How the Four Great Imams Might Model Unity, Humility, and Principled Disagreement Today

“And hold firmly to the rope of Allah all together and do not become divided.” Qur’an 3:103

Introduction

The Muslim community has never been entirely free of disagreement, nor should disagreement itself be treated as a sign of failure. Difference in interpretation, legal reasoning, and scholarly judgment has long existed within the Islamic tradition. At its best, that diversity reflected the richness of a civilization rooted in revelation, disciplined by scholarship, and guided by a sincere search for truth. Yet in our own time, disagreement often feels less like a mercy and more like a fracture. What was once carried with adab is now too often expressed through suspicion, polemics, and the urge to delegitimize those who differ.

In such a climate, it is worth pausing to imagine a different model. What if the four great Imams of Sunni jurisprudence, Abu Hanifah, Malik ibn Anas, Muhammad ibn Idris al-Shafi‘i, and Ahmad ibn Hanbal, were seated together at the same table today? What would their conversation reveal about knowledge, humility, disagreement, and responsibility in a divided age? More importantly, what might their example teach a community that is struggling not simply with difference, but with the loss of the ethical discipline required to navigate it?

To imagine such a gathering is not to romanticize the past or pretend that these towering scholars agreed on every matter. They did not. Their differences were real, substantive, and at times significant. Yet those differences unfolded within a shared moral and intellectual universe, one anchored in reverence for the Qur’an, fidelity to the Sunnah of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, and deep awareness of the responsibility of speaking about the religion of Allah. They disagreed without abandoning humility, and they defended principle without surrendering respect. Their legacy reminds us that the true measure of scholarship is not only what one knows, but how one carries that knowledge before Allah and before others.

A Gathering Rooted in Humility

The first quality that would likely become evident in such a gathering is humility. Each of these scholars understood the weight of speaking about the religion of Allah, and none of them claimed absolute infallibility. Abu Hanifah held his conclusions with seriousness, yet without arrogance, recognizing that legal reasoning is an effort to approach the truth, not to possess it completely.

Imam Malik famously taught that every statement may be accepted or rejected except that of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ. Imam al-Shafi‘i revised a number of his own legal views during his lifetime, demonstrating that intellectual maturity includes the willingness to refine one’s understanding. Ahmad ibn Hanbal preserved and transmitted narrations even when they challenged his own inclinations, placing fidelity to the Sunnah above personal preference.

If these four Imams were gathered today, their humility would shape the tone of the room from the beginning. The purpose would not be to defeat one another, nor to defend positions for the sake of pride, but to strive collectively toward what is most faithful to revelation and most beneficial for the Ummah. Their example reminds us that sincere scholarship requires openness to correction and fear of Allah in every word that is spoken.

Anchored in the Teachings of the Prophet ﷺ

Despite their methodological differences, the four Imams shared an unshakable foundation. Their scholarship was rooted in the Qur’an and the Sunnah of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. These were not merely sources among others. They were the compass that guided every discussion, every disagreement, and every legal conclusion.

Abu Hanifah, often associated with the use of reasoning and analogy, never placed personal opinion above authentic Prophetic guidance. He understood reason as a tool to apply revelation faithfully, especially when new situations required careful judgment. Imam Malik built much of his legal method upon the inherited practice of the people of Madinah, believing that the living tradition of the city of the Prophet ﷺ preserved the Sunnah in action. His work Al-Muwatta became one of the earliest systematic efforts to gather hadith and legal rulings rooted in the Prophetic tradition.

Imam al-Shafi‘i clarified the authority of the Sunnah within Islamic law and established a structured methodology that balanced the Qur’an, the Sunnah, consensus, and analogy. Ahmad ibn Hanbal devoted his life to preserving the words and actions of the Prophet ﷺ, compiling vast collections of hadith and refusing to compromise the authority of revelation even under political pressure. Though their methods differed, their devotion to the guidance of the Prophet ﷺ united them more strongly than any disagreement could divide them.

Listening Before Speaking

A defining feature of classical Islamic scholarship was the discipline of listening. These scholars were not formed in isolation. They studied with one another, learned through chains of transmission, and inherited traditions of respectful engagement. Imam al-Shafi‘i studied with Imam Malik. Ahmad ibn Hanbal studied with Imam al-Shafi‘i. Their relationships were built upon learning, not rivalry.

If they were seated together today, they would begin not with accusation, but with careful listening. Abu Hanifah might explain the role of analogy in addressing new circumstances. Imam Malik might emphasize the importance of preserving the living tradition of the community. Imam al-Shafi‘i would clarify the principles that govern sound legal reasoning. Ahmad ibn Hanbal would insist that speculation must remain anchored to authentic narrations. Each would listen before speaking, knowing that justice in scholarship requires understanding before judgment.

Advising with Wisdom and Respect

Their disagreements would be real, but they would not be stripped of adab. Islamic intellectual history shows that strong debate can exist alongside deep respect. The Imams differed on many issues, yet they spoke of one another with honor. Advice would be given with sincerity, not hostility. Correction would be offered as a means of preserving the truth, not defeating an opponent. In an age when disagreement is often driven by ego, their example teaches that sincere counsel can itself be an act of mercy.

Scholarship Lived Through Moral Courage

These Imams were not only scholars of law. They were people of moral courage. Abu Hanifah refused positions offered by rulers when he feared that authority might compromise justice. Imam Malik endured punishment for speaking truthfully. Ahmad ibn Hanbal remained steadfast under pressure rather than surrender what he believed to be the truth. Their lives remind us that scholarship carries responsibility, and that knowledge without integrity becomes a source of harm.

If they were to address the Muslim community today, their guidance would likely extend beyond individual legal questions. They would call for scholars to work together across schools of thought. They would encourage consultation and disciplined dialogue. They would remind students that disagreement has always existed within the tradition, but that it must be carried with humility and restraint. They would emphasize that the health of the Ummah depends not only on correct rulings, but on correct character.

Civil Debate as an Act of Worship

For the four Imams, debate was never entertainment or a contest for dominance. It was part of fulfilling the trust of knowledge before Allah. Disagreement was approached with seriousness, patience, and awareness that every word spoken about religion carries accountability. When governed by sincerity and taqwa, disagreement could become a source of mercy. When governed by pride, it became a source of division.

A Model for Today’s Muslim Community

The real lesson of imagining this gathering is not to ask what rulings the Imams would give today, but to ask how they would conduct themselves. They would listen deeply. They would advise sincerely. They would disagree honestly. They would preserve conviction without arrogance. They would hold firmly to the truth while maintaining respect for those who sought it sincerely.

The schools of law they established were never meant to divide the Ummah into factions. They provided structured ways for Muslims across different lands and generations to live according to the guidance of the Qur’an and the Sunnah. Their diversity was not a weakness of the tradition, but a sign of its depth and flexibility.

Conclusion

If the four great Imams were sitting together today, they would remind us that the real crisis is not that Muslims disagree. The real crisis is that we have forgotten how to disagree. We have mistaken loudness for strength, suspicion for piety, and factional loyalty for faithfulness to the truth.

Their legacy teaches that unity does not require uniformity. It requires humility, discipline, and fear of Allah. It requires scholars who speak with integrity and communities that value adab as much as argument. The future strength of the Ummah will not come from winning debates, but from producing people of character, scholars of sincerity, and communities that hold firmly to the rope of Allah without allowing difference to break their bonds.

In an age of division, the example of Abu Hanifah, Malik, al-Shafi‘i, and Ahmad ibn Hanbal calls us back to a more excellent path, one in which knowledge is joined to humility, conviction is joined to mercy, and disagreement is carried with dignity before Allah.

Related:

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The post If The Four Great Imams Sat At The Same Table Today appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The Weight of Symbolic Recognition

When I saw the image, I stopped scrolling. A mosque with an American flag in front of it. The words across the bottom: Ramadan has officially been recognized in Washington. And then the comments: Alhamdulillah. Historic moment. Muslim Americans are valued, respected, and part of the fabric of this nation.

I read it twice. And I felt something I wasn’t expecting—not joy, not gratitude. Something heavier. Something that has been building for a long time. I understand the impulse to find something to hold onto when you have been made to feel invisible for so long. I understand what it means to want proof that you exist in the eyes of a country that has spent years making clear it would prefer you didn’t.

But I struggle with the idea that Washington State’s proclamation is proof that we are valued and respected in this country. We have never fully been given that. Not without condition. We have been here, worked here, built here, and raised our children here. We have fasted every Ramadan and celebrated every Eid without waiting for anyone’s permission or recognition.

The Exception vs. The Baseline

I know what the asking for proof of belonging looks like up close. A supervisor once found out I was Muslim; he looked at me and said, “You’re one of the good ones”. He said it casually, as if it were a compliment. What it meant was that the rest—my community, my family—were not. That contempt for Muslims was his baseline, and I was the exception he was willing to tolerate.

In 2017, I came across a Facebook discussion in which a man stated plainly that all Muslims should be expelled from the United States—even those who are citizens. For the ones he deemed acceptable, they would be given a year to sell their homes; for the rest, he suggested death or immediate banishment. No whispers. No shame. No consequences. When I challenged him, he told me that I, too, should get my affairs in order and leave.

A Climate of Manufactured Enmity

We are told that Islam hates America, yet Muslims died in those towers on September 11th and were among the first responders. And then a President manufactured and circulated videos of Muslims celebrating that day—videos that were debunked and designed to rewrite the truth—to tell the country that we were the enemy.

That climate produces real-world consequences. A man who believed those lies walked up to my seventy-year-old mother on a street in December 2016. She had to run into a store where strangers helped her and called the police. This is the environment in which Washington State has chosen to recognize Ramadan—not an environment of genuine inclusion. It is an environment where rhetoric from top officials has portrayed Muslims as criminals, fueling racial profiling and hate crimes.

The Human Cost of Asymmetry

I know what this climate produces beyond the rhetoric. In June 2025, a 55-year-old mother of five was beaten on the E train in Queens after she confirmed she was Muslim. In October 2023, six-year-old Wadea Al-Fayoume was stabbed twenty-six times by his landlord in Illinois. Wadea was American. He was born here.

On social media, I recently saw an ad raising money for Muslim orphans. In the comments, people posted images of the Twin Towers and called us terrorists. I responded to one, noting that it is remarkable they feel free to dehumanize us this way—but if I were to do the same, heaven and earth would move to stop me. That asymmetry is not a coincidence. It is a climate.

Faith Without Validation

A signature cannot close the distance between symbol and safety. It does not protect a mother on the street, and it does not bring back a six-year-old boy. Freedom of religion is not a gift the United States government gives to Muslims; it is the First Amendment and the foundational promise of this country.

Muslims have been on this land since before its founding, kept alive in secret by enslaved Africans who fasted and prayed with no recognition from anyone1. They did not need a proclamation then. We do not need one now.

What we need is to be treated as full human beings. We were never waiting for their permission to fast, and we were never waiting for their recognition to know our worth. We will continue to celebrate—with or without their proclamations. Our hope is part and parcel of imaan, and it has survived every generation that tried to break it.

 

Related:

– [Podcast] How to Fight Islamophobia | Monia Mazigh

– Islamophobia In American Public Schools

 

1    The Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture (https://nmaahc.si.edu/explore/stories/african-muslims-early-america) and Sylviane Diouf’s Servants of Allah: African Muslims Enslaved in the Americas (NYU Press, 2013).

The post For Muslims In The US, Recognition Does Not Guarantee Safety appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Kerala in Context: Postcolonial Secularism and Neo-Marxist Influence

Notwithstanding the diverse cultural and historical trajectories of modern societies, contemporary debates on religion and modernity frequently operate on the assumption that religious fervor must be restrained in order to achieve social progress and adapt to the changing demands of modern life.  Although this assumption is commonly associated with Western liberalism, it is equally visible within the neo-colonial dynamics of postcolonial Kerala’s communist–secular project1.

Kerala, widely celebrated for its religious pluralism, high literacy, and cultural diversity, has in recent years become the subject of growing criticism from religious and cultural practitioners and leaders.  Within the broader context of neoliberal and neo-colonial transformation, neo-Marxist forces have played a leading role in advancing what critics describe as dialectical reinforcements that erode religious and cultural identities, particularly those of Muslim communities. These ideological pressures have increasingly generated anxiety and discouragement among religious populations regarding the future of cultural and religious pluralism, as modernity and liberalism advance their marginalizing tendencies (Osella and Osella 2008)2.

The contemporary neo-Marxist influence in Kerala thus appears to reproduce patterns of cultural suppression reminiscent of colonial regimes.  Drawing on theories of cultural alienation, ideological state apparatuses, and postcolonial critique, this article demonstrates how Kerala’s Marxist secularism operates within a distinct postcolonial and communist context while simultaneously mirroring this ideological formation’s objective of defanging Islam. 

The Construction of the ‘Progressive Muslim’

This process of cultural degradation echoes the colonial disruption of the Orient analyzed by  Edward Said in Orientalism, where the so-called “civilizing mission” of colonial powers functioned not as enlightenment but as a project of cultural suppression and the construction of new ideological apparatuses of identity. These tensions, which have intensified over years of political governance, are now deeply embedded in the everyday lived realities of Keralites.

The philosophical roots of this dynamic can be traced to Hegel’s assertion that the ultimate goal of the individual is the attainment of “human-consciousness,” a notion further developed by Francis Fukuyama through his concept of the “struggle for recognition” as a central motor of historical development. Within Kerala’s contemporary political culture, this pursuit has materialized in the construction of the figure of the “progressive Muslim,” whose religious identity is accepted only insofar as Islamic belief is rendered socially innocuous under the rhetoric of emancipation and rationality. 

Liberalism, Marxism, and the Regulation of Religious Identity

Visible practices of piety, such as hijab-wearing or the observance of traditional rituals, are often framed in public discourse as markers of ‘backwardness,’ whereas secular-liberal behaviors are celebrated as symbols of modernity. These representations, I argue, reflect not simply individual choice but the operation of ideological frameworks that subtly reshape Muslim subjectivity. Rather than promoting authentic religious freedom, such interventions can function as mechanisms for aligning community practices with secular-liberal and neo-Marxist norms. Carool Kersten, in Contemporary Thought in the Muslim World, referencing Abdolkarim Soroush, observes that when religion becomes ideology, it risks becoming a tool of oppression3. Yet this insight is frequently misappropriated in Marxist discourse to suggest that religious ideology itself is inherently oppressive, particularly in the case of Islam.

“Visible practices of piety, such as hijab-wearing or the observance of traditional rituals, are often framed in public discourse as markers of ‘backwardness,’ whereas secular-liberal behaviors are celebrated as symbols of modernity.”

While early Marxist critiques emerged from specific  European conditions—notably the entanglement of church and state that necessitated their separation—contemporary Marxist politics in Kerala deploy this framework to justify the extraction of religious “passion” from Muslim consciousness. From within the rational framework of Islamic theology, however, Muslim resistance to such interventions is neither reactionary nor irrational. Moreover, Islamic disapproval of certain religious celebrations does not translate into hostility toward other faith communities, underscoring that theological commitment and social coexistence are not mutually exclusive. 

