deek trusted implicitly, and was a wise and gentle man.

Three, Rania, his life partner, was also his best friend.

Zaid Karim was not on his list of confidantes. Deek had always had an image of the Palestinian private eye as an action hero, valiant and unstoppable, but shallow. Ever since he’d seen Zaid praying in the Namer’s backyard, however, surrounded by cats, he’d begun to understand that his portrayal of Zaid might be one-dimensional and unfair. He did not truly know the man. All the more reason, in any case, not to confide in him.

There was really only one choice in the end. He had to see his wife.

Deek’s body was a ruin whose foundation had crumbled beneath it. He let himself tip over to lie on the floor. It was a hot day outside, but the AC was running in here, and the marble was icy against his skin. Lying there, using an arm as a pillow, he tried not to think of the massive wealth he now possessed. It felt like a tiny coal burning on the outside edge of his brain, demanding that he do something. But he didn’t know what.

“What is a treasure worth,” Latifah had asked, “if you would give half to take water in, and the other half to let it out?”

The Gaza Decision

He closed his eyes and remembered the conversation between him and Zaid at the Namer’s house. “If you really want to give away a million dollars,” Zaid had said, “Give it to the charities in Gaza. The situation there is beyond dire. And purify your wealth in the process.”

Still lying on the floor, he took his phone out of his pocket and called Imam Saleh.

“As-salamu alaykum ya Deek Saghir! How is your iman today?”

“Umm… I don’t know.” The interrogatory confused him. He had to pause before continuing. “I have a question. Do you know any charities operating in Palestine, and especially in Gaza, that accept donations in cryptocurrency?”

“No one’s ever asked me that. I’ll text you some names of good charities, but I have no idea about the crypto angle. While I have you on the phone, would you be willing to do a seminar on cryptocurrency for the community? What it is, how to invest, and so on?”

Deek was not eager for publicity, but Imam Saleh was someone he deeply respected, so he simply said yes.

“Superb, mashaAllah. I’ll set it up.”

When Saleh sent the list of charities, Deek researched them. One, Helping Hand for Relief and Development, ran projects around the Muslim world, including in Palestine, and accepted crypto. They had a high rating on Charity Navigator.

He filled out a form on the HHRD donation page with his contact info, then selected USDC from a drop-down list of cryptos. From the many projects they had listed, he selected Palestine. In the amount field, he hesitated, then typed 10,000,000 and hit send. He was given a USDC address, which he copied. Opening his crypto wallet, he pasted the address and sent ten million USDC.

The little burning spot in his brain cooled. He closed his eyes, lay his head on his arm, and fell asleep to the sounds of the bubbling fountain and the susurration of the air breezing through the vent.

He woke up an hour later shivering with cold, and with a sore neck. His phone was buzzing on the floor.

“Hello?” His voice was the croak of a frog.

An Invitation Declined

“As-salamu alaykum. Is this brother Deek Saghir?” Pakistani, by the accent. Educated.

Still groggy, he wiped a bit of drool from his chin. “I guess so. That’s what my mother named me.”

“Brother Deek, did you mean to donate ten million dollars in crypto?”

“Oh.” He tucked one arm inside his shirt as a chill racked his body. “You’re from… HHRD?”

“My name is Mahboob Syed, I am the director of Helping Hand’s Los Angeles office.”

“Yes. I meant to.”

“Allahu Akbar. This is extraordinarily generous. Would it be possible for you to come to Los Angeles? We will pay for your transport.”

Deek remembered how this had impressed him when BAM! offered it. It had made him feel respected and important. Now it didn’t seem to matter.

“Why? To ask for more money?”

“Not at all. We only want to meet you.”

Deek rubbed his right cheek vigorously. “I appreciate the offer, brother Mahboob. I’ll take a rain check.”

“Very well, but I want to extend to you an invitation to see how your money is spent. I see you earmarked the money for Palestine. Some of the money will go to Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon, and some for food and medical supplies for Gaza. If you like, we will take you to the camps, and you can meet the refugees yourself. Many are widows and orphans.”

Deek sat up, rubbing his sore neck. “Wow. I could do that?”

“Absolutely. One of our donors recently threw an Eid party for the widows and orphans in the Ain el-Hilweh camp in Lebanon. Ain el-Hilwah has a high rate of extreme poverty, due to overcrowding, limited infrastructure, and lack of employment. One thing we will do with your money is create work projects to provide opportunities. For example, simply buying a sewing machine can enable a woman to work as a seamstress. With a donation like yours, we might build a small factory. You can see this with your own eyes. Often the refugees make dua’ for the donors.”

Thinking of the hardship of those people’s lives, and that the money he had earned through hard work and the blessing of Allah could make such a difference, warmth suffused Deek’s chest, and he stopped shivering.

“I’ll think about it. But spend the money as you see fit. I trust you.”

Mahboob made dua’ for Deek and his family, and they ended the call.

A Conduit

Deek sat, pensive. The thought of a room full of widows and orphans – women who had lost their husbands to Israeli violence and oppression, and children who were bereft, with no one but Allah to care for them – making dua’ for him, Deek Saghir, was humbling and almost frightening. Who was he that they should make dua’ for him? He was no one, just a fool who’d had the good fortune to get rich playing with imaginary money. They were the ones for whom the whole world should be making dua’. Yet most of the world had turned their backs on them.

He was beginning to realize what this money meant. This money had not been given to him to stay in expensive hotels and drive fancy cars. He was only meant to be a conduit. This realization gave him goosebumps.

For the first time in the last several days, he did not feel lost. Rather, he felt like a man in a cave who has just glimpsed the tiniest bit of sunlight in the distance.

He rose and made wudu, prayed ‘Asr, then changed into another of his tailored suits. This one was deep midnight blue with a subtle herringbone pattern that caught the light when he moved. The jacket hugged his shoulders perfectly, tapering to a slim waist, the fabric cool and weighty against his skin. Underneath, he chose a crisp white shirt with French cuffs, each fastened with small square cufflinks of black onyx set in silver. His belt and shoes matched—a rich espresso brown, polished to a mirror shine. The scent of his aftershave—cedar and bergamot—was subtle, like the scent of a forest lying just on the other side of a rise.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he realized that he’d lost a lot of weight. The protruding belly was gone, with only a slight rounding remaining. His face looked ten years younger. It was a welcome feeling to look in the mirror and feel good about himself for once.