The castration of religion is not necessary for religious harmony; rather, it depends on the internal rationality of the religious tradition itself. Certain interpretations of Islam, particularly as practiced within Kerala’s socio-political context, can be in tension with some liberal principles, such as secular-liberal educational norms or gender expectations. While liberalism historically negotiated its relationship with Christianity in the West, the engagement with Islam involves distinct theological, legal, and cultural considerations that resist straightforward assimilation into liberal frameworks. It is therefore clear that one does not become more “enlightened” or “progressive” as a Muslim by adopting the Marxists’ agenda and its conceited arguments. Instead, the absurdity of liberal logic has been deceiving its practitioners into distancing themselves from religion itself. As a socio-political theory, neo-Marxist secularism in Kerala is characterized by deep anxiety toward religion. Much of its cultural and political endeavor is governed by this anxiety rather than by a genuine commitment to social good. With the advent of this framework, it developed the myth of religious violence and oppression, which holds that religion—particularly Islam—is fundamentally backward, irrational, and exclusively responsible for emotional instability, social stagnation, and even violence if not strictly controlled. This assumption lies at the heart of this intellectual stance. 

Education, Culture, and Ideological Intervention in Kerala

A concrete illustration of this process can be observed in recent educational and cultural interventions in Kerala. The introduction and enforcement of Zumba dance programs in schools, for instance, alongside the restructuring of academic schedules in ways that conflict with Madrasa education,  have been promoted under the language of physical well-being and progressive pedagogy. Yet these measures remain largely inconspicuous to parents, students, teachers, and community members as instruments of ideological transformation. Public remarks by political figures,  including Anil Kumar4, further reinforce this trajectory by framing such interventions as necessary components of liberation and modernization. In practice, however, these initiatives operate as mechanisms for the displacement of inherited religious and cultural values, replacing them with new normative frameworks aligned with contemporary Marxist ideology5.

This process extends beyond educational policy into the domains of media and public discourse, where selective narratives, the monopolization of major communication channels, and digital attention economies cultivate new habits of perception, evaluation, and expression. Through these means, the  Ideological State Apparatus disseminates revised cultural forms that undermine religious traditions while normalizing secular-liberal values. The result is a systematic reshaping of subjectivity in which religious communities are encouraged to internalize ideological assumptions that erode their own cultural and moral foundations in the name of modernity and progress. 

Defanging Islam: Secular Anxiety and its Consequences

Although the communist approach to the alleged “problem” of religion is presented as liberation and tolerance, it in fact serves as a project of neutralization. This ideology seeks to strip Islam of its moral force, transforming it into a defanged identity with no authority over behavior or values,  rather than genuinely defending religious freedom. Religious sensibility is repeatedly violated in order to desensitize Muslim culture to its own ethical obligations, through media narratives,  educational reforms, and social regulation of personal choices carried out in the name of liberation theology. The underlying assumption is that once religious passion and zeal are removed, religion can be controlled and rendered compatible with contemporary modern life.

However, this assumption rests on a fundamental error. Islam is a comprehensive moral and intellectual tradition,  recognized as a complete way of life that integrates reason, rationality, spirituality, law, and social responsibility. This is clearly affirmed in the Qur’an itself, where human beings are described as vicegerents on earth. This reality stands in direct contrast to the claim that Islam is an irrational system of blind emotional imitation. Consequently, Muslim resistance to certain secular-liberal practices is not rooted in fanaticism or uncontrolled passion, but rather reflects a more nuanced, rational, and ethical position. 

This dogma continues to serve as one of the central explanations for the ongoing regulation,  mockery, and restructuring of Muslim life in Kerala, despite the absence of substantial historical or empirical evidence to support such claims. As Saʿad Yacoob argues, liberalism is not grounded in genuine rational inquiry but is instead an emotional reaction concealed beneath the language of reason and concern over religious passion. Likewise, Marxist discourse operates through emotional responses shaped by colonial modernity, producing a rigid binary in which secularism is portrayed as rational and progressive, while religion is framed as passion and regression. Within this framework, religious passion is assumed to be inherently prone to extremism and emotional outbursts, which are then collapsed into the single category of religious violence. This binary is thus constructed as the central challenge facing contemporary religious communities in Kerala. 

Yet many religious individuals continue to support the Communist regime because it offers liberal ideologies that are presented as progressive and indispensable for the modern world. In reality, this support reflects a profound delusion generated by the irrationality of this ideological framework,  through which religious individuals are persuaded to participate in the defanging of their own tradition, particularly Islam. In conclusion, when religious communities embrace the ideological positions promoted by the Communist movement, they actively weaken the seriousness and distinctiveness of their own religious heritage. 

In sum, while neo-Marxists exalt liberal-secular lifestyles as symbols of enlightenment, they simultaneously promote the portrayal of religious practices—such as hijab-wearing, cultural and ritual observance, and ethical restraint—as backward and non-progressive. As a result, in the contemporary cultural climate, Muslims who seek to be regarded as “modern” or “progressive”  increasingly find themselves under pressure to disengage from and dismantle their inherited religious traditions. Islam thus continues, ipso facto, to pose a serious challenge to Communist secular reasoning, which advances liberal ideas that seek to uproot religious passion from the believer. Muslims do not become enlightened by abandoning the coherence of their own heritage in favor of Marxist or other liberal ideologies; rather, they become dependent upon an ideology that requires them to surrender their cultural and spiritual agency—an agency originally formed in response to the very emotional anxieties toward religion that these ideologies themselves embody.

 

Related:

– Can India’s Financial System Make Room For Faith?

– Perpetual Outsiders: Accounts Of The History Of Islam In The Indian Subcontinent

1     1. In this article, the following terms are used in the context of Kerala: Marxist theory refers to political parties and intellectual traditions. Neo-Marxists refer to those who emphasize cultural critique in addition to classical economic analysis. Communism is not used as so much a theoretical position but as a political party (e.g., CPI (M)). Liberal denotes a commitment to individual rights, secular reasoning, and pluralism. In India, the term “secular” refers to the state’s neutrality towards religion rather than its hostility. 2    Osella, Caroline, and Filippo Osella. Islamism and Social Reform in Kerala, South India. Modern Asian Studies, vol. 42, no. 2–3, 2008, pp. 317–346.3    Carool Kersten, Contemporary Thought in the Muslim World: Trends, Themes, and Issues (London: Routledge, 2019), pp. 107.4    . This is in line with what Anil Kumar (a prominent political communist leader in Kerala) stated during the most recent election: the Communist Party frees Muslim girls from the oppression of Hijab-wearing, enforced by Islamic law. It turned into a point of dispute that spread throughout Kerala. 5    Religious-cultural practitioners or performers are backward and not cultural, or that the girl who applied the Bindi or tilak (a traditional vermilion spot on the forehead that has deep spiritual and cultural significance in the Hindu community and other religious practices) remind Karl Marx of his false consciousness, are examples of the religious-cultural practitioners who are backward and non-civilized.

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A weary caregiver and her successful sister clash over sacrifice and faith, only to discover that each has been quietly carrying a life the other cannot see.

The kitchen smelled faintly of sugar and vanilla, with something warmer underneath, perhaps yeast and butter lingering from the cookies that had come out of the oven an hour ago. Two cooling racks sat on the counter, with four varieties of cookies waiting to be decorated or frosted, while a smear of icing clung to the edge of a metal bowl, half-whipped.

Zaynab wiped her hands on a dish towel, then wiped them again, though there was nothing left on them. She felt jittery and bottled up.

She hadn’t been to the gym in three days. In that time she had lifted her mother in and out of bed, helped her in and out of the bath, clipped her toenails, applied skin cream to her arthritic joints, managed her medication, cooked and cleaned, and answered the same questions more than once because her mother forgot or pretended to forget.

Aside from that she ran her small bakery business, which meant evenings and late nights measuring flour, cracking eggs, going on grocery runs, and making midnight deliveries so that her clients would have the cookies ready for customers in the morning.

She moved constantly without any genuine release, and the energy had nowhere to go. It sat in her chest and shoulders and jaw, making her restless, irritable, as if something inside her needed to break loose or it would harden into something worse.

She glanced at the clock. Her sister Heba would be here soon. She visited every Friday night.

Part of her looked forward to the interruption, the presence of another person in the house, someone who could take over for a few minutes even if only symbolically. But another part of her resented it. She resented the neatness of it, the way her sister could arrive, perform some act of kindness, and then leave again, returning to a life that moved forward instead of circling the same small rooms.

She knew it wasn’t fair, but that knowledge did nothing to soften the feeling.

“I’m going to the gym,” she said, tying her hair back with a rubber band she had stretched too many times. “Heba should be here soon.”

From the recliner in the adjoining room, her mother shifted, the fabric creaking, while the television murmured low, some silly sitcom with canned laughter rising and falling in tired waves. It was an old-fashioned, non-digital TV. “I like a TV with a knob that I can turn,” her mother would insist. “Not one of those flat black monstrosities that look like portals to Jahannam.”

“Stop at the store,” her mother said without looking away from the screen, “and get me -”

“Eggs?” Her mother always wanted eggs.

“What?”

“Eggs.”

“No. Toilet paper.”

She paused, one sneaker half on. “So you don’t want eggs?”

“I want toilet paper and eggs.”

A small smile tugged at Zaynab’s lips. “So I was right.”

Her mother’s eyes flicked toward her then, still sharp. “About what?”

“About the eggs.”

A dry breath escaped her mother. “What do you want, a prize? If you wanted a prize, you should have gone to college. I would have bought you a graduation gift.”

Zaynab’s smile disappeared. There was no point in responding. If she did, an argument would ensue, which would end in her mother weeping and screaming, “I’m an old woman! Why are you torturing me?” Then they’d give each other the silent treatment for three days. Zaynab had been through that cycle often enough to know that she desperately needed to move past it.

The refrigerator hummed in the background as a car passed outside, its tires whispering over asphalt. Zaynab stood still, breathing softly.

“I’ll get your toilet paper,” she said.

A key turned in the lock. The door opened.

Her sister Heba stepped in, carrying a leather Versace tote bag over one shoulder.

“As-salamu alaykum!” she called out. Removing her blue hijab, she hung it on the hat rack near the door.

For a moment the younger sister simply stared, struck again by how much they resembled each other. They had the same eyes, the same shape of mouth, the same dark hair, though Heba’s was smoother, finely coiffed and pulled back neatly instead of tied in haste. They were the same medium height, built on the same slender frame, but the differences lay in the details: flour on her own sleeve, a faint smear of icing near her wrist, scuffed sneakers, while her sister wore a pressed blouse, designer slacks, and shoes that looked expensive without needing to say so.

She’s the sister who matters, Zaynab thought bitterly. The one who made the right choices, went to law school, and pays all the bills. Mom’s favorite. The lawyer. Looking at her was like looking into a mirror that reflected a different life – the one she might have had if she had been less rebellious, stayed in school… and of course if Mom had not gotten ill.

“I said,” Heba repeated, “As-salamu alaykum. What is this, a house of zombies?”

“I was just about to go out for eggs and toilet paper,” Zaynab said.

Her sister winced slightly. “Don’t use the T-word, please.”

“The what?”

“Toilet paper. Just… say something else.”

She stared at her. “Like what? That’s what it is.”

Her sister set her bag down by the wall. “Hygienic paper.”

“That’s not a thing. No one says that.”

“They do in Spanish,” her sister replied as she slipped off her shoes. “Papel higiénico.”

A short laugh escaped. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Reminding me you went to college. I know you minored in Spanish. That doesn’t mean you have to come in here and try to change how we talk.”

Her sister held her gaze briefly, then looked away. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She crossed the room, bent, and kissed their mother on the cheek. “How are you, Mama? A bit heavy on the menthol skin cream, no? It’s like I’m in a mint factory.”

“It helps with her arthritis,” Zaynab said defensively. She was the one who’d applied it.

“You’re late,” their mother said.

“I came as soon as I could.”

“Are you pregnant yet?”

Heba winced as if she’d been slapped. But her voice remained soft as she said, “No, Mama.”

The older sister straightened, stepped back, and then hugged the younger one briefly. She smelled of perfume and hushed office spaces.

“Good to see you, Zuzu,” Heba said.

“Don’t call me Zuzu. I’ve told you that many times.”

“Sorry.” Heba swallowed, touched Zaynab’s shoulder. “Could you – could you be nice to me tonight, please? I really need it.”

Zaynab was about to utter something caustic, but, looking in her sister’s eyes, she saw the same confusion and loss that she saw in her own eyes in the mirror sometimes, as if she had been carrying the secret to life and death in a little glass ball, but had dropped it and watched it shatter.

So instead she turned away and gestured to the kitchen. “Have a cookie. It’s an order for tomorrow, but I always make extras.”

“They smell delicious.”

They wandered into the kitchen. Zaynab watched as Heba took a semi-sweet chocolate chip cookie, bit into it and moaned in pleasure. “You could go places with this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m doing my best.”

Heba sighed. “I know.”

Her sister moved to the sink, rolled up her sleeves, and turned on the faucet. Water splashed against a stack of plates. Grabbing the sponge, she began washing the dishes.

“I was going to do that,” Zaynab objected.

“I know. I’m just… staying busy. Moving my hands.”

Zaynab watched her older sister, listening to the clink as Heba loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

“I said I was going to do it.”

Her sister nodded, but continued.

“Why do you do that?” Zaynab asked.

“Do what?”

“Come in here and act like everything’s fine.”

“I’m not acting.”

“You are.”

Her sister rinsed another plate.

“You come in, you hug her, you kiss her, and you ignore the cruel things she says.”

“She’s our mother,” her sister said quietly.

“And I’m the one who’s here,” Zaynab countered. “I’m the one who stayed. I have to hear it every day. The put-downs and negativity.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You can’t fathom what it’s like. It’s smothering me. I can’t breathe.”

“It’s the illness talking. She doesn’t mean it.”

“I know that!” Zaynab snapped. She let out a breath in a huff and rested her elbows on the prep island in the center of the kitchen. “I feel like knocking someone out.”

Heba shot her a worried glance. “Not me or Mama, I hope.”

Zaynab gave an annoyed cluck of the tongue. “Of course not. Someone else. Some robbers. I want some robbers to break in so I can knock them out. Maybe even stab them.”

Her sister laughed loudly, then covered her mouth. “You can’t always get what you want,” she said, turning off the faucet.

Zaynab blinked. “But if you try sometimes…” She gestured to her sister, but only got a frown in return. “You just might find..” Still no response…. “you get what you need.”

Heba nodded. “That’s surprisingly profound.”

“It’s the Rolling Stones.”

“The what?”

“You’re kidding. You don’t know the Rolling Stones?”

“Is that a band? I don’t know music.”

“What do you listen to in the car?”

“The Quran.”

Zaynab felt the words settle between them like a recrimination. “You can’t know both?”

“I don’t have a lot of free time. I choose to invest it in the Quran.”

“So you’re a good Muslim and I’m not?”

“Not at all.” She met Zaynab’s eyes with a serious look. “It’s the other way around. You’re the one taking care of Mama. You’re the one earning Jannah. You stayed. You put your life on hold.”

“Someone had to.”

“I know.”

“And it wasn’t you.”

“I know.”

The younger sister frowned. “You say that like it’s nothing. You come here once a week, wash a few dishes, say a few nice things, then go back to your life.”

“My life isn’t -”

“What? Perfect? Yeah, right.”

Her sister’s breath caught. “Do you want my life?” she asked. “Do you want to trade? You want what I have? Working twelve hours a day, sometimes all night, coming home to -” She stopped.

“What?”

Heba looked down at her hands. “He left.”

“What do you mean?”

“My husband Basim,” her sister added quietly. “He left me.”

The refrigerator hummed, and a clatter sounded as ice cubes dropped into the tray in the freezer. In the living room, canned laughter rose from the TV.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why?”

Her sister gave a faint, tired smile. “Because I come here and I see you, and I think… what right do I have to complain? You are the hero of the family, not me.”

Zaynab pursed her lips. “You’re mocking me.”

She was stunned when Heba suddenly seized her cheeks in both hands and brought her face almost nose to nose. “I’m not! I mean it. You are the believer here. You are doing what matters.”

She heard the truth in her sister’s words, and tears welled in her eyes. It felt like something was breaking inside her. “Okay,” she said. “Let go.”

But Heba did not release her. Zaynab smelled the sweetness of chocolate on her sister’s breath.

“Do you want my life?” Heba asked again, more gently. Her hands gripped Zaynab’s cheeks even harder. “Wallahil-atheem I will trade with you. I swear by Allah. You take my apartment, and I will quit my job and live here with Mama. Just say the words.”

“I don’t know!”

“I will do it,” Heba insisted.

“No I don’t want to trade ! Let go now, majnoonah!”

With this, Zaynab burst into tears. Her sister released her, and she slid down to the floor with her back against the cabinets, face in her hands. Heba lowered herself to sit beside her, and put an arm around her shoulders.

“What’s going on in there?” Mom called from the living room. “Did you get my toilet paper?”

The younger sister exhaled. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with a flour-stained sleeve.

“Not yet,” she called back, then added, louder, “And call it papel high-jenico, Mom.”

A pause.

“What the devil is that?” their mother called back.

Zaynab turned toward her sister, and something unguarded passed between them. Heba smiled, and Zaynab felt a laugh rise up in her own chest before she could stop it.

“Happiness is where you find it,” Zuzu,” Heba said.

Zaynab wanted to say, “At least you have the opportunity. I’m stuck here.” But that argument had already passed. And studying her sister now, she saw what she had missed earlier: the dark circles beneath the eyes, the worry lines, the sadness.

So instead she quoted:

Dostoevsky

“Man is fond of counting his troubles, but he does not count his joys.”

Her sister looked at her. “What is that? Your Running Stones again?”

Zaynab chuckled. “It’s Dostoevsky.”

“You read Russian literature?”

“Just because I didn’t go to college doesn’t mean -”

“Zaynab,” Heba said in a low, threatening tone. “Don’t start that again.”

“Sorry. Habit.”

“Wanna know what the Quran says?”

“Sure.”

“It says, Surely in the remembrance of Allah do the hearts find contentment.”

“So it’s that easy?”

“Why not? Allah created us. He knows what we need.”

“Then why aren’t all Muslims happy?”

Heba pursed her lips. “I suppose they’re chasing other things besides Allah. Attaching themselves to other things, coveting other things.”

“Like thousand dollar Versace purses?”

Heba nodded slowly. “Yes. Like that.”

Zaynab stood, then sat back down with two cookies in her hand. She gave one to Heba. “Dark chocolate with macadamia nuts.”

They ate in silence. After a minute, Heba said, “You’re talented, mashaAllah.”

“I know. I’m the best.”

“And humble too,” Heba added.

Zaynab gave a snort of laughter.

“Do we have any nonfat milk?” the elder sister asked.

“No. We have two percent like normal people.”

Heba stood and poured them each a glass. They sat on the floor, eating their cookies and drinking cold milk. Warmth radiated from the oven even through the closed door, and water dripped softly from the sink.

THE END

 

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

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

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

 

Related:

A Wish And A Cosmic Bird: A Play

Searching for Signs of Spring: A Short Story

 

The post The Daughter Who Stayed appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

[This narrative scene is excerpted from The Interrogation Vault trilogy. Set within a digital simulation of the three-year boycott of the Banu Hashim (7th–10th year of the Prophetic mission), the story follows a protagonist and an extraterrestrial visitor as they analyze the logistical warfare of the Quraysh. Together, they explore the transition of Islam from a private belief to a sociopolitical movement, and why the elite of Makkah responded not with arguments, but with the cruelty of a total economic siege.]

***

The chamber opened into silence.

But it was not the silence of peace.

It was the silence of desperation.

The simulation placed us on the outskirts of Makkah, in a dry valley encased by rocks and sorrow. No birds sang. No children played. Dust settled over thorny trees stripped of bark.

“Welcome,” the alien said, “to the Valley of Shi‘b Abī Ṭālib.”

The heat pressed against my skin. I heard coughing—dry, aching. Then the slow shuffle of feet. An old man clutched his stomach. A mother tried to nurse, but her milk had vanished days ago. A child with hollow eyes and cracked lips chewed on a strip of leather that had been boiled soft just to be edible.

I looked away.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because Quraysh didn’t respond with philosophy,” the alien said. “They responded with siege.”

He lifted his hand, and a scroll materialized in the air: brittle parchment nailed to the wall of the Ka‘bah. Its letters glowed in red, like they’d been written in blood:

No trade. No marriage. No protection. Until they hand over Muhammad.

“This,” he said, “was the first full-scale sanctions document in Islamic history. Sealed by twenty-five signatures of Makkah’s elite.”

He turned to me.

“Is this how you treat someone simply preaching in private?”

I hesitated.

“They hated his message. That’s all.”

The alien shook his head. “Hatred alone doesn’t explain a three-year logistical blockade. They didn’t just attack him; they attacked the system that protected him.”

He walked through the simulation—past a young girl digging for roots with trembling fingers.

“If they hated his message,” he said, “they could have ignored him. But Quraysh didn’t just attack him. They punished his tribe. Even those who didn’t follow him.”

He waved his hand again.

I saw Abu Talib. Gray-bearded, noble, exhausted. Sitting beside the Prophet ﷺ, shielding him with nothing but loyalty. Not faith. Not belief.

Just blood.

“This was the Prophet’s ﷺ defensive strategy,” the alien noted. “Utilizing the ‘Asabiyyah’—the tribal honor—of his kin to create a physical buffer that the Quraysh couldn’t cross without starting a civil war. The Siege was the Quraysh’s attempt to break that buffer. They turned his kin into hostages because they saw not just a preacher, but a leader building a structure.”

“But why did they turn his kin into hostages?” I interrupted.

The alien took a deep breath and said:
“Because they saw not just a preacher, but a leader rising. Because Islam was already becoming power.” 

I swallowed, watching Sa‘d ibn Abi Waqqas hand a small fig to an orphan.

“You think Islam was only spiritual at this stage?” the alien asked.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Isn’t that what we’re taught? That the Prophet ﷺ had no power in Makkah. That he was waiting. Patient. Powerless.”

The alien tilted his head.

“Waiting is not the same as being inactive. And power is not only military. Influence. Organization. Unity. That’s power. Quraysh understood. Why else the boycott?”

He pulled another thread of the simulation.

I saw the men of Quraysh again—meeting in a darkened hall, whispering, calculating.

“If we cut them off completely,” one said, “they’ll fold. Hunger breaks even the proud.”

“But the children…”

“Their children will become ours once Muhammad is gone.”

The hologram faded.

I was trembling.

“This is cruelty,” I said.

“This is politics,” he replied. “This is what tyrants do when their control is threatened.”

He looked at me.

“Modern minds often imagine Islam began politically in Madinah. But that’s because they don’t understand what politics actually is.”

“Which is?”

“Power. Systems. Influence. Decisions that affect lives. Quraysh recognized the political implications of the Prophet’s ﷺ message long before the Muslims did.”

He turned back to the valley.

“And so, they waged war. Not with swords—but with hunger. Isolation. Humiliation.”

We heard a scream.

A mother had fainted.

And then, finally, the scroll in the Ka‘bah cracked—eaten by termites, as history records. Its injustice devoured from within.

The siege lifted.

But the scars remained.

The simulation dimmed.

“Three years,” the alien said. “Three years of collective punishment. Children starved. Marriages broken. And all for what?”

He looked at me.

“Still think Islam was just a private belief?”

I stared at the fading valley, haunted.

“Private beliefs don’t provoke sanctions,” he said. “But movements? Movements change history. And history resists.”

The chamber went black.

I didn’t speak.

Not because I agreed.

But because I couldn’t deny what I had seen.

***

Related:

– Fifteen Years in the Shadows: The Strategic Brilliance of the Hijrah to Abyssinia

– The Hijra: Lessons From The First Muslim Migration For Today

The post The Boycott: A Simulation Of The Valley Of Shib Abi Ṭalib appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A critique of how tech culture and venture capital are reshaping Muslim priorities, urging a return to spiritually grounded progress.

“You will tread the same path as was trodden by those before you inch by inch and step by step so much so that if they had entered into the hole of the lizard, you would follow them in this also.” – Hadith of the Prophet ﷺ, Sahih Muslim

A subtle shift in how we understand Islam

In a recent book talk I attended by a well-known western academic scholar where he wrote on Global Islam, he made a point that struck me deeply; With the advent of colonisation in Muslim lands across West Asia (the Middle East) and South Asia, many scholars such as Mohammed Abduh, Jamal ud Din Afghani and Rashid Rida often fought back against the different ideologies stemming from the West. In the process of responding to these ideologies, the scholar argued that Islam transformed from a religious worldview with God as the centre, to another ideology in the market of ideologies existing in the world.

Powerful as it may be, Muslims have over time engaged with Islam in the same ways that non-Muslims in the West have, often commoditising it and reading into it at a surface level. Among the best and most recent exemplifications of this transformation is the emerging Tech and Venture Capital Startup phase in the Muslim world.

Before I speak about this and possibly elicit some angry voices, let me begin with some preface into this idea that we call modernity which sets the background for why all of this becomes a problem. This will allow me to outline some ideas as to what some possible solutions could be moving forward.

What do we mean by modernity?

We keep hearing the word ‘Modern’ quite often, used to refer to humans, trends, architectural styles and many other different aspects of existence. One could be forgiven for thinking that this refers to the 21st century when the internet, computers and all their derivative products (mobile phones, social media, apps etc.) became pervasive. Etymologically ‘modern’ refers to  ‘relating to the present times, as opposed to the past’. In this sense then, modernity could possibly mean the time that we are living in.

However, there is much more depth to this one word over which books upon books have been written over the last century or so. Let me try to break it down a bit keeping in mind that many variations and understandings of this term exist.

In brief, up until the 16th century, the Roman Catholic church was politically powerful across Europe. The Church gatekept knowledge of the Bible in the hands of priests and often brutally repressed anyone who opposed its intellectual or political hegemony – a good example being the Church’s repression of figures like Galileo Galili, who argued for heliocentrism—that the Earth revolves around the sun.

In the late 1500’s, the Church did something that set in motion a series of events that transformed the world as they knew it. It began to sell salvation to anyone who could afford it. In a tradition called the indulgences, it let its followers know that Heaven was for the taking for anyone who paid a small amount towards the church. Proceeds from these indulgences went towards building the St. Peter’s Basilica. Combined, the wealth discriminatory approach towards salvation and the use of this money towards building a cathedral provoked the ire of a few individuals, the most prominent being a priest by the name Martin Luther.

From the Reformation to the modern world

An erudite scholar and professor at Wittenburg University, Germany, Martin Luther wrote a document called the 95 theses. In this document, he criticised the practise of indulgences and also challenged the hegemony of the priests as the sole interpreters of the Bible arguing that even the layman could interpret the bible. This document was also translated to German – the language of the masses (as opposed to Latin which was the language of the clergy). Martin Luther’s work would have gone unnoticed had it not been for the invention of the Gutenberg printing press which helped mass produce (as of those days standards) the 95 Theses and went into the hands of more than just the clergy of the time.

Over the next few decades, this sparked what is known as the Protestant Reformation (those who protested Catholic doctrines) leading to mass uprisings and violent clashes between Protestants and Catholics across Western Europe. While the reasons for these clashes were nuanced and wealth based in some instances (there have been well known records of Protestants and Catholics fighting alongside each other against other Protestants or Catholics), the discourse around these clashes solidified the modern idea (and myth) that ‘religion causes wars’.

Nation-states, capitalism, and the logic of growth

While I skip many details, nuances and differences due to the scope of this article, the Protestant reformation and the ensuing ‘Enlightenment’ from the late 17th century led to various socio-intellectual developments that crystallised in the form of modernity. Let me draw your attention to two interlinked concepts that came out of this era which did not occur in the pre-modern era.

The first is the concept of nation-states and the second is capitalism. In pre-modern times, empires (which were one among the different types of political units) had fluid borders and did not have an over-reaching control of its ‘citizens’ the way modern nation-states do. The concept of sovereignty (where the modern nation – state had the theoretical right to enforce its own laws) was also one that has defined the world order in the centuries to come. This concept of fixed borders and complete dominion of a centralised government with regards to legal matters and military capacity was not a concept that existed before this era.

Capitalism is another such concept which did not exist before the modern era. While people seeking profits and being greedy existed in the pre-modern era, some of the main inventions of capitalism is the Joint stock company (where a company is a separate entity from the persons running it), the transformation of traditional labour (based on energy levels, the sun, the weather etc) to a 9-5 timing (especially in the post industrialisation age of the 19th century) and for the purpose of this article: the doctrine of economic productivity and progress.

Productivity was one of the most important concepts that interlinked with the concept of the nation-state which had to rely on constant productivity to sustain growth. Of course, an over focus on growth set human beings on a path towards environmental destruction (can we really keep producing goods that will get thrown in landfills without expecting huge wastes?). This focus on productivity is what led to the development of various technologies such as the internet, aeroplanes and now Artificial Intelligence mostly with significant amounts of government and military funding to maintain technological superiority over other countries.

Muslims, technology, and the illusion of easy solutions

With the rise of technology and Artificial Intelligence taking over the western world, it is inevitable that the feverishness around these technologies are also impacting Muslim societies. Muslims are now slowly working on building, especially in the post October 23rd landscape. The fact that most companies we engage with including those like Amazon, Microsoft and even Google have now appeared on one version of the Boycott, Divest and Sanctions (BDS) list impressed upon Muslims, the importance of building ethical Muslim alternatives to a lot of these fundamental technologies and platforms.

However, while there have been useful alternatives, it is an incomplete solution to an all-encompassing problem creating internal issues within the Muslim world. The problem we have as Western Muslims is that we are transposing these standards onto everything we try to do borrowing on western notions of progress that are in fact damaging to us.

A stark example of this is the new maxim – ‘the solution to our problems is an app.’ That is a serious mistake we risk falling into. The number of people I spoke to who mentioned an app to learn Islam (across the UK and in Ummah oriented summits) seems to be plentiful. This is an area we need to tread with caution since Islam’s form of learning is meant to be experiential and human based (with Suhba or companionship being a major component of learning).  In the West, these can be difficult due to the increasingly atomised modes of living as well as rising costs of travel and meeting outside houses which is why we resort to such apps – a reflection of the wider ecosystem we live in. To be sure, people who are well entrenched in tech are often aware of this issue; it is the enthusiastic new comer (sometimes only tangentially linked to tech) that is often at risk of falling into this trap. A good example is an educational platform that tries to create an app about the ‘basics of Islam’ – a common ambition by many people in such fields.

But we have to remember that these should only be something for us to augment our learning experience and not be a substitute. This is something I feel is lost on many of us living in the West. As someone who engages passionately and conducts sessions around topics related to capitalism and secularism for Muslim professionals, I see how much we have imbibed these concepts ourselves and how much work we have to disentangle ourselves from these intellectual legacies.