Dreaming of Home

The auto detailing shop was on the other side of town. The hotel concierge provided a town car, and ten minutes later, he was in the back seat, being driven by a young black man with a fade cut, who, Deek learned during the course of the ride, was Afro-Panamanian but had never been to Panama. He wore gray slacks and a baby blue dress shirt worn thin at the shoulders.

“One day I’ll visit the land where my parents grew up,” the youth said wistfully, “I print pictures off the internet and put them in frames from the Dollar Store.”

Deek felt a surprising pang of recognition. He understood that longing completely. His family had left Iraq when he was nine years old, one step ahead of the mukhabarat – the Iraqi secret police – but carrying the vivid colors and scents of their homeland in their hearts. He remembered the narrow streets of his neighborhood, the smell of lamb grilling in the air, and the laughter of cousins in the courtyard. His family had fled tyranny and violence, and he had never returned. Yet in quiet moments, he still dreamed of it.

Now, for the first time, he realized he could go back. Not as a refugee boy clutching his father’s hand, but as a man with the means to stay in the best hotel, hire protection, and walk those streets again without fear.

When the young driver dropped him off, Deek opened his wallet. He was going to tip the youth twenty dollars, but on impulse, he took three thousand dollars from his wallet and handed it to the astonished driver. “Tell me about your trip when you get back. And buy me a Panama hat.”

Before the kid could formulate a reply, Deek was out of the car and moving on.

Goodbye Little Beauty

The Porsche was pristine. They’d cleaned it, tuned it up, and repaired the window. If they had noticed any lingering smell from Deek’s embarrassing intestinal accident, no one said anything. Deek paid the bill and took off.

He rolled up to the Porsche dealership on North Palm and was greeted by a fit and tanned young salesman in a black suit, with neatly cut blond hair and green eyes. He could have been a model if his cheeks had not been pockmarked by acne scars.

The salesman had barely introduced himself as Denny when Deek said, “I want to sell my car.”

Denny looked it over. “This is a classic model. You looking for something newer?”

“I don’t want to buy. Just sell.”

“Anything wrong with it?”

“It’s cursed.”

Denny blinked. “It’s a lemon? I’m sorry, we wouldn’t be interested in -”

“Nothing like that. It runs like a dream. But violence follows it.”

The salesman laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Can our shop check it out?”

“Go for it.”

The dealership lounge had a box of donuts on the table and a selection of fruits. Deek ignored the donuts and took a banana. He browsed a copy of the Los Angeles Times, skimming the international news. The articles about the Middle East carried a heavy pro-Israeli slant. It was undisguised and flatly racist. Disgusted, he threw the rag back onto the table.

Denny returned. “You were right. The car’s in good shape. We can offer forty thousand.”

Deek laughed. “It’s worth triple that.”

“I can go up to fifty.”

Deek’s face flushed. He was suddenly fed up with Americans and their deceptions. “Give me the keys. I’ll give it away to one of my friends before I sell it to you thieves.”

Denny handed over the keys reluctantly, and Deek walked away.

“Eighty-five!” Denny called after him. “Final offer!”

Deek whirled and pointed at him. “You should have started with that.”

Denny trotted up to him, grinning. “Hey, you’re Arab, right?”

“So?”

“I’ve visited lots of Arab countries. Negotiating is part of your culture. Tawwel baalak.” He held his hand palm up, fingers bunched together, and moved the hand up and down.

The use of the Arabic phrase and hand gesture, both meaning “take it easy,” made Deek snort with laughter. He studied the globe-trotting salesman for a moment, then thrust the keys back at him. “Make it ninety and you can write it up.”

Before he left, he paused beside the Porsche and ran his hand over the gleaming black roof. What a gorgeous little car. Machinery, art, and adrenaline wrapped in one small package. “Goodbye, little beauty,” he said. “I’m sorry I said you were cursed. Tawwel baalak, ya habibti.” In saying this, he meant the phrase in its literal sense, which was something like “lengthen your mind.” May the little car have a long and productive life.

New Ride, New Mission

He walked across the street to the Carmax used car lot and selected a two-year-old, twilight blue Kia Sportage. The compact, Korean-made SUV seated five people and had a V-6 engine and cloth seats. It was solid but definitely not a luxury vehicle, and actually rather ordinary looking. Which was what he wanted. Hopefully, no one would shoot him in the face over a used Kia.

He paid for it with his Milestone Investments card and drove away, loving the high perspective and smooth ride.

He parked under the shade of a tree in the Walmart lot nearby, and called Lubna.

“Hello, Deek. You’re not coming by again, are you? I just got off work, I’m tired.”

“As-salamu alaykum my beautiful sister. You know what, your family is very lucky to have you. And I see how hard you work. I admire you a lot.”

“Deek, tell me really.” She sounded genuinely worried. “Is there something wrong with you?”

He chuckled. “There are lots of things wrong with me. Speaking of your job, have you given notice yet?”

“Should I? Are things underway?”

“You need to get them underway.”

“Me? I’m just the principal.”

Tasks for Lubna

“I need you to take an active role,” Deek explained. “You’ve already been paid, after all. First, set up a board of directors. I’ll be the board president, you’re the vice president, and I would like Imam Saleh to be on it. We’ll need a Treasurer and Secretary as well, that makes five, and let’s say two more, for a total of seven. You might consider Safaa, my wife’s cousin, and a lawyer would be good too. But it’s up to you. Once you’ve done that, file for non-profit status.”

“Hold on, I need to write this down.”

Deek gave her a minute, then she said, “Anything else?”

“Yes. Start looking for teachers. We’ll begin next school year. I want people who are enthusiastic and malleable. Definitely no one who’s stuck on old-world methods. Also, we’ll need a curriculum. I’m sure there’s a lot more. We need someone with experience running a school.”

“Hold on. I’m writing.” A few moments later, she said, “What will you be doing while I’m handling all this?”

“Looking for a building. We need a property zoned for school use, or that can be rezoned. It should have plenty of land for future growth.”

“I feel like you’re entrusting me with a lot. I don’t know if I can do all this. You might -” her voice broke, and Deek sat up straight as he realized for the first time that Lubna was frightened. “You might have picked the wrong one,” she finished.

“No, my dear sister. I picked exactly the right one. You are smart and capable, and you have a huge heart. I absolutely know you can do it. I’m honored to be working with you. Don’t forget, the first task is to pick the board of directors. You can delegate to them and consult with them.”

“Deek, come on.”

“What?”

“Who are you? You seem like a different person. Why are you being so nice to me?”

This made Deek cry. It happened suddenly, unexpectedly. Tears came to his eyes, and he put his face in his hands, trying not to sob, but he couldn’t help himself, and a formless sound escaped. It was embarrassing. Now that the Namer’s potion had worn off, his emotions were like a herd of mustangs running roughshod through his heart.

“Deek? What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“I’m sorry I was so unkind to you that my being nice makes you think I’m dying.”

“Okay, big bro. Stop or you’ll make me cry too. I don’t understand what’s happening with you, but I can tell that you’ve genuinely changed. The way you’re acting, this is the big brother I always wished for. I used to make dua’ to Allah to change you, did you know that?”

This wounded Deek. He began to weep in earnest and ended the call, so that Lubna would not hear. He put his forehead on the steering wheel. When he was done, one side of his face was streaked with tears, and the bandage on his left eye was wet.

New Vision

He went into the Walmart, washed up in the bathroom, then bought gauze and medical tape, facial tissues, and a sports drink. Back in the car, he gingerly removed the bandage, shielding his eye from the brightness of the afternoon sunlight. He tested his injured eye, blinking several times, then slowly removed his hand. He looked around at the mostly empty lot, and the scattered trees providing oval-shaped blobs of shade. His eye was fine. There was no pain. He looked in the rearview mirror. There was no indication of injury.

Just as the Namer’s potion had healed the rest of his injuries with its final burst of potency, it had healed his eye. He let out a big breath, then took a swig from the sports drink.

The girls had told him that Rania’s schedule was 3 to 3. It was now six o’clock in the afternoon. He would go visit her at her job. The last time he did that, she snapped at him and told him not to bother her. Deek needed to know where he stood with her now. Had anything really changed? It was time to find out.

First, though, he needed to clear his thinking and his heart. For that, he needed the river.

* * *

[Part 21 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:

Pieces of a Dream | Part 1: The Cabbie and the Muslim Woman

Gravedigger: A Short Story

The post Moonshot [Part 20] – New Eyes, New Mission Copy appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Congresswoman Katherine Clark makes clear that her party is still unwilling to challenge Israeli war crimes.

Obeying Israeli orders doesn't bring safety.

Watching from Australia, I feel both an elation at his win as well as exhaustion at the suspicion brown Muslims inevitably experience in the public sphere

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He eats biryani with his hands, references Bollywood, is an unapologetic Muslim and a progressive. He has also done something politically risky for a mainstream candidate: been vocal for Palestine. Zohran Mamdani proudly embodies what I have often felt alienated in: my own positioning as a Muslim progressive – one that has been treated as an oxymoron at best, or suspect at worst.

From Australia, watching him feels like having my own personality projected large. I feel both an elation at his reception and win as Democratic candidate for mayor of New York as well as exhaustion at the double bind and suspicion brown Muslims inevitably experience in the public sphere. It’s echoed here in Australia with the treatment of the first hijab‑wearing senator Fatima Payman and deputy Greens leader Mehreen Faruqi.

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The far-right commentator didn’t pull his punches when discussing his bigoted views on current events

• How Charlie Kirk turned campuses into cultural battlefields – and ushered in Trump’s assault on universities

• Charlie Kirk’s death raises fears of ‘beginning of a darker chapter’ for US violence

Charlie Kirk, the far-right commentator and ally of Donald Trump, was killed on Wednesday doing what he was known for throughout his career – making incendiary and often racist and sexist comments to large audiences.

If it was current and controversial in US politics, chances are that Kirk was talking about it. On his podcasts, and on the podcasts of friends and adversaries, and especially on college campuses, where he would go to debate students, Kirk spent much of his adult life defending and articulating a worldview aligned with Trump and the Maga movement. Accountable to no one but his audience, he did not shy away in his rhetoric from bigotry, intolerance, exclusion and stereotyping.

If I see a Black pilot, I’m going to be like, boy, I hope he’s qualified.

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 23 January 2024

If you’re a WNBA, pot-smoking, Black lesbian, do you get treated better than a United States marine?

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 8 December 2022

Happening all the time in urban America, prowling Blacks go around for fun to go target white people, that’s a fact. It’s happening more and more.

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 19 May 2023

If I’m dealing with somebody in customer service who’s a moronic Black woman, I wonder is she there because of her excellence, or is she there because of affirmative action?

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 3 January 2024

If we would have said that Joy Reid and Michelle Obama and Sheila Jackson Lee and Ketanji Brown Jackson were affirmative action picks, we would have been called racists. Now they’re coming out and they’re saying it for us … You do not have the brain processing power to otherwise be taken really seriously. You had to go steal a white person’s slot to go be taken somewhat seriously.

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 13 July 2023

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Over 150 Muslim scholars, imams, community leaders, and institutions in the United States and several other nations have now endorsed a joint statement expressing their view that governments of Arab Muslim nations should immediately cut any ties with Israel, including the so-called Abraham Accords, and take other concrete steps to force an end to the genocide in Gaza.

The statement, which was originally signed by over 80 individuals and institutions when first released in August, also says that Arab Muslim nations should ban the use of their airspace to support the Israeli government, announce consideration of an embargo on any oil or gas sales that benefit Israel, facilitate the travel of humanitarian convoys and flotillas attempting to break the siege on Gaza, and send a diplomatic aid mission to demand entry to Gaza.