Another example, as I heard from one of the participants in a well-known Summit, was that a session on education seemed to be about putting Muslim faces on colonial systems of education which would not do much to address the lack of orientation around Allah and Islam’s teachings. To be clear, this is not meant to say we should avoid tech solutions; rather what I am arguing for is to moderate our expectations and be wary of the traps that established techs have already fallen into. In fact, I do support many spaces that have complete tech gatherings (such as the Muslim Tech Fest that I attended for two years and that I wrote positively about previously).

Startup culture and the problem of endless scaling

Startup culture and VC Funding: The second aspect I could see throughout the different festivals was the start up culture and the fund raising attitudes. Going back to fundraising and larger Western attitudes – remember that Capitalism’s main bequeath to us is not greed – that is something that existed throughout humanity as we see in the Qur’an. What capitalism gave us is a system that creates profit solely for the sake of more profit, in other words: Growth for the sake of growth. It’s why when I speak to startup founders and business owners, I keep hearing the question ‘How much can we scale this up?’ to which I often think – ‘for what’?

I submit that most people think of building up profits coming in from this scaling for the sake of wealth itself without any thoughts of funding long term community initiatives   – as a result of absorbing the ‘growth and scaling up culture’. Moreover, even if the initiative exists, there needs to be a very tight scrutiny on infinite growth ambitions given the often cut throat nature of such growth with immense profits taking place at the cost of oppressing labour.  Mega Corporations like Amazon and others have witnessed protests against their work practises at the cost of enriching top management. As the famous adage goes, ‘No one ever makes a billion dollars, they often take a billion dollars’.

When technology is useful—and when it is not

Given the above background, the dominance of VC culture in Muslim educated spaces that are trying to fundraise for causes is a new trend that we see. This is a good thing to an extent, but it has some limitations and dangers. At many conferences and summits that I have attended mainly in the West, the VC culture that we are now seeing is forcing Muslims to think of profitability and equity far beyond what they should be. This is an important component of building Ummatic infrastructure, but it is not the only one and the risk we have is that we are now moving from a model where we donated for the sake of Allah and for alleviating people’s problems to one where we solely expect a return on our investment.

On the other hand, the places where people do give money to causes without expecting a profit often turn out to be relief donations that are surface level despite their importance (such as feeding people and building wells). We don’t allocate much of our funding towards tackling root causes such as the broader political reasons for poverty and corruption as well as the wanton killing of Muslims and many other populations across the world – where part of the answer lies in research, policy and advocacy.

We can wax eloquent about the importance of building narratives, but we have to remember that media companies are largely loss making business entities and yet, billionaires invest in them for much more than just money – they do so to control the narrative. This is something we need to understand and engage with better over time especially when we think of ‘decolonising’ and focusing on Allah, His book and His Messenger’s guidance in improving the standards of humanity.

Most organisations that I see being funded or supported in different fests and conferences are often tech oriented – which serves a purpose. As this article by the Policy Minaret argued, there are three types of usage of tech and Islam, 1) Genuine gap work – where real gaps exist that tech/app creation can help with (a Qibla and prayer timing app in the early days were good examples of this. 2) Infrastructure work – where larger infrastructure such as payment platforms, VPN’s etc are required where they are more ethical (w.r.t. privacy, data protection etc) and 3) Formation-adjacent work – where gaps exist but technology is not always the right option (think of non-contextualised Fiqh apps where works should be done by real scholars instead of an app).

It is the third type of work (formation adjacent work) that I feel are often tech dominated in a way that should not be the case. There are organisations that are upcoming and are filling important gaps in society that should be supported in different ways than building apps or going online. Some may require mentorship, others require exposure, and others may require money. Muslim conferences should be encouraging such organisations with long term impact without any financial profitability to showcase their work in a structured manner.

There was for instance, the Spark Awards which was an initiative by an organisation called Collective Continuum that gave away funding for new startups. While the winner was a non-profit focused on preventing pregnancy related deaths, a majority of the finalists seemed to be tech solutions. Similarly, the Ma’a Awards (from Malaysia) also featured a significant amount of tech related organisations in its 15 finalists.

This is not to say that we should not have tech solutions; it is important. In fact, in aspects like building critical infrastructure like Web Services, VPN’s, payment providers (alternatives to Stripe and Paypal), there should be (and is) some impetus to develop systems that don’t replicate the power and wealth hungry, but there exists many organisations that do not rely on tech and should not rely on tech in some instances. Indeed, a rising prevalence of tech usage and dependency for alleviating societal problems contains a high chance of pushing people into loneliness by forcing them to the screen and also causing neurological dependencies that are akin to drug addictions in some cases. To force organisations to showcase their tech proficiency to help receive funding is a pathway we should not adopt without any introspection whatsoever.

Rethinking progress: beyond the ‘Golden Age’ narrative

The problem of the Islamic Golden Age narrative – This is reminiscent of problematic Muslim narratives of ‘The Islamic Golden Age’. We often love professing the glories of scholars like Al Jaber, Ibn al Haytham and Ibn Rushd and many other scholars who engaged in ‘scientific developments’ that are responsible for the enlightenment of Europe.

Two problems are ensconced within this narrative. First, by scrambling to showcase how we had Muslim scientists (even though it is not the same as modern scientists), we are already operating from a space of inadequacy with tech/scientific development as the pinnacle of mankind. We are trying to show to the western world that we had our own scientists as well who seem to be the only people of value. Second, we ignore the polyglot nature of these scholars who weren’t just scientists but also philosophers, social scientists and most importantly Islamic scholars as well. These realities and especially their orientation towards Allah is what pushed them to engage in scientific and other advancements.

This focus on material realities (translated to sole importance on tech solutions to societal issues) is the trap we need to avoid. We have to think outside of money oriented fields and work to subsidise those organisations and figures who are working outside of the tech space such as in spaces like Social Sciences, Islamic Studies and the humanities (perhaps an article for another time). These will be the thinking leaders of the Ummah if we nurture them and these are the people that the enemies often come to attack in the first instance given the awe-inspiring power that the sincere and God fearing among them hold to influence the masses towards goodness and away from Shaytan.

Policy solutions

I don’t want to be a complainer without giving any sort of solution towards this issue so I want to write down a few practical solutions that we could think of and open a conversation on these ideas. After purifying our intentions and seeking help from Allah (without which none of our actions can make any headway), we can think of a few steps that can work.

First, among the most important aspects to make a significant difference would be to deepen our scholarship especially on foundational Islamic principles and issues on modernity. For example, as some one who engages regularly with topics such as secularism, nationalism and other such ideologies stemming from post reformation, it is clear that we have some level of expertise on political ideologies, but much lesser grasp over issues like capitalism, economics and the likes from a critical Islamic lens. Moreover, it is also important to understand how these issues trickle down to daily Muslim practises and avoid capitalist traps (do we really need to pay influencers millions to raise money for Gaza or does that follow capitalist models that come from outside of our religion?).

Second, it is important to take these conversations on ideologies and the depth involved. This is not done with the expectation of making the masses experts in such subjects. It is practically not possible for people reading topics 1 hour a day to develop deep expertise in the same way as someone who dedicates decades of their life towards studying and engaging with these concepts day in and day out. That said, demonstrating the depth required is something that should ideally push people towards supporting such initiatives. Think of how much the Islamophobia industry spends; Al Jazeera estimated it to be around 200 million USD in the 2014-2016 era alone. Are Muslims spending similar amounts towards deep scholarship and dissemination or are we playing catch up and crying victim?

The third step to keep in mind is that the work towards tech solutions and VC startups must continue, but in a more guided fashion. As prominent voices such as Ibrahim Khan from Islamic Finance Guru and Adil, the founder of the boycott app and now VPN have noted, we don’t need another Qur’an App or even a knowledge learning app because we have enough that exist today. What we need is foundational infrastructure that is of benefit to everyone who doesn’t want to engage with an extractive capitalist system. The Buycat VPN is one such good example. VPN’s which were initially developed to avoid surveillance have now been compromised given that most of these companies are now purchased by Israeli linked firms leading to fears of surveillance.

Similarly, developing payment platforms that empower not just Muslims but any community that is often subject to their bank accounts being blocked due to Islamophobic (and also racist) ideologies operating within banking apps is another such important need. These initiatives must continue but growth should not be for the sake of growth alone but rather for the sake of providing ethical alternatives.

The fourth would be to ensure that funders and established organisations could be connected with social service organisations rather than just tech-oriented startups. Mentorship, social media presence, skills and funding should be among the various ways this could be done. One way of facilitating this could be an award ceremony with finalists being given some small funds to help with their operations and logistics or even sustainability. Oftentimes, even 1000 dollars can be the difference between survival and continuity for such organisation.

This is also something that the organisers of different big conferences can think of – is it possible to set up small funds for different initiatives in the next conference which can help support small organisations to grow and sustain over time? For instance, at the GEM summit in Doha, Qatar that I attended, I proposed a book writing grant off the back of an excellent workshop on writing books – many have great ideas and want to write but don’t have the resources required to do the research or hire editors for such work. A small grants scheme could potentially supercharge some of this important work.        

The fifth and likely, one of the most fundamental recommendations would be to orient people – especially community leaders, event organisers and tech founders on the larger spiritual and intellectual underpinnings of what we need to do and how to go about each in our specific fields. For example, as media narratives go, we aren’t here to replicate the nasty practices of the far right. Rather we are invested as Muslims in ensuring that we speak truth because that is our obligation to Allah and that we research and showcase the many social benefits of Islamic practices rather than trying to kowtow to modern liberal narratives (“Brother, the Quran speaks about scientific miracles too”).

Conclusion

In sum, the development of modernity has been long and uneven across the world and has been pervasive in its many ideologies be it Capitalism, Secularism or liberalism (many of which we did not touch upon in this article). These systems are most intensely felt in the West; and while Muslims came over to many parts of the Western world to escape political repression and seek out better economic opportunities, they have not been immune to the many vagaries of modernity that they constantly absorb by dint of being in these lands.

There are a few voices that have tried to speak and make Muslims introspect about these issues, but they are far and few and are often drowned out by loud Muslim influencers and social media celebrities (another major symptom of capitalism – given their hunger to grow audiences by inducing outrage).

There are ways to engage better but it needs to be far more strategic and thoughtful especially when it comes to copying systems that are imported outside of Islamic thought and devoid of any relationship with the creator. May Allah grant baraka to us all, keep us sincere and ensure that we serve him in the best way possible.

Related:

Digital Intimacy: AI Companionship And The Erosion Of Authentic Suhba

BQO: Muhammad Was Right About Debt

The post Muslim Capitalism And The Rise of Tech and VC Culture: Are We Going Down The Technological Lizard Hole? appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

What lies beneath the Haram? Who holds the key to the Ka’bah? Explore the hidden infrastructure, immense wealth, and sacred laws that define modern Makkah.

Part 1  | Part 2  | Part 3

11. The Haram Has Underground Levels

When most people picture Masjid al-Haram, they imagine a single open courtyard surrounding the Ka’bah, filled with worshippers performing tawaf.

Of course, if you’ve been there, you’re aware that there are multiple levels for prayer, and perhaps even that tawaf can be performed on upper floors. But few people realize how much of the Haram exists below ground.

Beneath the marble courtyards and prayer halls lies an extensive underground network that serves as the hidden infrastructure of the masjid. This includes pedestrian tunnels, service corridors, and carefully designed access routes that guide the movement of millions of worshippers. It also includes climate-controlled prayer areas, circulation corridors, and wudu facilities that provide relief from the intense desert heat while allowing the steady flow of people to continue.

There is yet another level below that. Here are found essential systems that most visitors never see. These include water storage and pumping systems, maintenance and service areas, and the infrastructure that supports the distribution of Zamzam. The Zamzam system itself operates largely through underground networks, where water is stored, cooled, treated, and pumped throughout the Haram.

In addition, security services are found underground. These include emergency services stations as well as surveillance stations operated by Saudi security services, which monitor the feeds from the extensive network of cameras around the Haram. This is done to prevent security threats, obviously, but also for the safety of the pilgrims, to prevent overcrowding that could lead to trampling, for example. This security layer also includes holding areas where people may be detained for lost documentation, disturbances and safety violations. This may sound ominous, but it’s normal and expected. At busy times, the Haram contains as many people as a good-sized city. And like any city, it requires police and emergency services.

This subterranean world is not something most pilgrims ever encounter. And yet, without it, the Haram as we know it could not function.

Above ground, the experience is one of openness, light, and movement. Below ground, it is structure, engineering, and control. Together, they form a system capable of supporting one of the largest and most concentrated gatherings of human beings on earth.

Despite the Haram’s size and complexity, the purpose remains simple. Every element of the structure, whether seen or unseen, exists to shelter, sustain, and serve those who come to worship. No matter where you stand within the Haram, whether close to the Ka’bah or deep within its lower levels, you are standing in sacred space.

12. Land in the Central Area of Makkah Is Among the Most Expensive in the World

Ever fantasized about owning a little apartment in Makkah, within sight of the Haram, where you could stay whenever you go to ‘Umrah? Better check your bank balance first. Land in the central area of Makkah, especially within walking distance of the Haram, is among the most valuable real estate on earth.

Across the city as a whole, purchase prices vary widely, but average residential properties range from roughly 5,000 to 15,000 Saudi riyals per square meter ($1,350 to $4,050 USD). In more desirable areas, those figures more than double, depending on proximity to Masjid al-Haram.

Apartments with views of the Haram, particularly in developments like Jabal Omar or the Abraj Al Bait complex, can exceed 3 million riyals (over $810,000 USD). That $810K would likely get you a modest two bedroom 1 bath with a compact kitchen. So yeah, pretty pricey.

This places prime real estate in central Makkah in a range comparable to New York, Paris, or Hong Kong.

Rental prices tell a similar story. While modest apartments farther from the Haram may rent for under 20,000 riyals per year ($5,400 USD), properties closer to the center command far higher prices, especially during Hajj and Ramadan when short-term demand surges dramatically.

Unlike most global cities, however, the value of land in Makkah is not driven primarily by business, finance, or industry. It is driven by proximity to a single point: the Ka’bah.

The closer a building stands to the Haram, the greater its value. Not because of views, amenities, or prestige alone, but because of what it allows. A shorter walk to prayer. More time in worship. Easier access to the sacred spaces.

In this way, the real estate market of Makkah reflects something unique. It is one of the few places in the world where land derives its value not from commerce, but from closeness to ‘ibadah. There is a certain irony in that. But in the end, the masjid is open to everyone, whether they live in a spacious luxury home or a cramped flat. All stand equal before Allah, and none is elevated over another except by taqwa.

13. The Ka’bah’s Covering Is Replaced Every Year

When I was a kid I thought that the Ka’bah itself was made of black stones. It’s not, heh heh. It’s covered in a massive cloth called the Kiswah.

Not only that, the cloth is changed every year.

The Kiswah, which envelopes the Ka’bah, is not merely decorative. It is a symbol of honor, reverence, and continuity, renewed annually as part of a tradition that stretches back to pre-Islamic times and was affirmed by the Prophet ﷺ and maintained by Muslim rulers for over fourteen centuries.

The Kiswah is produced in a specialized facility in Makkah, where skilled artisans work year-round to complete it. It is made of high-quality silk and weighs approximately 650 kilograms. The embroidery alone is substantial, consisting of 120 kilos of gold and silver-plated threads woven into intricate Qur’anic calligraphy.

The cost of producing the Kiswah is estimated at 20 to 25 million Saudi riyals per year ($5 to $7 million USD). Today, it is funded by the Saudi government, continuing a long-standing tradition in which Muslim rulers took responsibility for honoring the House of Allah.

The process is both artistic and deeply symbolic. Panels of cloth are woven, dyed, cut, and then assembled into a single covering that fits the Ka’bah precisely. Each element is measured and crafted with care.

Once a year, on the 9th of Dhul-Hijjah, the Day of ‘Arafah, the old Kiswah is removed and replaced with the new one. The change is carried out with great ceremony. The previous covering is then cut into pieces and distributed as gifts to dignitaries and institutions around the world. Some of these pieces are preserved in museums and collections, where they are treated as historical and sacred artifacts.

To the casual observer, the Ka’bah appears unchanged from year to year. But this quiet renewal is a reminder that even in a place defined by permanence, there is movement, effort, and continual devotion behind what we see.

The Kiswah is not just a cloth. It is a testament to the love, skill, and reverence that generations of Muslims have directed toward the House of Allah.

14. The Keys to the Ka’bah Have Been Held by the Same Family for Over 1,400 Years

Who holds the keys to the Ka’bah?  You would probably guess the king of Saudi Arabia.

Actually, no. It may come as a surprise that the answer is not a ruler, government official, or religious authority. The keys to the Ka’bah have been held by the same family, Banu Shaybah, since before the time of the Prophet ﷺ.

When the Prophet ﷺ entered Makkah at its conquest, he took possession of the Ka’bah and ordered that it be cleansed of idols. At that moment, the question arose as to who would be entrusted with its custodianship.

According to historical reports, Ali ibn Abi Talib suggested that the honor of holding the keys be given to the Prophet’s own clan, Banu Hashim.

However, the entire conquest of Makkah is a story of incredible compassion and forgiveness, and this incident was no exception. The people of Makkah had persecuted the Prophet ﷺ, killed his followers, driven him from his home, and even tried to exterminate his new community. He would have been fully within his rights to take away the honor of holding the keys, and grant it to his own clan, or to one of the honored Muhajireen, perhaps even to one who had been tortured by the Quraysh.

But he was not there to humiliate the Quraysh, lord it over them, or take away their heritage. He was there to bring them into the light of Islam and welcome them as brothers and sisters. So he called for Uthman ibn Talha, who had held the keys before the conquest – and who, in that moment, was still a mushrik – and returned the keys to him, saying:

“Take it, O family of Talha, eternally, until the Day of Judgment. None shall take it from you except an oppressor.”

That trust has endured.

Even in modern times, a specific member of the Banu Talha clan is entrusted with the key. Until recently, this role was held by Dr. Saleh bin Zain Al-Abidin Al-Shaibi, who served as the 109th generation custodian of the Ka’bah in his tribe. He was not only a key holder, but a scholar of Islamic studies and a lecturer at Umm Al-Qura University, reflecting how this role continues to be carried by individuals of knowledge and standing.

After his passing in 2024, he was succeeded by another member of the same family, continuing a chain of custodianship that stretches back more than fifteen centuries.

Over the centuries, the keys themselves have changed. Historical keys from the Abbasid, Mamluk, and especially Ottoman periods still exist today, preserved in museums and collections. Some Ottoman-era keys, dating from the 16th to 19th centuries, are large and heavily ornamented, sometimes over a foot long, engraved with Qur’anic inscriptions and the names of sultans.

I myself saw one once. I had no idea what it was until the exhibit manager told me it was an Ottoman-era key to the Ka’bah. It was much larger than I would have expected. I remember thinking, “If the key is here, how can anyone get in?”

The modern key is very different. It is smaller, simpler, and designed for function rather than display, reflecting the current structure of the Ka’bah door.

Empires have risen and fallen. Dynasties have come and gone. Even the keys themselves have changed in form and design But the trust has not.

To this day, the descendants of one family remain the custodians of the Ka’bah, holding its keys just as their ancestors did at the time of the Prophet ﷺ. It’s interesting that the city of Makkah itself has changed, with ancient sites demolished and overbuilt, but these ancient human links remain unbroken. I think there’s a message there about what matters, and what lasts.

15. Within the Haram, All Life Is Sacred

Within the boundaries of the Haram, life is treated with a level of sanctity that is difficult to find anywhere else in the world.

The Haram is not simply Masjid al-Haram itself. It is a defined sacred territory, established since ancient times, with known boundaries that extend well beyond the masjid into the surrounding valley and hills. Within this entire zone, special rulings apply.

This is not a modern rule. It is an ancient one, established by Allah and affirmed by the Prophet ﷺ. Violence is forbidden. Hunting is forbidden. Even harming animals or cutting down plants without valid reason is prohibited within this sacred precinct.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said:

“This city was made sacred by Allah on the day He created the heavens and the earth. It is sacred by the sanctity of Allah until the Day of Judgment. Its thorns are not to be cut, its game is not to be frightened, and its lost items are not to be picked up except by one who will announce it.”

(Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim)

This does not mean that all human use of the land is forbidden. Farmers may harvest their crops. Gardeners may trim or cultivate plants when there is a legitimate need, such as encouraging growth or preventing harm. But unnecessary destruction is not allowed. No one may simply pluck a leaf, cut a branch, or disturb living things without cause.

Even the smallest forms of harm are restricted. A bird is not to be chased. An animal is not to be struck. A plant is not to be uprooted without need.

Walk through the Haram and you will see what this looks like in practice. Pigeons gather in large numbers, moving calmly among the crowds. Cats roam freely between rows of worshippers. They are not driven away or mistreated. They are part of the environment, protected by the same sanctity that protects the people.

In a place that receives millions of visitors, where movement is constant and space is limited, this creates a remarkable atmosphere. Despite the density and the pressure, there is an underlying expectation of restraint. You lower your voice. You watch your steps. You become conscious of your actions.

Here, the sanctity of life is not an abstract concept. It is lived, observed, and enforced, reminding every visitor that they are standing in a space set apart by Allah Himself. This is a beautiful thing, and fitting for the most sacred space in the world.

This series is complete! I hope you enjoyed reading it. I actually learned several knew things in the process of writing it, and deepened my knowledge of Makkah’s history and the Haram’s secrets. Maybe later I’ll do a “10 more things” follow-up, inshaAllah.

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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:

You Are Perfectly Created

If Not You, Then Who?

The post 15 Things You Didn’t Know About Makkah and the Ka’bah [Part 3] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Discover how to stay spiritually connected after Ramadan by deepening your relationship with Allah through His Beautiful Names.

The Gradual Fade

Ramadan has passed, and as we return to the hustle and bustle of our daily lives, we may begin to notice the focus and consistency we experienced during the blessed month gradually fading. Perhaps we stop praying tahajjud, or forget to read the Quran for a few days, or pass an entire week without visiting the masjid, except for Jum’ah.

During Ramadan, we became more conscious of Allah—more aware of His mercy, more hopeful in His forgiveness, and more observant to His presence. Our days were shaped by fasting, our nights illuminated by prayer, and our hearts were tranquil with the remembrance of Allah.

As we return to the rhythm of everyday life, the challenge before us is to preserve the awareness of Allah that Ramadan nurtured within us. Ramadan was never meant to be restricted to a single month; rather, it was meant to cultivate a lasting consciousness of Allah that continues to guide our hearts long after the month has passed.

Allah calls us in the Qur’an to reflect:

“O mankind! What has deceived you concerning your Lord, the Most Generous?” (Qur’an 82:6)

This verse invites us to pause and ponder over the nature of our relationship with Allah. In the busyness of everyday life, we can become consumed with responsibilities and distractions, yet as believers we are continuously called to reconnect with our Lord with awareness, humility, and hope. Our connection to Allah is not meant to fluctuate with changing circumstances; rather, it is meant to remain a constant source of guidance and stability.

Reconnecting to Allah Through His Names

One of the greatest ways Allah has made Himself known to us is through His Beautiful and Majestic Names. Allah says:

“To Allah belong the most beautiful names, so call upon Him by them.” (Qur’an 7:180)

Through His Names, Allah makes Himself known to us as the Most Merciful, the Most Generous, the All-Knowing, the Most Gentle, the One who forgives, the One who guides, the One who restores what is broken, and the One who is always close to those who call upon Him.

It is through His Beautiful and Majestic Names that we feel His presence in moments of strength and in moments of weakness, in times of clarity and in times of uncertainty. One of the best ways we remain connected to Allah beyond Ramadan is by knowing Him and living with His Beautiful Names.

Al-Ghaffār & Al-Ghafūr — The One Who Forgives

When a person recognises that Allah is Al-Ghaffār and Al-Ghafūr — the One who forgives repeatedly, and whose mercy is vast beyond measure— the heart finds reassurance that returning to Allah is always possible. No matter how many times a person stumbles, the door to Allah’s forgiveness remains open.

Allah reassures us in the Qur’an:

“Do not despair of the mercy of Allah. Indeed, Allah forgives all sins.” (Qur’an 39:53)

The Prophet ﷺ reminded us:

“All of the children of Adam sin, and the best of those who sin are those who repent.” (Tirmidhi)

These reminders teach us that mistakes are not barriers between us and Allah; rather, they can become means of turning back to Him with greater sincerity and humility. Knowing Allah as Al-Ghaffār and Al-Ghafūr allows us to move forward with hope, trusting that Allah’s mercy is always greater than our shortcomings.

As human beings, we are prone to error, yet we are never taught to despair of Allah’s mercy. Rather, we are reminded that Allah loves those who turn to Him in repentance. Allah says:

“Indeed, Allah loves those who constantly repent.” (Qur’an 2:222)

Knowing Allah as Al-Ghaffār and Al-Ghafūr reassures the heart that even when we fall short, the door to our Lord remains open, and His mercy is always greater than our sins.

Al-Qarīb — The One Who Is Near

Another way we remain connected to Allah is through recognising that He is Al-Qarīb — the One who is always near. Even when Ramadan has passed, the believer is reminded that closeness to Allah is not restricted to a particular time or place.

Allah says:

“When My servants ask you concerning Me, indeed I am near.” (Qur’an 2:186)

This verse reminds us that Allah’s nearness is constant. Whether we turn to Him in remembrance, in duʿā’, or in moments of quiet reflection, we are reminded that Allah is fully aware of us and always listens.

Knowing that Allah is near encourages us to continue turning to Him consistently, allowing the connection nurtured in Ramadan to continue throughout our lives.

Allah’s Nearness in Times of Hardship

This awareness of Allah’s nearness was deeply rooted in the life of the Prophet ﷺ. During the Hijrah, when the Prophet ﷺ and Abu Bakr were hiding in the cave while being pursued, Abu Bakr feared that they would be found. The Prophet ﷺ reassured him with words that continue to bring comfort to believers:

“Do not grieve; indeed Allah is with us.” (Qur’an 9:40)

The Prophet ﷺ also experienced Allah’s nearness in moments of deep hardship. After being rejected in Ṭā’if, he turned to Allah with a heartfelt supplication, expressing his weakness and complete reliance upon his Lord. In this moment of deep pain and rejection, the Prophet ﷺ demonstrated that even when people abandon us, Allah is always near and fully aware of every struggle.

These moments remind us that the believer is never without support. The One who was near to the Prophet ﷺ in the cave, and near to him in Ṭā’if, remains near to those of us who turn to Him today.

Knowing Allah as Al-Qarīb transforms how we experience difficulty. In moments of loneliness, we are reminded that we are not alone. In moments of uncertainty, we find comfort in knowing that Allah is aware of every difficulty we are facing. Turning to Allah regularly nurtures a sense of reassurance, strengthening the believer’s trust that Allah is always present and attentive.

Al-Hādī — The One Who Guides

As we continue seeking closeness to Allah, we also acknowledge our need for guidance. The quest to remain consistent and sincere often brings an awareness that the heart requires guidance in order to stay firm. In these moments, we turn to Allah as Al-Hādī — the One who guides hearts and gently leads us towards what is good.

The Prophet ﷺ would frequently supplicate:

“O Turner of hearts, keep my heart firm upon Your religion.”

This supplication reminds us that steadfastness is not attained through our own efforts alone; rather, it is a gift from Allah. The believer therefore continues to seek His guidance, asking Allah to keep the heart sincere, firm, and aligned with what is pleasing to Him.

Knowing Allah as Al-Hādī reassures us that guidance is ongoing. Allah continues to guide those who turn to Him, opening paths for growth, strengthening faith, and nurturing a deeper awareness of Him.

Through these Beautiful and Majestic Names, we begin to understand that our relationship with Allah is not confined to a particular time or season. Rather, every stage of life becomes an opportunity to know Him more deeply and to strengthen our connection with Him.

Turning to Allah Through Duʿā

Recognising Allah through His Beautiful and Majestic Names naturally transforms the way we turn to Him. The more we come to know Allah as the One who forgives, the One who is near, and the One who guides, the more our hearts learn to rely upon Him. The believer does not merely learn the Names of Allah, but lives through them—calling upon Allah with hope, humility, and trust.

The Prophet ﷺ reminded us that duʿā’ is worship. One of the most powerful expressions of our connection to Allah is to call upon Him through the very Names by which He has made Himself known to us.

Use These Duʿās

O Allah, allow our hearts to remain connected to You beyond Ramadan. Do not allow the sweetness of drawing near to You to fade from our hearts, and do not allow us to return to heedlessness after You have allowed us to taste the sweetness of closeness to You.

O Allah, You are Al-Ghaffār and Al-Ghafūr, the One who forgives again and again, whose mercy encompasses all shortcomings. Forgive us for our mistakes and do not allow our sins to distance us from You. Let our shortcomings become a means of returning to You with humility, sincerity, and hope.

O Allah, You are Al-Qarīb, the One who is near. Allow us to feel Your nearness in our lives, and make us among those who remember You often. When we feel distracted or distant, gently bring our hearts back to You.

O Allah, You are Al-Hādī, the One who guides hearts. Keep our hearts firm upon Your guidance, and allow the sincerity we experienced in Ramadan to continue shaping our intentions, our actions, and our choices.

O Allah, allow this journey to You to continue throughout our lives. Strengthen our remembrance of You, increase us in awareness of You, and draw our hearts closer to You through Your Beautiful and Majestic Names.

Āmīn, Allāhumma Āmīn.

Related:

What Shaykh Muhammad Al Shareef Taught Us About Making Dua

Du’a: The Weapon of the Believer

The post Beyond Ramadan: Connecting to Allah Through His Beautiful and Majestic Names appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Explore lesser known facts about Makkah, from the 1979 uprising and global migrant workforce to the loss of historic sites and the miraculous flow of Zamzam.

Read Part 1

6. The Ka’bah Was Seized in a Modern Armed Uprising

People sometimes imagine Makkah existing outside of history. It is seen as a place of peace, stability, and timeless ibadah. But Makkah has experienced moments of profound upheaval, including in the modern era.

I know this from personal experience. I went to ‘Umrah in early 1980, when I was a young teenager, and was stunned to see the minarets of Masjid Al-Haram heavily damaged by artillery fire and bullets. There were bullet holes in the Ka’bah itself, and Zamzam in particular was a mess, with the ground and walls chewed up by weapons fire.

Say what? You haven’t heard about this before? It’s surprising how few Muslims are aware of this incident. It began on the morning of November 20, 1979, the first day of the Islamic year 1400. An armed group of 200 men led by Juhayman al-Otaybi seized Masjid al-Haram. The militants smuggled weapons into the sanctuary, locked the gates, and declared that one of their members was the Mahdi whose coming was predicted by the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. Thousands of worshippers were trapped inside.