Since the statement’s original publication on Aug. 8th, the Israeli government has killed hundreds more Palestinians and bombed various countries, including Tunisia, Syria, and now Qatar.

The joint statement reads, in part:

“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, may peace be upon him. So should the fate of Palestine, including Masjid Al Aqsa.” 

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 the 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

• Ruqia Abdi, Author and Educator
• Imam Sedin Agic
• Aftab Alam, President, The March 15th Forum
• Atiya Aftab, Esq.
• Imam Khalid Alkhalili, Fullerton Muslim Community Center
• Ajir Bilal Mahmud, Executive Director, OPOW
• Imam Mohamed Abdel Salam, Puyallup Islamic Community Center (PICC)
• Dr. Ismahan Abdullahi
• Professor Hamid Algar
• Shaykh Abdullah Al-Mahmudi
• Emad Al-Turk, Chairman- Mississippi for a Just World
• Imam Osama Alrefai
• Shaykh Hashim Ahmad, Senior Lecturer, DarulUloom Ashrafia San Francisco
• Shaykh Ibrahim Ali
• Imam Mohammad Ali Elahi
• Hafiz Ikhlas Ansari
• Atiya Aftab, Esq. / Kenneth Rasheed, Esq., Center for Islamic Life at Rutgers University
• Sheikh Abdullah Ateeque
• Nihad Awad, National Executive Director, Council on American-Islamic Relations
• Shoaeb Basha, Executive Director, American Muslim Health Professionals
• Dr. Hatem Bazian, President of Northern California Islamic Council
• Dr. Zahid Bukhari
• Imam Saffet Catovic
• Imam Chris Caras, Islamic Center of Pittsburgh
• Noorgul Dada, Chairman, Noor Islamic Cultural Center
• Imam Mohamed Dahir
• Dr. Abdelhafid Djemil
• Dr AbdAlAziz Eddebbarh, Imam Ibn Asheer Institute
• Imam John Ederer
• Imam Mohammed Ebrahim, ISSA – Islamic Society of the Seacoast Area
• Imam Mustapha Elturk
• Dr. Asif Hirani
• 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
• Oussama Jammal, USCMO Secretary General
• Dr. Quraysha Ismail Sooliman
• Imam Is’Haaq Jasat
• Imam Ahmadullah Kamal, IQRA Cultural Center
• Maria Kari, Executive Director of Project TAHA
• Muhi Khwaja, American Muslim Community Foundation
• Shaikh Ahmad Kutty
• Sa’ad Quadri, Muslim Educational Center
• Yasser Louati, Comité Justice & Libertés (Committee for Justice and Liberties)
• Maulana Muhammad Faisal
• Edward Ahmed Mitchell, Deputy Director, Council on American-Islamic Relations
• Shaykh Suhail Mulla
• Ustadh AbdelRahman Murphy, Roots Community
• Shaykh Rami Nsour
• Imam Saeed Purcell
• Dr. Yasir Qadhi
• Dr. Mufti Muhammed Omer Rafique
• Okolo Rashid, Co-founder, International Museum of Muslim Cultures
• Emad Sabbah, President and Co-Founder, Ethaar
• Imam Mohamed Mukhtar Sayid
• Dr. Muzammil Siddiqi
• 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
• Shaykh M Ihsaan Taliep
• Shaykh Dr. Salman Younas
• Imam Suhaib Webb
• Hena Zuberi, Editor-in-Chief, MuslimMatters
• Sheikh Abdullah Zaheed

Organizations

• Ahlulbayt Islamic Center of Columbus
• American Center for Justice
• 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
• Center for Islamic Life at Rutgers University
• Comité Justice & Libertés (Committee for Justice and Liberties) (France)
• Council of Sacramento Valley Islamic Organizations (COSVIO)
• Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR)
• Dallas Peace and Justice Center
• Dar al-Hijrah Islamic Center
• Ethaar
• FEMYSO (Forum of European Muslim Youth and Student Organisations)
• Greenview Madani Center
• Hamzah Islamic Center
• Hershey Islamic Center
• Husaynia Islamic Society of Seattle
• ICNA Council for Social Justice
• Imam Council of Metropolitan St. Louis
• INSAN – Institutet för Samhällsanalys
• International Museum of Muslim Cultures
• IQRA Cultural Center
• Islamic Association of North America (IANA)
• Islamic Center of Boston Wayland
• Islamic Center Masjid Al-Sabereen
• Islamic Center of Irving
• Islamic Center of Maryland (ICM)
• Islamic Center of Morgantown
• Islamic Center of Passaic County
• Islamic Center of Pennsylvania
• Islamic Center of Pittsburgh
• Islamic Center of San Diego
• Islamic Circle of North America (ICNA)
• Islamic Community Center of Atlanta
• Islamic Council of Victoria
• Islamic Organization of North America (IONA)
• Islamic Society of Central Jersey
• Islamic Society of Chester County
• Islamic Society of North America (ISNA)
• Islamic Society of Orange County
• Islamophobia Studies Center
• ISSA – Islamic Society of the Seacoast Area
• Kitaab Academy
• Kurdish Community Islamic Center
• MAS Sacramento Region
• Mississippi for a Just World
• Mosque Foundation
• Muslim Alliance in North America (MANA)
• Muslim American Society (MAS)
• Muslim Anti-Racism Collaborative (MuslimARC)
• Muslim Community Of Folsom
• Muslim Community of Nassau County
• Muslim Educational Center
• Muslim Girl
• Muslim Legal Fund of America (MLFA)
• Muslim Peace Fellowship
• Muslim Rights Watch Belgium
• Muslim Students Association (MSA National)
• North American Imams Federation (NAIF)
• Noor Islamic Cultural Center
• Partei Für Muslime Plus (Germany)
• Peace Tree Mental Health
• Prince George’s County Muslim Council
• Sacramento Area League of Associated Muslims (SALAM)
• Salam Scouts
• San Ramon Valley Islamic Center
• Shia Muslim Council of Southern California
• Silicon Valley Islamic Center
• Tayba Foundation
• The Islamic Society of Central Delaware
• The March 15th Forum
• Tri-City Islamic Center
• UBM Advisory Services
• Ubudiyyah Life Centre
• US Council of Muslim Organizations
• We Love Our Neighbors
• Wisconsin Muslim Civic Alliance
• World Council of Muslims for Interfaith Relations
• Worry Free Community

The post 150 Muslim Leaders And Institutions Now Say Arab Muslim Nations Should Cancel Abraham Accords, Suspend Oil Sales, Close Airspace To Israel, And Send Diplomatic Aid Mission To Gaza appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Police do not rule out possibility of finding more as incidents raise alarm over increase of anti-Muslim hatred

At least nine pigs’ heads were found outside several mosques in the Paris region on Tuesday, the city’s police chief said, prompting alarm over rising anti-Muslim hatred.