The militants believed that an army would come to defeat the Mahdi, and Allah would cause the earth to open up and swallow them, whereupon the Mahdi would usher in an Islamic golden age.

That is not what happened.

What followed was a tense and violent standoff that lasted for approximately two weeks. Saudi forces initially struggled to retake the masjid. Fighting inside the sacred precinct was unprecedented and deeply shocking to the Muslim world.

Smoke rises during the battle for Masjid Al-Haram in November 1979.

Eventually, the Saudi authorities regained control. Reports from multiple sources indicate that specialized assistance was brought in, including support from Pakistani forces. There was also controversy surrounding the involvement of French advisors. Because non-Muslims are not permitted to enter the Haram, it was stated that those involved formally converted to Islam before participating, though details vary across accounts.

The rebels made their last stand in Zamzam, and were eventually rooted out. 117 rebels were killed in the battle, 69 were executed, and 19 received jail sentences.

Without diminishing the horror of that event, I will say that although I was surprised to see the damage wrought upon the masjid, that is not what impressed me the most. Rather, I will never forget praying in front of the Ka’bah, seeing knots of Quran students gathered in circles, worshipers praying quietly, cats freely roaming the grounds, and eating the best shawarma sandwich of my life across the street from the masjid.

Across centuries and empires, beyond strife and struggle, the house of Allah still stands. The religion of Allah is still practiced, and people still come from all over the world to perform the rites taught to us by our Prophet ﷺ.

7. Makkah Produces Almost No Food

Makkah has never been a place of agriculture.

In the Qur’an, Prophet Ibrahim makes a dua as he leaves his family in the valley of Makkah:

“Our Lord, I have settled some of my descendants in a valley without cultivation near Your Sacred House…” (14:37)

This is not poetic language. It is a literal description. Makkah is a barren valley, surrounded by rocky hills, with little capacity for farming.

Historically, this shaped everything about the city. The people of Makkah could not rely on agriculture for survival. Instead, they turned to trade. The great caravan journeys of Quraysh, to Yemen in the winter and Syria in the summer, were not simply a means of wealth, but of necessity. Food, goods, and supplies had to be brought in from elsewhere.

Unlike Madinah, which had date groves and agriculture, Makkah depended on what it could import.

In this, very little has changed.

A cold storage food warehouse in Saudi Arabia.

Today, Makkah still produces almost no food of its own. Yet it feeds millions of residents and pilgrims every year. Food arrives constantly, transported across vast distances. Nearly two million tons of rice are imported into Saudi Arabia from South Asia each year, along with meat from Brazil, produce from Egypt and Jordan, grains from the USA and Europe, and so on. During Hajj alone, hundreds of thousands of tons of food are consumed, supplied through a vast global network.

It might seem strange that a barren valley with no natural resources should become the spiritual center of a global religion. Yet that very barrenness protected Makkah historically. Unlike other regions of Arabia, it was not conquered by the Romans or Persians, for why invade a land without resources?

As a result, Islam emerged among a people who were independent, resilient, and unruled by imperial authority. There was no empire to overthrow and no central government to dismantle. When Islam came, it did not replace a system. It built one.

As always, Allah guides events according to a wisdom that we do not see.

8. Makkah Is Overwhelmingly a City of Outsiders

At any given time, 40 to 50 percent of Makkah’s residents are non-citizens.

Every year, that number swells dramatically as millions of pilgrims arrive to perform Hajj and ‘Umrah. But beyond the pilgrims, there is another population that is less visible but just as essential.

Like many global cities that depend on migrant labor, Makkah’s population includes people from a wide range of backgrounds. This includes Indonesian and Malaysian hotel staff, Pakistani and Bangladeshi construction workers, Yemeni and Syrian shopkeepers, Egyptian and Sudanese teachers and administrators, and African and South Asian drivers and service workers.

Some come with professional skills and build stable lives. Others work long hours in low-wage jobs that are essential to the functioning of the city. Construction workers labor in intense heat. Cleaners and maintenance staff work overnight shifts to keep the Haram and surrounding areas spotless. Drivers spend long hours on the road moving pilgrims from place to place.

Many of these laborers live in shared or crowded housing, and their legal status is often tied to their employers, limiting their ability to change jobs or leave the country without permission. Their circumstances are often demanding and even oppressive, to such a degree that human rights organizations have reported on this issue.

These working conditions are common in all the Gulf nations. Without these workers, these oil-rich nations could not survive. Yet is it too much to ask for justice in the holy lands of Islam?

Migrant laborers in Saudi Arabia

Walk through the streets of Makkah and you will hear Urdu, Bahasa Indonesia, Hausa, Turkish, Arabic in many dialects, and dozens of other languages.

In this sense, Makkah is not a typical city. It does not belong to a single people or culture. It is a meeting place of the Ummah.

9. The Expansion of the Haram Has Erased Entire Neighborhoods

Over the past century, the expansion of the Haram and the redevelopment of central Makkah have led to the demolition of entire neighborhoods.

Obviously, as the population grows, the city must grow. However, many historically significant sites associated with the earliest period of Islam have disappeared.

Among the sites that have been lost are the home of Khadijah bint Khuwaylid, where the Prophet ﷺ lived for many years, as well as Dar al-Arqam, one of the earliest places where Islam was taught in secret, which now lies within the expanded structure of Masjid al-Haram. The house associated with Abu Bakr al-Siddiq is also reported to have been built over as part of a hotel development.

Nor is this limited to the earliest Islamic period. The Ajyad Fortress, an Ottoman-era citadel that stood for over two centuries overlooking the Haram, was demolished in 2002 to make way for the Abraj Al Bait complex, whose towers now dominate the skyline above the sanctuary.

The Ajyad Fortress, built in 1777 by the Ottomans, was demolished in 2002.

Entire districts that once surrounded the Haram have been cleared and replaced with hotels, commercial centers, and infrastructure designed to accommodate the growing number of pilgrims.

The result is that many physical traces of early Islamic history are no longer visible or accessible. Heritage organizations and historians have repeatedly raised concerns about the pace and scale of redevelopment in Makkah, noting that the loss of these sites represents an irreversible break with the physical legacy of early Islam.

This raises an important question. When you visit Makkah, would you rather see the places where the sahabah lived and walked, or rows of generic hotels that could stand in any city?

This does not mean that all traces of early Islamic history have vanished. Important sites such as Jabal al-Nour, where the first revelation descended, and Jabal Thawr, where the Prophet ﷺ and Abu Bakr al-Siddiq (ra) took refuge during the Hijrah, still stand. The plains of Mina, Arafat, and Muzdalifah continue to host the rites of Hajj as they have for centuries. And at the center of it all, the Ka’bah remains, unchanged in its significance, drawing millions of hearts toward it every year.

Even so, what has been lost cannot be replaced. And what remains should remind us of the importance of preserving what we still have.

10. Zamzam: A Well That Has Flowed for Thousands of Years

In a barren valley with no natural rivers or agriculture, one of the most remarkable features of Makkah is a single well that has sustained life for thousands of years.

The well of Zamzam, located within Masjid al-Haram, has flowed continuously since the time of Ibrahim عليه السلام and his son Ismail عليه السلام. According to Islamic tradition, when Hajar was left in the desert with her infant son, she ran desperately between the hills of Safa and Marwah in search of water. In response to her faith and perseverance, Allah caused water to spring forth from the ground beneath Ismail’s feet.

That spring became Zamzam.

To this day, the well continues to produce water at a rate estimated between 11 and 18.5 liters per second. It supplies millions of pilgrims every year, yet it has never run dry.

Modern studies have found that Zamzam water is naturally filtered through layers of rock and sand, and contains a distinct mineral composition. But beyond the physical explanation lies something greater. For over four thousand years, this well has continued to flow in one of the driest regions on earth, sustaining a city that produces almost no water of its own. Is this anything but a miracle? It is a sign from the signs of Allah, and a blessing to the children of Ibrahim.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ highlighted Zamzam’s special status. As reported by Ibn Abbas:

“The best water on the face of the earth is Zamzam water. In it is food for nourishment and healing for illness.”

By the way, if you’ve never been to Makkah, you might imagine Zamzam as an old fashioned well with a bucket going up and down. Or a spring, with water pouring from a mountainside. That was what I thought before my first visit as a teenager. That was true in the past, but Zamzam is now controlled through a modern water system. The water is treated using standard methods, then channelled through pipes. But it’s the same blessed water.

In fact, for the believer, Zamzam is more than water. It is a reminder that provision comes from Allah in ways that defy expectation. In a place where survival should have been impossible, Allah placed a source of life that has endured across millennia.

Every cup of Zamzam carries that history.

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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:

You Are Perfectly Created

If Not You, Then Who?

The post 15 Things You Didn’t Know About Makkah and the Ka’bah [Part 2] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A widening Middle East war is toppling leaders, devastating economies, and leaving millions caught in a humanitarian catastrophe.

By Ibrahim Moiz for MuslimMatters

Israel Broadens Its Murderous Assaults

Twenty days into the American-Israeli war on Iran, the conflict has widened to engulf much of the Gulf region as well as the Levant. The Iranian backlash, firing both at Israel and at American targets in the Gulf region and blocking off the crucial straits that lead out of the eponymous Gulf, has crippled international trade and put the Gulf regimes in serious jeopardy.

Israel has added to its genocide of Gaza a murderous assault on Palestinians in the West Bank and yet another brutal invasion of Lebanon. Iraqi militias, which have historically had strong links with both the United States and Iran since the 2003 invasion, have clearly opted for the latter. And finally, the leaderships of both Iran and Israel seem to have taken a hit; longstanding Iranian potentate Ali Ardeshir-Larijani, whose conspicuous defiance of Israel put a target on his back, was killed, while Israel’s prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu-Mileikowsky vanished amid an Iranian missile salvo, with rumors of his possible elimination.

Deadly Deja Vu in Lebanon

As MuslimMatters noted two years ago, Israel has long sought to widen the war to include its regional rival Iran, which it has wrongly blamed for masterminding Palestinian militancy; in fact, Palestinian resistance has continued over the past twenty or so years despite fluctuating links with Iran.

By contrast, the largely Shia militias in Iraq and Lebanon do have close links with Tehran and responded to the provocative American-Israeli attack on Iran by attacking, respectively, American and Israeli targets. In the case of Iraq, this was especially ironic because the militias had historically been involved with both the United States and Iran.

n the case of Lebanon, Hezbollah’s attacks gave the lie to Israeli triumphalism from autumn 2024, which declared the militia essentially knocked out after its founding leaders were killed off along with large numbers of civilians in the Israeli assault of the period. Gloating coverage, not only from Israel but from much of the European and North American press, about Israel’s technological prowess and checkmate seems to have been woefully premature.

Lebanon’s Fragile Political Balance

The 2024 Israeli attack ushered in what was widely seen as a pro-American government in Lebanon, with former army commander Joseph Aoun in the presidency and Nawaf Salam as prime minister; in accordance with American wishes, the Lebanese government had distanced itself from Hezbollah even as Israel’s repeated provocations in the south made such a stance increasingly tenuous. Always close to Tehran, Hezbollah responded to Israel’s attacks on Iran with its own salvo, prompting the Israeli army to wade north into Lebanon yet again.

Echoes of the 2006 War

In one respect, the 2025–26 shift in Lebanon resembles events twenty years earlier, when a pro-American cabinet voted in during 2005 was subsequently left high and dry when Israel invaded the south in 2006. It was during that war that Israel coined the so-called “Dahiye doctrine,” named for the suburb that it attacked, as a euphemism for an unabashedly brutal assault of the sort that so often typifies Israeli warfare; the same suburb is under attack today.

In 2006, Hezbollah enormously bolstered its prestige by withstanding a pointedly vicious Israeli assault; while 2026 finds Hezbollah generally weaker, it may be expected that it will recover its reputation as defender of Lebanese integrity against a murderous neighbor that has already displaced a fifth of the Lebanese population and used internationally banned weapons such as white phosphorus.

The Gulf between Rhetoric and Reality: America’s Persian Quagmire

If Israel is enjoying another bloody caper in Lebanon, straits are more dire elsewhere. The Gulf states were exposed to their own vulnerability, and the drawbacks of significant American bases, when Iran fired on them. More worrying for the United States, and certainly for Donald Trump’s scrambling regime, is the Iranian chokehold on shipping that exits the Gulf through a strait whence a fifth of the world’s oil supply is shipped.

Ships in the Strait of Hormuz

The ease with which Iran could block the strait was one factor why previous American governments, even the most rabidly pro-Israel among them, had balked at entering the full-scale war with Iran that Israel had constantly advocated. In Trump, a triumphalist dangerously emboldened by his bullying treatment of Venezuela this winter, the Israeli regime seems to have found its man: a braggadocious oaf glad to blunder into a war whose risks he cared not to comprehend, and drag the region down with his fortunes.

Washington’s Scramble

Barely a fortnight after gloating over the ease with which he eliminated Iran’s leadership, Trump and his similarly incompetent military supremo Peter Hegseth, a bloodthirsty buffoon who has constantly branded his wars as crusades against Muslims but balked whenever he receives reminders of the planning and risks such wars actually entail, are scrambling for excuses. Most recently, Trump has lashed out at more cautious Western states for what he sees as insufficient help; this while many European governments, together with Canada and Australia, dutifully condemned Iran’s retaliations, with some even having been involved in the war’s logistics.

Shattered Illusions in the Gulf

While Iran’s strikes toward the Gulf have caused controversy—even Hamas, which has good relations with several Gulf regimes and has been at the frontline of the defense against Israel, advised Tehran to save its ammunition for the enemy—Iranian officials like longstanding regime eminence Ali Ardeshir-Larijani and foreign minister Abbas Araghchi insisted that these exclusively targeted American sites. Whatever the case, the comfortable illusion of Gulf immunity from regional strife, protected under an American military canopy, has been well and truly shattered.

An Iranian Stalwart

Larijani was one of many Iranian leaders to defiantly march in public after the American-Israeli bombardment killed hundreds and draped Tehran in an inferno. He has frequently been described, if with some exaggeration, as Iran’s most powerful leader. This is an exaggeration; Mojtaba Khamenei replaced his slain father Ali as Iran’s supremo this month, while Masoud Pezeshkian leads a triumvirate with at least symbolic importance—but it does accurately reflect Larijani’s longstanding centrality in the Iranian system.

Ali Ardeshir-Larijani

The son of cleric Hashim Ardeshir, Ali Ardeshir-Larijani had one brother, Sadegh, who was a chief justice throughout the 2010s, and another, Javad, who deputized for the judiciary. His father-in-law was Morteza Motahhari, who had co-founded the clerical republic in the 1979 revolution, and his maternal cousin Ahmed Tavakkoli, a conservative former minister and presidential runner-up. Like many Iranian leaders, Ali had both an activist and an intellectual background, having studied and written on European philosophy before becoming a generally conservative statist in Iranian politics. His many roles in the Iranian regime since the 1980s included, most prominently, serving as parliamentary speaker through the 2010s.

Defiance and Death

A stalwart of the Iranian state, Ali had immediately responded to the American-Israeli aggression with pointed, acerbic defiance and chided other Muslim countries for insufficient solidarity. Remarkably, given the blaze that Hegseth had unleashed upon Tehran, he also took to the streets in an enormous protest, featuring many Iranian citizens and leaders alike, remarkable for its lack of fear. It was perhaps no surprise when he was killed. Also slain was Gholam-Reza Soleimani, who led Iran’s paramilitary security and had been a soldier since his teen years in the 1980s Gulf war against Iraq.