“Pigs’ heads have been left in front of certain mosques ... Four in Paris and five in the inner suburbs,” Laurent Nuñez told a press conference, adding that officers were not “ruling out the possibility of finding more”.

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A man being arrested near the Brook Hotel in Norwich

Last Thursday in the Guardian, there was a letter from one Desmond Hewitt telling us we should watch what we say about the people ‘protesting’ outside hotels housing asylum seekers in the UK. Referring to an article by David Renton which suggested drawing a strong link with the convictions for domestic violence of a large number of the prominent ‘protesters’, he said that this would be “like a red rag to a bull to the many protesters not involved in crimes of domestic violence” which could be dismissed as a “lefty slur against all men protesting against immigration”. He also suggested that we call “Tommy Robinson” an Islamophobe, as he targets single Muslim men: “if we can’t get that blatant fact out there as our argument, then I’m afraid we are, as they say, screwed”. I wrote a letter in response, but have had no reply in my inbox, so here’s a response to it.

To take the question of “Tommy Robinson” first: he certainly is an Islamophobe, but that term doesn’t have the same ‘sting’ among the far right, or even much of the mainstream Tory right, these days that “antisemitism” has across the political spectrum, except when it’s used as a slur against anyone opposing the genocide of Palestinians, or the oppression they experienced for the several decades leading up to it. They claim “we’re not Islamophobes, we’re Islamo-realists” or some similar get-out based on a selective reading of Islamic history, entirely overlooking the history of the Muslims in their country. Robinson, however, has a long criminal record, much of it violent.

In footage of the ‘protests’ outside the asylum hotels, we have seen an awful lot of violence, not only aimed at the hotels and their residents but also against counter-demonstrators and other dissenters. Last week, for example, footage was shared on social media of a man talking to reporters outside the Brook Hotel, a Best Western hotel on the outskirts of Norwich, telling them among other things that the ‘demonstrators’ bothered him far more than the asylum seekers do by disturbing his sleep, which was interrupted by thugs who chased the man around before he took refuge with the police guarding the hotel itself; the goons’ supporters cheered it on, calling the young man an ‘infiltrator’. There have been scores of arrests at these events; these include attempting to enter the hotels and attacking police, as well as things like breaching bail conditions. Locals not involved — women included — often say, as did the young man at Norwich, that they find the ‘protesters’ far more threatening than they find the asylum seekers themselves.

You can tell a man by the company he keeps, and the people at these ‘protests’ do not seem to mind the company of thugs, nor to listen to the speeches of thugs. Whether they all have pre-existing convictions for domestic violence or not, they choose to attend gatherings outside people’s homes that are designed to threaten them, gatherings they know have ended in violence, and many of those without prior convictions will doubtless acquire some, as many have found out to their cost.

Young lawmaker Zarah Sultana electrifies UK grassroots with anti-Zionist stance.

the 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 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19

“You will not enter Paradise until you believe, and you will not believe until you love one another. Shall I tell you something which, if you do it, you will love one another? Spread peace between yourselves.”
– Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, Sahih Muslim, Kitab al-Iman

A Changed Appetite

Deek still felt weary, as he hadn’t gotten much sleep before the girls showed up and – thankfully – pulled him out of that awful dream with Queen Latifah embezzling all his treasure in exchange for a drink of water and a piss. Yes, he thought grudgingly. I understand the point of the dream. I get it.

Still, the makhlama had hit the spot, and he felt well enough to work. He’d been neglecting the cryptos, and that would not do. He fired up one of his computers. The girls had been impressed with his setup here, but it wasn’t that different from what he’d had back in the closet, except that the computers were state-of-the-art, and the screens were huge

Normally, he would grab a junk food snack before sitting down to work. His favorites were the Petit Ecolier cookies: buttery biscuits topped with chocolate squares. Somehow eating classy French cookies seemed like less of a sin.

Today, he felt no such craving. Though the emotional effects of the Namer’s potion had dissipated, it seemed the physical effects persisted. Instead, he put a bunch of grapes on a plate, said bismillah, and popped one into his mouth, relishing the bright sweetness. Forget Petit Ecolier! This tiny fruit, crisp on the outside yet bursting with juice, was the ultimate dessert. It was perfectly designed by Allah, and needed no factory or packaging. It was a miracle. How had he not realized this before?

Signs of a Frenzy

Reviewing his crypto holdings, he was stunned. Everything was up massively. Some of his tokens had tripled or more since he last checked. One of the AI tokens had done a x35. Even large-cap cryptos like Bitcoin, Ethereum, and Solana were skyrocketing. The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Rather than visiting the usual cryptocurrency news sites and blogs, he brought up a mainstream news aggregator website and, popping a few grapes into his mouth, looked over the headlines. He didn’t even have to search for “cryptocurrency.” It was right there in the mainstream headlines:

“‘I Sold Everything To Buy Crypto’ – Buyers Make Desperate Moves as Crypto Frenzy Spreads.”

“Crypto Market Cap Increases By Billions as Retail Money Pours In.”

“Crypto: Dangerous Bubble or New Financial Paradigm?”

Skimming the articles, he saw that enthusiasm for crypto had reached fever pitch. Middle-class working people were mortgaging homes and selling their cars to buy Bitcoin. Financial analysts and writers who, a year ago, had proclaimed that crypto was dead, were now singing its praises. One wrote:

“Crypto has made me a believer. We are witnessing the birth of a new paradigm, that of decentralization. In this new market, everyone gets rich.”

Another said:

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to acquire generational wealth. Crypto is changing the very definition of finance. You can throw all the old rules out of the window: the day of DeFi has arrived.”

He checked the crypto Fear and Greed Index. It was at 93 out of 100, signifying a state of extreme greed, which meant that confidence in crypto was nearly total.

As a final check, he visited a website that monitored crypto inflows and outflows, meaning how much crypto was being sent to centralized exchanges to be sold, and how much was being withdrawn, to be held in long-term storage.

He saw what he expected to see. Very large holders, known in crypto parlance as whales, were quietly selling. Meanwhile, small buyers – called retail buyers – were flooding in, paying any price for the most popular tokens. The pension funds, investment funds, banks, and corporations were using the retail buyers as exit liquidity.

Deek had been through three crypto cycles, and he knew what this reckless, panicked buying signified.

The entire crypto market was about to crash.

The fall would be dramatic and steep. Even blue-chip cryptos could lose as much as 90% of their value in a bear market, while smaller tokens would become worthless.

The Exit

With shaking hands, he went through his wallets and sold all his holdings: blue chips, alts, meme coins, everything. He converted them into U.S. Dollar Coin, which itself was a type of crypto called a stablecoin, pegged to the value of the United States dollar.

Even stablecoins were not necessarily safe in a bear market, however. Deek had seen other stablecoins lose all their value, especially those that used computer algorithms to maintain their price. USDC was supposedly backed by actual, physical US dollars, but Deek didn’t want to risk it.

He sent the bulk of the USDC to a centralized exchange account he’d opened in the name of Milestone Investments, and swapped it all for Euros.

He now had $40 million in USDC in a few different wallets, and 352 million euros in the Milestone account, which at the current exchange rate equaled about 440 million dollars. If he continued to value his real estate holdings at $22 million, his net worth was now $502 million.

That was it, he was out of the crypto market. He would hold the USDC until the coming bear cycle ended and the next bull run began, which might take two years. Until then, he was done.

This was far too much money to leave sitting inert in a non-interest-bearing account. Later, he would think about how to invest it, perhaps with BAM!’s guidance.

Half a Billion

He sat back, overwhelmed. The grapes remained on the plate, mostly uneaten. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he wiped it with his t-shirt sleeve. His breath came heavy, as if he’d just run a marathon.

He slid from the chair and fell onto his knees and elbows on the marble floor. Head down, he focused on breathing. La ilaha il-Allah, he breathed, and it became a mantra. With every exhalation, la ilaha il-Allah. He remained like that until his knees became sore. He rolled up into a sitting position with his back against the wall.

Half a billion dollars. His net worth was now half a billion dollars. He could not fathom it. The numbers were like the high score on a video game. It was cool, but what could you do with it?

He needed to talk to someone. He needed guidance. But who? He could not let it be known in the community that he possessed this kind of wealth. He’d never have a moment’s peace. Someone would always be after him for a loan, partnership, or favor.

There were three options:

He could talk to his genius Puerto Rican friend who didn’t care about money and had just saved his life with a trumpet.

There was Imam Saleh, who Deek trusted implicitly, and was a wise and gentle man.

Three, Rania, his life partner, was also his best friend.

Zaid Karim was not on his list of confidantes. Deek had always had an image of the Palestinian private eye as an action hero, valiant and unstoppable, but shallow. Ever since he’d seen Zaid praying in the Namer’s backyard, however, surrounded by cats, he’d begun to understand that his portrayal of Zaid might be one-dimensional and unfair. He did not truly know the man. All the more reason, in any case, not to confide in him.

There was really only one choice in the end. He had to see his wife.

Deek’s body was a ruin whose foundation had crumbled beneath it. He let himself tip over to lie on the floor. It was a hot day outside, but the AC was running in here, and the marble was icy against his skin. Lying there, using an arm as a pillow, he tried not to think of the massive wealth he now possessed. It felt like a tiny coal burning on the outside edge of his brain, demanding that he do something. But he didn’t know what.

“What is a treasure worth,” Latifah had asked, “if you would give half to take water in, and the other half to let it out?”

The Gaza Decision

He closed his eyes and remembered the conversation between him and Zaid at the Namer’s house. “If you really want to give away a million dollars,” Zaid had said, “Give it to the charities in Gaza. The situation there is beyond dire. And purify your wealth in the process.”

Still lying on the floor, he took his phone out of his pocket and called Imam Saleh.

“As-salamu alaykum ya Deek Saghir! How is your iman today?”

“Umm… I don’t know.” The interrogatory confused him. He had to pause before continuing. “I have a question. Do you know any charities operating in Palestine, and especially in Gaza, that accept donations in cryptocurrency?”

“No one’s ever asked me that. I’ll text you some names of good charities, but I have no idea about the crypto angle. While I have you on the phone, would you be willing to do a seminar on cryptocurrency for the community? What it is, how to invest, and so on?”

Deek was not eager for publicity, but Imam Saleh was someone he deeply respected, so he simply said yes.

“Superb, mashaAllah. I’ll set it up.”

When Saleh sent the list of charities, Deek researched them. One, Helping Hand for Relief and Development, ran projects around the Muslim world, including in Palestine, and accepted crypto. They had a high rating on Charity Navigator.

He filled out a form on the HHRD donation page with his contact info, then selected USDC from a drop-down list of cryptos. From the many projects they had listed, he selected Palestine. In the amount field, he hesitated, then typed 10,000,000 and hit send. He was given a USDC address, which he copied. Opening his crypto wallet, he pasted the address and sent ten million USDC.

The little burning spot in his brain cooled. He closed his eyes, lay his head on his arm, and fell asleep to the sounds of the bubbling fountain and the susurration of the air breezing through the vent.

He woke up an hour later shivering with cold, and with a sore neck. His phone was buzzing on the floor.

“Hello?” His voice was the croak of a frog.