Dead or Alive?

Many Iranian leaders, then, have been killed in the last year, but given the notoriously leery nature of their Israeli counterparts, it came as more of a shock when Benjamin Netanyahu-Mileikowsky, the genocidal arsonist who had lit the region ablaze and for decades incited American wars throughout the Muslim world to complement his own, disappeared amid a hail of Iranian missiles. Eventually, videos resurfaced that purported to show him alive at a café, but these videos had an eerily uncanny appearance that raised wide-ranging suspicions that they had been generated by artificial intelligence technology. These suspicions were so widespread that they even made their way into American newspapers that have become notorious for their partiality toward Israel. Whatever the truth of the matter, it is perhaps fitting that a murderous dissembler whose career has been based on lies and mass murder now has doubts raised about his purported proof of life.

Ground Zero in Palestine

What will doubtless cheer up the Israeli regime is that their wars with Iran, Lebanon, and other countries have diverted attention from Palestine. This month, the Israeli military and settlers set about attacking the West Bank, an area where Hamas is almost absent but which has long been a target of ethnic cleansing efforts. They descended in an orgy of violence, burning dwellings while lynching and expelling Palestinians. The Aqsa Mosque, Islam’s third holiest site, which Israel’s ruling party has often threatened to excavate, has been shut off entirely by Hisham Ibrahim, its ironically named Israeli prefect.

Collapse of the Ceasefire

Meanwhile, any pretense of a ceasefire in Gaza, about which Trump made such a boastful song and dance, has long since reached the point of sick parody. Hundreds of Palestinians have been killed since, and the blockade has tightened to the point that the vast majority of basic goods have been shut off. In characteristic dissimulation, the Israeli regime claims that Gaza has a surplus; in fact, according to independent reports, less than a third of the strip’s basic needs were met before the blockade again tightened.

Dr. Alaa Talks About Life Under Siege

MuslimMatters managed to get in touch with Doctor Alaa, a Palestinian radiologist who has been raising his toddler son alone since his wife was killed in the genocide and has taken on the burden of several orphans whom he has helped shelter and fund since.

Gaza orphans

Alaa and his wife had originally taken in three families, but she and the other parents were killed in an Israeli attack, leaving him to raise their children. Though straitened circumstances mean that he directly supports three orphans as well as his son, he continues to fund the other orphans, who are living with other Palestinians, with the assistance of donations.

The doctor’s tone in general was despondent, but he gave a succinct, if dispiriting, summary of life under siege: “staying together in a tent without any income and without any dreams that we can leave this place as soon as possible.”

The ceasefire, he noted, had only slightly abated the rate of Israeli bombardment: “The situation since ceasefire is same, maybe it’s worse for the daily living…every day they strike somewhere…the siege around Gaza, they’re still surrounding Gaza, and most of the goods are not allowed to come in.”

“The People in Gaza Feel More Suffering Now”

Food and shelter are terribly low. “They stopped providing the food for people,” Dr. Alaa said, , and long time ago they stopped providing the tents for people. From my experience, I couldn’t get a tent easily, and lastly, when the storm starts, all the tents are destroyed.”

Israel’s unprovoked attack on other countries has not eased the situation. “The situation since Iran war is really very bad, because the fuel, the prices, the goods, all jump,” Dr. Alaa explained. “The people in Gaza feel more suffering now, because they don’t have any income and the siege is still very strong around Gaza.” One side effect of the Iran war was to help Israel divert attention from the genocide in Gaza. “So the people here feel that they are all alone and everybody abandoned Gaza.”

Related:

Genocidal Israel Escalates With Assault On Iran

Op-Ed: From Pakistan To Gaza – Why Senator Mushtaq Ahmad Khan Terrifies Power And Zionism

 

The post Widening Wars Leave the Middle East in Shambles appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

From exile and rebellion to trade, transformation, and mercy, explore surprising facts about Makkah you may never have heard.

A Complex History

Most of us think we know Makkah. It is the holiest city in Islam, the direction of our prayers, and the destination of Hajj. We picture the Ka’bah surrounded by worshippers, the call to prayer echoing through the sacred precinct.

But beneath that familiar image lies a history that is far more complex, and at times surprising. Makkah has been a place of upheaval and renewal, of trade and transformation, of loss, resilience, and immense mercy.

Here are fifteen things you may not know about Makkah and the Ka’bah.

1. The descendants of Ismail were once driven out of Makkah

As you may know, after Hajar and Ismail were blessed with the water of zamzam, a passing Yemeni tribe settled in the oasis. This tribe was called Jurhum. Ismail married into Jurhum, and from their descendants came several Arab tribes, including the Quraysh.

You may have thought that the descendants of Prophet Ismail (as) remained in the valley of Bakkah (which became Makkah) continuously until the time of our Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. That is not the case.

Classical sources describe Jurhum’s rule over Makkah as lasting many generations, and possibly centuries, before their decline. As one traditional account states:

“When the misdeeds of Jurhum in the sacred land grew worse… Khuza’a arose against them… and expelled them from the Ka’bah.” (Al Bidaayah Wan Nahaayah, Ibn Kathir).

Their offenses are described in stark terms: mistreatment of pilgrims, misuse of the sanctuary’s wealth, and violations of its sanctity. Another early account notes that they began to ill-treat visitors to the Sacred House and unlawfully appropriate its resources, provoking resentment and ultimately rebellion.

The tribe of Khuzaa’, which had settled nearby after migrating from Yemen, led the uprising. After defeating Jurhum, they expelled them from Makkah and assumed control of the Ka’bah. Some reports state that Jurhum, upon their expulsion, buried treasures in the Zamzam well before departing.

But the transformation did not end there.

During the rule of Khuzaa’, a deeper shift took place – this time in religion. According to Ibn Ishaq and later scholars such as Ibn Kathir, their leader ‘Amr ibn Luhayy traveled to the Levant, where he encountered the idol worship of the powerful Amalkites. Impressed by what he saw, he brought back an idol called Hubal and placed it near the Ka’bah, instructing the people to venerate it. This was the first appearance of idol worship in Arabia.

Ibn Ishaq records that ‘Amr:

“brought back with him an idol called Hubal and set it up in the Ka’bah, commanding the people to worship it.”

Over time, this opened the door to widespread idol worship in Makkah, with idols multiplying in and around the sanctuary.

Khuzaa’s rule lasted for several centuries before the Quraysh rose to prominence and took control of Makkah in the 5th century CE, restoring custodianship of the Ka’bah to the lineage of Ismail.

What makes this episode so striking is not merely the shift in power, but the reason for it. Custodianship of the Sacred House was never guaranteed. It could be lost through corruption, injustice, and the betrayal of the sanctity it was meant to protect. That is something for the current custodians of the holy land to reflect upon.

2. The Ka’bah has been rebuilt and reshaped throughout history

Many people assume that the Ka’bah standing today is exactly the same structure built by Prophet Ibrahim and his son Ismail. In reality, the Ka’bah has been rebuilt multiple times over the centuries.

According to early historians such as Ibn Ishaq, one of the most significant reconstructions occurred when the Quraysh rebuilt the Ka’bah shortly before the prophethood of Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. The structure had been weakened and badly damaged, first by a conflagration that spread from a cooking fire, then by a flood. However, resources – particularly timber – were limited. As a result, they reduced its size and left a portion of the original foundation outside the walls (and, as you likely know, the Prophet ﷺ himself replaced the black stone in its niche).

This area is known today as the Hijr of Ismail.

When the Messenger of Allah ﷺ conquered Makkah, he considered restoring the Ka’bah to the full footprint built by Ibrahim, but decided against it, as he himself explained to Aishah in an authentic narration:

“Were it not that your people are recent converts to Islam, I would have demolished the Ka’bah and rebuilt it on the foundation of Ibrahim, and I would have included the Hijr within it.”
(Sahih al-Bukhari)

The Ka’bah was rebuilt again in the first Islamic century by Abdullah ibn al-Zubayr after it was damaged during conflict. Aware of the Prophet’s ﷺ statement, he expanded the Ka’bah to include the Hijr and added a second door at ground level.

However, this change did not last. When the Umayyads regained control, the Ka’bah was altered once more and returned to the earlier Quraysh design.

Even after this, the question remained. Should the Ka’bah be restored to the original foundation of Ibrahim?

During the Abbasid period, Khalifah Harun al-Rashid considered doing exactly that. He consulted Imam Malik ibn Anas, one of the great scholars of Madinah.

Imam Malik advised against it, saying:

“I fear that the Ka’bah will become a plaything for the rulers.”

In other words, if each ruler altered the structure according to his own judgment, the Ka’bah would be repeatedly changed, losing its stability and dignity.

The khalifah accepted this advice, and the structure has remained unchanged since.

In the end, it is not the stones and mortar of the Ka’bah that are sacred, but the site itself. It is the first house of Allah on the earth, and Allah is its protector.

3. The Black Stone was stolen and missing for decades

In the year 930 CE, one of the most shocking attacks in Islamic history took place. A radical sect known as the Qarmatians attacked Makkah during the Hajj season.

The Qarmatians were a militant movement based in eastern Arabia, in the region of Bahrain and al-Ahsa. Classical historians such as al-Tabari and Ibn Kathir describe them as a deviant Ismaili Shiah sect that rejected the Abbasid caliphate and held contempt for mainstream Islam. Under their leader Abu Tahir al-Jannabi, they launched a raid on Makkah, overwhelming its defenders and committing atrocities within the Haram itself.

Pilgrims were killed in large numbers, and the sanctity of the Sacred Mosque was violated. Some historical reports state that bodies were left in the precinct and even cast into the well of Zamzam.

Ibn Kathir records:

“They took the Black Stone and carried it away to their land, and the people were prevented from Hajj for many years.”

The Black Stone was removed and taken to al-Ahsa. It is said that the Qarmations shattered it – although, to be fair, there are also claims that the damage was done centuries earlier, when the Umayyads catapulted missiles at the Ka’bah to try to kill Abdullah ibn Az-Zubayr. Allah knows best.

For more than twenty years, the Black Stone remained with the Qarmatians.

Eventually, in 951 CE, the Stone was returned to Makkah. The exact circumstances of its return are unclear. Some sources suggest political pressure or negotiations. What is certain is that it was restored to its place after more than two decades.

Today, the Black Stone is no longer a single intact piece. It consists of several fragments, set into the Ka’bah and held together within a silver frame by means of a dark resin. Anyone who has seen it up close can observe that it is composed of multiple joined pieces.

This history, however, should not trouble the believer or shake one’s faith in any way.

The Black Stone, though it is said to be a stone from Jannah, is not an object of worship, nor is it central to the fundamentals of Islam. Touching or kissing it is not a requirement of Hajj or Umrah. It is an act of reverence, not obligation.

Our religion does not depend on the physical state of any object.

If the Messenger of Allah ﷺ himself could pass away and leave this world, and the religion of Islam could continue, intact and growing, then the damage or fragmentation of a stone does not affect the truth or strength of our faith.

What this event shows is something else entirely. Even the most sacred objects in Islam have passed through moments of trial. Yet their meaning, and the devotion they inspire, have endured.

4. Makkah was once a major trading hub

If you have visited Makkah’s modern malls, such as the Abraj Al Bait complex or the shopping centers surrounding the Haram, you may think of it as a city of commerce. And in a sense, it is. Its economy today benefits heavily from serving millions of visitors each year.

Abraj Al Bait mall in Makkah

But Makkah was once much more than that.

Long before Islam, it was an international trading hub.

Situated along key caravan routes linking southern Arabia with the Levant, the city became a vital stop for merchants transporting spices, leather goods, textiles, and incense. The Quraysh built their wealth and influence through these trade networks.

This commercial role is alluded to in the Qur’an itself:

“For the accustomed security of Quraysh. Their accustomed security in the caravan of winter and summer…”
(Surat Quraysh 106:1–2)

Classical commentators such as Ibn Kathir explain that these verses refer to the regular trade journeys of Quraysh, who traveled north to Syria in the summer and south to Yemen in the winter, establishing economic prosperity and political alliances.

This trade brought immense wealth to certain Makkan families. Among them was Abdullah ibn Jud’an, founder of the Hilf Al-Fudool, who became famous for his generosity and scale of wealth. Historical reports describe him sending thousands of camels laden with food aid to famine-stricken regions such as Syria.

SubhanAllah. Imagine a desert Arab from a small and remote town, sending such vast aid to lands under the Roman Empire.

This also helps explain the immense wealth later possessed by some of the Sahabah, such as Abdurrahman ibn Awf and Uthman ibn Affan (Allah be pleased with them).

Ibn Ishaq and other early historians describe how Makkah’s status as a sanctuary contributed to its success. Because fighting was prohibited within the sacred precinct, the city functioned as a neutral zone where tribes could meet, trade, and negotiate safely.

In this way, religion and commerce became intertwined. The Ka’bah drew pilgrims, and pilgrims brought trade. This was the world into which Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was born. He himself took part in these trade journeys, traveling north on behalf of Khadijah.

5. One prayer in the Haram equals 100,000 elsewhere

The Prophet ﷺ said that prayer in Masjid al-Haram is worth 100,000 prayers elsewhere. It is a number that is easy to hear, and difficult to truly grasp. A single prayer in Makkah is equal to nearly 55 years of prayer anywhere else. Over the course of Hajj, which lasts about six days, the prayers performed there are equal to more than 1,600 years of prayer.

SubhanAllah!

I made my first Umrah when I was 15 years old. I found Makkah beautiful and fascinating. I remember the crowds, the movement, the sense of something special in the air.

But I did not fully understand it.

At that time, I had not studied the seerah. I could look at the Ka’bah, but I could not see what had transpired there. I did not picture the Prophet ﷺ standing atop Safaa, inviting the people to Islam, and being mocked in response. I did not imagine him being attacked by Abu Jahl or Uqba bin Abi Mu’ayt. I did not picture a young Abdullah ibn Masud (ra) standing in front of the Ka’bah, defiantly reciting Surat Ar-Rahman, and the Quraysh nearly beating him to death for it. I did not see the triumphant moment, years later, when the Muslims returned in victory, and Bilal ibn Rabah (ra) climbed onto the Ka’bah to call the adhan, and the Prophet ﷺ forgave all who had harmed him.

And I did not understand what 100,000 prayers really meant.

When you are young, time feels endless. A number like 100,000 sounds impressive, but abstract. It does not carry weight.

When you are older, you begin to understand time differently. You realize how limited it is. You see how quickly days pass, how years slip by, and how little you are able to do within them. Only then do you begin to grasp what it means for a single prayer to carry the weight of a lifetime.

This is a tremendous expression of Allah’s mercy.

There is a reason why Allah describes Himself as Ar-Rahman and Ar-Rahim. His mercy is vast beyond what we can comprehend. A single act of worship, performed in the right place and with sincerity, can outweigh a lifetime of effort.

At the same time, this mercy is not limited to Makkah.

For those who have not had the opportunity to perform Hajj or Umrah, there is no reason for despair. Allah has opened many doors. The Prophet ﷺ taught that fasting Ramadan with faith and seeking reward is a means for all past sins to be forgiven. And Laylat al-Qadr is described in the Qur’an as “better than a thousand months” (Surat al-Qadr 97:3), which is more than eighty years of worship.

Visiting Makkah and praying in the Haram is one of the greatest of these opportunities. But it is not the only one. Allah’s mercy is not confined to a place. It is available to those who seek it, wherever they are, and no matter their spiritual state.