An Invitation Declined

“As-salamu alaykum. Is this brother Deek Saghir?” Pakistani, by the accent. Educated.

Still groggy, he wiped a bit of drool from his chin. “I guess so. That’s what my mother named me.”

“Brother Deek, did you mean to donate ten million dollars in crypto?”

“Oh.” He tucked one arm inside his shirt as a chill racked his body. “You’re from… HHRD?”

“My name is Mahboob Syed, I am the director of Helping Hand’s Los Angeles office.”

“Yes. I meant to.”

“Allahu Akbar. This is extraordinarily generous. Would it be possible for you to come to Los Angeles? We will pay for your transport.”

Deek remembered how this had impressed him when BAM! offered it. It had made him feel respected and important. Now it didn’t seem to matter.

“Why? To ask for more money?”

“Not at all. We only want to meet you.”

Deek rubbed his right cheek vigorously. “I appreciate the offer, brother Mahboob. I’ll take a rain check.”

“Very well, but I want to extend to you an invitation to see how your money is spent. I see you earmarked the money for Palestine. Some of the money will go to Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon, and some for food and medical supplies for Gaza. If you like, we will take you to the camps, and you can meet the refugees yourself. Many are widows and orphans.”

Deek sat up, rubbing his sore neck. “Wow. I could do that?”

“Absolutely. One of our donors recently threw an Eid party for the widows and orphans in the Ain el-Hilweh camp in Lebanon. Ain el-Hilwah has a high rate of extreme poverty, due to overcrowding, limited infrastructure, and lack of employment. One thing we will do with your money is create work projects to provide opportunities. For example, simply buying a sewing machine can enable a woman to work as a seamstress. With a donation like yours, we might build a small factory. You can see this with your own eyes. Often the refugees make dua’ for the donors.”

Thinking of the hardship of those people’s lives, and that the money he had earned through hard work and the blessing of Allah could make such a difference, warmth suffused Deek’s chest, and he stopped shivering.

“I’ll think about it. But spend the money as you see fit. I trust you.”

Mahboob made dua’ for Deek and his family, and they ended the call.

A Conduit

Deek sat, pensive. The thought of a room full of widows and orphans – women who had lost their husbands to Israeli violence and oppression, and children who were bereft, with no one but Allah to care for them – making dua’ for him, Deek Saghir, was humbling and almost frightening. Who was he that they should make dua’ for him? He was no one, just a fool who’d had the good fortune to get rich playing with imaginary money. They were the ones for whom the whole world should be making dua’. Yet most of the world had turned their backs on them.

He was beginning to realize what this money meant. This money had not been given to him to stay in expensive hotels and drive fancy cars. He was only meant to be a conduit. This realization gave him goosebumps.

For the first time in the last several days, he did not feel lost. Rather, he felt like a man in a cave who has just glimpsed the tiniest bit of sunlight in the distance.

He rose and made wudu, prayed ‘Asr, then changed into another of his tailored suits. This one was deep midnight blue with a subtle herringbone pattern that caught the light when he moved. The jacket hugged his shoulders perfectly, tapering to a slim waist, the fabric cool and weighty against his skin. Underneath, he chose a crisp white shirt with French cuffs, each fastened with small square cufflinks of black onyx set in silver. His belt and shoes matched—a rich espresso brown, polished to a mirror shine. The scent of his aftershave—cedar and bergamot—was subtle, like the scent of a forest lying just on the other side of a rise.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he realized that he’d lost a lot of weight. The protruding belly was gone, with only a slight rounding remaining. His face looked ten years younger. It was a welcome feeling to look in the mirror and feel good about himself for once.

Dreaming of Home

The auto detailing shop was on the other side of town. The hotel concierge provided a town car, and ten minutes later, he was in the back seat, being driven by a young black man with a fade cut, who, Deek learned during the course of the ride, was Afro-Panamanian but had never been to Panama. He wore gray slacks and a baby blue dress shirt worn thin at the shoulders.

“One day I’ll visit the land where my parents grew up,” the youth said wistfully, “I print pictures off the internet and put them in frames from the Dollar Store.”

Deek felt a surprising pang of recognition. He understood that longing completely. His family had left Iraq when he was nine years old, one step ahead of the mukhabarat – the Iraqi secret police – but carrying the vivid colors and scents of their homeland in their hearts. He remembered the narrow streets of his neighborhood, the smell of lamb grilling in the air, and the laughter of cousins in the courtyard. His family had fled tyranny and violence, and he had never returned. Yet in quiet moments, he still dreamed of it.

Now, for the first time, he realized he could go back. Not as a refugee boy clutching his father’s hand, but as a man with the means to stay in the best hotel, hire protection, and walk those streets again without fear.

When the young driver dropped him off, Deek opened his wallet. He was going to tip the youth twenty dollars, but on impulse, he took three thousand dollars from his wallet and handed it to the astonished driver. “Tell me about your trip when you get back. And buy me a Panama hat.”

Before the kid could formulate a reply, Deek was out of the car and moving on.

Goodbye Little Beauty

The Porsche was pristine. They’d cleaned it, tuned it up, and repaired the window. If they had noticed any lingering smell from Deek’s embarrassing intestinal accident, no one said anything. Deek paid the bill and took off.

He rolled up to the Porsche dealership on North Palm and was greeted by a fit and tanned young salesman in a black suit, with neatly cut blond hair and green eyes. He could have been a model if his cheeks had not been pockmarked by acne scars.

The salesman had barely introduced himself as Denny when Deek said, “I want to sell my car.”

Denny looked it over. “This is a classic model. You looking for something newer?”

“I don’t want to buy. Just sell.”

“Anything wrong with it?”

“It’s cursed.”

Denny blinked. “It’s a lemon? I’m sorry, we wouldn’t be interested in -”

“Nothing like that. It runs like a dream. But violence follows it.”

The salesman laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Can our shop check it out?”

“Go for it.”

The dealership lounge had a box of donuts on the table and a selection of fruits. Deek ignored the donuts and took a banana. He browsed a copy of the Los Angeles Times, skimming the international news. The articles about the Middle East carried a heavy pro-Israeli slant. It was undisguised and flatly racist. Disgusted, he threw the rag back onto the table.

Denny returned. “You were right. The car’s in good shape. We can offer forty thousand.”

Deek laughed. “It’s worth triple that.”

“I can go up to fifty.”

Deek’s face flushed. He was suddenly fed up with Americans and their deceptions. “Give me the keys. I’ll give it away to one of my friends before I sell it to you thieves.”

Denny handed over the keys reluctantly, and Deek walked away.

“Eighty-five!” Denny called after him. “Final offer!”

Deek whirled and pointed at him. “You should have started with that.”

Denny trotted up to him, grinning. “Hey, you’re Arab, right?”

“So?”

“I’ve visited lots of Arab countries. Negotiating is part of your culture. Tawwel baalak.” He held his hand palm up, fingers bunched together, and moved the hand up and down.

The use of the Arabic phrase and hand gesture, both meaning “take it easy,” made Deek snort with laughter. He studied the globe-trotting salesman for a moment, then thrust the keys back at him. “Make it ninety and you can write it up.”

Before he left, he paused beside the Porsche and ran his hand over the gleaming black roof. What a gorgeous little car. Machinery, art, and adrenaline wrapped in one small package. “Goodbye, little beauty,” he said. “I’m sorry I said you were cursed. Tawwel baalak, ya habibti.” In saying this, he meant the phrase in its literal sense, which was something like “lengthen your mind.” May the little car have a long and productive life.

New Ride, New Mission

He walked across the street to the Carmax used car lot and selected a two-year-old, twilight blue Kia Sportage. The compact, Korean-made SUV seated five people and had a V-6 engine and cloth seats. It was solid but definitely not a luxury vehicle, and actually rather ordinary looking. Which was what he wanted. Hopefully, no one would shoot him in the face over a used Kia.

He paid for it with his Milestone Investments card and drove away, loving the high perspective and smooth ride.

He parked under the shade of a tree in the Walmart lot nearby, and called Lubna.

“Hello, Deek. You’re not coming by again, are you? I just got off work, I’m tired.”

“As-salamu alaykum my beautiful sister. You know what, your family is very lucky to have you. And I see how hard you work. I admire you a lot.”

“Deek, tell me really.” She sounded genuinely worried. “Is there something wrong with you?”

He chuckled. “There are lots of things wrong with me. Speaking of your job, have you given notice yet?”

“Should I? Are things underway?”

“You need to get them underway.”

“Me? I’m just the principal.”

Tasks for Lubna

“I need you to take an active role,” Deek explained. “You’ve already been paid, after all. First, set up a board of directors. I’ll be the board president, you’re the vice president, and I would like Imam Saleh to be on it. We’ll need a Treasurer and Secretary as well, that makes five, and let’s say two more, for a total of seven. You might consider Safaa, my wife’s cousin, and a lawyer would be good too. But it’s up to you. Once you’ve done that, file for non-profit status.”

“Hold on, I need to write this down.”

Deek gave her a minute, then she said, “Anything else?”

“Yes. Start looking for teachers. We’ll begin next school year. I want people who are enthusiastic and malleable. Definitely no one who’s stuck on old-world methods. Also, we’ll need a curriculum. I’m sure there’s a lot more. We need someone with experience running a school.”

“Hold on. I’m writing.” A few moments later, she said, “What will you be doing while I’m handling all this?”

“Looking for a building. We need a property zoned for school use, or that can be rezoned. It should have plenty of land for future growth.”

“I feel like you’re entrusting me with a lot. I don’t know if I can do all this. You might -” her voice broke, and Deek sat up straight as he realized for the first time that Lubna was frightened. “You might have picked the wrong one,” she finished.

“No, my dear sister. I picked exactly the right one. You are smart and capable, and you have a huge heart. I absolutely know you can do it. I’m honored to be working with you. Don’t forget, the first task is to pick the board of directors. You can delegate to them and consult with them.”

“Deek, come on.”

“What?”

“Who are you? You seem like a different person. Why are you being so nice to me?”

This made Deek cry. It happened suddenly, unexpectedly. Tears came to his eyes, and he put his face in his hands, trying not to sob, but he couldn’t help himself, and a formless sound escaped. It was embarrassing. Now that the Namer’s potion had worn off, his emotions were like a herd of mustangs running roughshod through his heart.

“Deek? What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“I’m sorry I was so unkind to you that my being nice makes you think I’m dying.”

“Okay, big bro. Stop or you’ll make me cry too. I don’t understand what’s happening with you, but I can tell that you’ve genuinely changed. The way you’re acting, this is the big brother I always wished for. I used to make dua’ to Allah to change you, did you know that?”

This wounded Deek. He began to weep in earnest and ended the call, so that Lubna would not hear. He put his forehead on the steering wheel. When he was done, one side of his face was streaked with tears, and the bandage on his left eye was wet.

New Vision

He went into the Walmart, washed up in the bathroom, then bought gauze and medical tape, facial tissues, and a sports drink. Back in the car, he gingerly removed the bandage, shielding his eye from the brightness of the afternoon sunlight. He tested his injured eye, blinking several times, then slowly removed his hand. He looked around at the mostly empty lot, and the scattered trees providing oval-shaped blobs of shade. His eye was fine. There was no pain. He looked in the rearview mirror. There was no indication of injury.

Just as the Namer’s potion had healed the rest of his injuries with its final burst of potency, it had healed his eye. He let out a big breath, then took a swig from the sports drink.

The girls had told him that Rania’s schedule was 3 to 3. It was now six o’clock in the afternoon. He would go visit her at her job. The last time he did that, she snapped at him and told him not to bother her. Deek needed to know where he stood with her now. Had anything really changed? It was time to find out.

First, though, he needed to clear his thinking and his heart. For that, he needed the river.

* * *

[Part 21 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:

Pieces of a Dream | Part 1: The Cabbie and the Muslim Woman

Gravedigger: A Short Story

The post Moonshot [Part 20] – New Eyes, New Mission appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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