* * *

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:

You Are Perfectly Created

If Not You, Then Who?

The post 15 Things You Didn’t Know About Makkah and the Ka’bah [Part 1] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Eid Mubarak from the MuslimMatters team to you and your family!

TabbalAllah minnaa wa minkum saalih al-a’mal – may Allah accept our righteous deeds from Ramadan!

Whether you celebrated on Thursday, Friday, or Saturday, may Allah bless all your families and bring you joy, and let us continue to pray for (and work towards) a liberated Masjid al-Aqsa. Please make du’a for the MuslimMatters team, and our families as well.

If you’re looking for some Eid-related reading material, here’s a mix of old and new!

Selamat Hari Raya! – Celebrating Eid In Malaysia

4 Fun And Easy Eid al-Fitr Activities for Kids

Eid Mubarak! Have the Reward of Fasting 2 Months in Just 6 Days

Eid Gift: Excerpt From ‘When The Stars Prostrated’

Eid Is A Celebration For All: Caring For Families Facing Hospitalization During Eid

Eid Lameness Syndrome: Diagnosis, Treatment, Cure

The post Eid Mubarak from MuslimMatters appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

In both Singapore and Malaysia, Eid is called Hari Raya, or the Day of Celebration – it’s either Hari Raya Puasa (Eidul Fitr) or Hari Raya Haji (Eidul Adha). I have fond Raya memories from my childhood in Singapore. On the morning of Eid, my siblings and I would kiss our parents’ hands, and they would give us a packet of money – a dollar for every day we fasted. My mother would prepare delicious traditional Malay dishes like kuah lodeh (vegetable stew cooked with turmeric and coconut milk) and rendang ayam (slow-cooked chicken with lemongrass and coconut milk). We would visit our relatives, eat more tasty food, and they would give us even more precious Raya packets. We all envied my oldest cousin, who was the only child, and who raked in the most cash compared to all six of us.

Multigenerational Celebration 

Now that I’m a mother of three primary-school-aged children, it’s up to me and my husband to build positive childhood memories around Ramadan and Eid. The combination of corralling small children to the masjid can be a stress-inducing one. The secret sauce lies in planning for success the night before. We try our best to ensure our kids have an early bedtime, help them set aside their Eid clothes, and wake them up early to get to the masjid.

On top of that is ensuring elderly care is sorted, which means medications are lined up, factoring extra time to help them get in and out of cars, and checking ahead of time that the masjid is accessible. We pack small notes so that our children can give sadaqah at the masjid too. To help them last through the Eid khutbah, I pack snacks and fidget toys. It’s common for generous elders seated near us to give my delighted children Raya packets too. Once we’re back home, then we can give our children their long-awaited Raya packets. This Ramadan, we’ve jumped from one fasting child to three fasting children, alhamdulilah. 

A Month-long celebration

In Malaysia, Eid is celebrated for the entire month, and the lead-up to this is baked into the very fabric of daily life. As we get closer to Eid, the banks here have specific hours every morning allocated to breaking down large notes into smaller notes – perfect for adults to give little children Raya packets.

There are also Raya buffets at restaurants and hotels, and massive sales across any item imaginable – from clothes, to mobile phones and even cars. The danger of this is the risk of falling into the ever-waiting trap of excessive consumerism – even if it’s in the form of a Muslim celebration. Instead of succumbing to every appealing Raya sale, it helps to make mindful purchases, and to remember to give to the less fortunate as well.

Open houses

During the month-long celebration, there is the ubiquitous ‘open house’ where there are invitations to visit each other’s homes for tasty treats and, of course, Raya packets for children. The bulk of the family visits happen during the first week of the Raya break, where priority visits start with the elders in the family. After that, Raya visits are often mostly on the weekend, to cater for working hours. Visits mostly don’t last for very long – usually no longer than one sit-down meal – because there are often many houses to visit! If a family’s current elder is not feeling up for hosting, then younger relatives are always welcome to take turns hosting.

This not only strengthens family ties, but can also double as a wonderful dawah opportunity for non-Muslim friends, neighbours, colleagues and classmates. I have heard so many wonderful stories about non-Muslims embracing Islam after many years of visiting and eating delicious halal food.

Orphanages

There are many opportunities here to give new Eid clothes, other gifts and/or Raya packets to orphaned children and children from marginalized communities. It’s important to build this awareness around the less fortunate from a young age. One way to do that is by bringing children along to these initiatives, and giving them age-appropriate tasks to get them involved. Even more important than that is scheduling in regular charitable acts so children know that sadaqah and compassion are not only isolated to Ramadan – even if the reward is multiplied then. 

School holidays

Even non-Muslim students in public schools come to school dressed in traditional clothing to celebrate Eid before the official start of Eid school holidays. School holidays are specifically designed to give children at least a whole week off to celebrate Eid. Many families use this long break to ‘balik kampung’ or to drive back to their respective hometowns to spend time with their elderly relatives. The only downside is how Malaysian Eid school holidays don’t match up with school holidays in the West, making it challenging to sync visiting times with family members who live abroad.

After growing up in the Western diaspora, where there were no school holidays for Eid and no acknowledgement of Eid in public spaces, it’s thrilling for me to experience the entire country immersed in Eid celebrations. It’s so much fun seeing many Malaysian families wearing the same colours, from parents to children, like matchy-matchy family flags. What I do miss about Eid in Australia is the steady presence of my family and close friends, and the traditions that we shared together: going to our local masjid for Eid prayers, going to a favourite cafe together for breakfast, and hosting Raya open house on the weekends. These traditions were so anchoring, especially while living as a Muslim minority.

Conclusion

There is something so special and joyous about celebrating Eid in a Muslim-majority country. I hope to always be grateful for this blessing, especially for my children, who are experiencing this as their baseline. It’s such a gift for my children to form a strong Muslim identity, where they know that they can take up space, exactly as they are. For Muslim families living in the West, there is still so much you can do to bring Eid traditions to the forefront; these happy memories will help to fortify Muslim children too. 

 

Related:

– [Podcast] Palestine in Our Hearts: Eid al-Fitr 1445 AH

– Hot Air: An Eid Story [Part 1]

The post Selamat Hari Raya! – Celebrating Eid In Malaysia appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

For the first time in history Al-Aqsa is closed for Eid. Where is the Ummah?  – MuslimMatters

Barred from Masjid Al-Aqsa, worshipers pray outside the Old City on Friday morning, the day of Eid.

Israeli forces use stun grenades to prevent Palestinian worshipers from entering the Old City for Eid prayers.

Palestinians gather outside the Old City to pray Eid after being barred by the Israelis from Masjid Al-Aqsa.

 

The post AL-AQSA IS CLOSED appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Ziyad Motala, Professor of Law, Howard Law School

A Troubling Spectacle

A troubling spectacle continues during the nightly prayers of Ramadhan. In Islam’s holiest mosques, supplications lavish praise upon the Saudi ruler, Mohammed bin Salman, and seek divine favour for the strength and victory of the Saudi state and its security forces. Millions of Muslims around the world instinctively respond with “Aameen.” They believe they are participating in devotion. In reality, many are unknowingly affirming prayers that sanctify the ambitions of the Saudi state and its ruler at a moment when that state stands aligned with powers devastating Muslim lands.

The Meaning and Purpose of the Qunoot

Each evening in the month of Ramadan, millions of Muslims stand in prayer during the final phase of the nightly prayer, known as the Witr. In that moment, the imam recites what is called the Qunoot. The word simply means supplication. The imam raises his hands and implores God for mercy, forgiveness, and protection for the community. The congregation responds with a soft but collective “Aameen,” affirming the prayer and making its contents their own. It is a moment meant to embody humility before the Divine. In principle, it is among the most moving practices in the Muslim devotional life. It reminds believers that all authority, all power, and all protection ultimately belong to God alone.

When Supplication Becomes Political Theatre

But segments of the Qunoot have become political theatre. Certain court clerics have transformed the Qunoot into a peculiar spectacle of political flattery. Their supplications have included prayers not only for the Muslim ummah, but for the well-being of the Saudi state and the personal success and triumph of the Saudi rulers. More striking still is the language in which these prayers have been framed. The ruler has been addressed with honorifics such as “Al Amin,” a title intimately associated with the Prophet Muhammad P.B.U.H. himself.

Words shape the moral imagination of believers. In the Islamic tradition, the Prophet was known as Al Amin, the trustworthy, a designation earned through a life of moral credibility long before prophethood was proclaimed. To attach that title to a modern prince presiding over a state of debauchery, spectacle, repression, and geopolitical intrigue where Muslims are being massacred is grotesque clerical flattery bordering on parody. And when millions of Muslims dutifully respond with “Aameen,” they are unknowingly affirming not just devotion but the spectacle itself. They are giving their assent to this sycophancy offered in the language of prayer.

What are Worshippers Affirming?

The supplications have continued with appeals that God strengthen the rulers, grant them victory, empower the Saudi security forces, and preserve the Saudi state from every evil. The congregation of over two million responds with “Aameen.” For countless worshippers, the Arabic phrases are not fully understood. They are participating in an act of devotion and assume that the words being recited reflect the moral spirit of the tradition.

What exactly, then, are Muslims affirming when they say “Aameen”? The modern Saudi state is not an Islamic state. It is a nation state whose ruling order did not arise from Islamic legitimacy but was forged under British patronage and sustained by Western, particularly United States, power. This state claims custodianship of Islam’s holiest places while aligning itself closely with the strategic priorities of the United States and Israel, powers actively engaged in war against Muslims. At the same time, the world watches the devastation of Gaza and the steady seizure of Palestinian land, realities unfolding alongside the strategic partnership linking Saudi Arabia, the United States, and Israel.

Contradictions in Policy and Practice

One hears supplications for the protection of Muslim lands and the strengthening of the faith, while the political alliances of the state reciting those prayers sit comfortably beside the very forces that are devastating Muslim societies. The dissonance is difficult to ignore. Saudi Arabia’s recent trajectory only sharpens the paradox. The kingdom presents itself as the guardian of Islamic orthodoxy, yet it has simultaneously cultivated a political order increasingly defined by grotesque spectacle, wealth, and strategic alignment with Western power. Its rulers preside over a social transformation built around lewd entertainment and luxury while imprisoning scholars whose religious authority might challenge the state. Clerics who dissent disappear into prisons, while clerics who praise the ruler appear on the pulpits of the two holy mosques.

Beyond its borders, the kingdom’s political footprint is equally troubling. Its war in Yemen produced one of the most severe humanitarian catastrophes of the modern era. Its interventions in the politics of Egypt and elsewhere have strengthened authoritarian rule across the Arab world. It has historically encouraged a regional confrontation with Iran, whose consequences now threaten to engulf the entire Middle East. Against this background, the Qunoot sounds less like supplication and more like state messaging delivered through sacred ritual.

Power, Image, and Religious Authority

There is another irony. Mohammed bin Salman is frequently presented, by admirers and critics alike, as though he were a central figure representing the Islamic world. He is not. He is the ruler of a modern nation state that bears the name of his own family. The very designation “Saudi Arabia” is a historical anomaly. The Prophet Muhammad, may Allah give him peace and blessings, did not name Arabia after himself. Nor did the Rightly Guided Caliphs transform the lands of Islam into dynastic brands. Their authority rested on moral example and communal legitimacy. The modern Saudi state rests on oil wealth, security alliances, and the imposition of a ruling family whose name defines the country itself. To call the Saudi ruler “Al Amin” is theological absurdity.

The Weight of Saying “Aameen”

Yet through the symbolism of Mecca and Medina, the Saudi state possesses a unique capacity to project its voice into the devotional life of Muslims everywhere. When the imam in the Grand Mosque raises his hands in supplication, believers instinctively respond “Aameen.” But prayer is not passive. To say “Aameen” is to affirm the words that have been spoken. Muslims, therefore, confront a quiet but profound question. When the Qunoot asks God to grant victory to illegitimate rulers whose policies align them with all kinds of debauchery and vice, the bombardment of Gaza, the dispossession of Palestinians, and the escalation of war against Iran, should believers reflexively echo that prayer?

There is an even more basic issue. Muslims should not be saying “Aameen” to supplications that ask God to strengthen the nation state of Saudi Arabia or its ruler. Saudi Arabia is not an Islamic state. It is a nation state organised around a ruling family and structured primarily to protect the interests of its political and economic elite. The global Muslim community does not owe devotional affirmation to the success of such a state.

Lessons From Islamic Tradition

Islamic history contains many examples of scholars who refused to sanctify temporal power. Imam Ahmad ibn Hanbal endured imprisonment rather than submitting to doctrines imposed by the Abbasid state. Jurists across centuries insisted that religion must restrain rulers rather than ornament their authority. Those precedents were not acts of rebellion. They were acts of fidelity.

Preserving the Integrity of Worship

The Qunoot is meant to remind believers of their dependence on God. It is not meant to consecrate the ambitions of princes. When the language of supplication becomes indistinguishable from the language of court praise, the prayer itself loses its moral clarity. Ramadhan is a season of spiritual awakening. It is also a season of moral reflection. The lesson for Muslims is simple but urgent. Devotion must never become a vehicle for the sanctification of power.

And before saying “Aameen,” a believer should always know what they are agreeing to. For in matters of faith, an unthinking “Aameen” can become the quietest form of political consent.

This article is an opinion piece and reflects the views of the author, not necessarily those of MuslimMatters.

Related:

Freedom Of Speech And Protest In Islam: The Distorted Saudi View

What Shaykh Muhammad Al Shareef Taught Us About Making Dua

The post When The Qunoot Becomes Politics: Religious Theater in Saudi Arabia appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This series is a collaboration between Dr. Ali and MuslimMatters, bringing Quranic wisdom to the questions Muslim families are navigating.

The Answer — What 30 Nights With the Quran Built in Muslim Teenagers

Thirty nights ago, a series began with a question.

Who are you — really — when all the masks are removed? 

Tonight that question receives its answer. And this final guide is for the Muslim parent who wants to understand what their teenager received across this Ramadan — and what your role is now that the series has ended.

What the series built — a parent’s summary 

Across 30 nights, the series addressed the central identity crisis of Muslim teenagers in the West through four consecutive weeks of honest, Quranic, psychologically grounded content.

Week 1 — Identity and Belonging — gave teenagers a theological framework for their dual-world experience. The message: you are not a defective Muslim because you navigate multiple worlds. You are a khalifah placed in a specific context for a specific purpose. Your background, your language, your experience of being between worlds — these are your context, not your disqualification.

Week 2 — Relationships and Boundaries — addressed the relational questions that Islamic content rarely approaches directly: friendships with non-Muslims, attraction, toxic relationships, forgiveness, loneliness. The message: your relationships are not separate from your Islam. They are where Islam is lived most concretely.

Week 3 — Doubt, Faith, and Mental Health — went somewhere that most Islamic youth content refuses to go: depression, grief, shame, addiction, and the feeling that struggling means you are failing at Islam. The message: your struggles are not disqualifications. Every prophet this series introduced struggled. Not despite their prophethood — alongside it. Their humanity serves as a powerful example for us, and how they overcame their struggles gives us the role model and the hope.

Week 4 — Purpose, Legacy, and the Long Game — built a comprehensive framework for a purposeful Muslim life: khalifah as the direction, ummah as the community, ikhlas as the motivation, legacy as the time horizon, taqwa as the foundation, becoming as the process. The message: you are building something right now. Plant it. Carry the bowl. The shade is already needed.

And Night 30 said: all of that together is the answer to who you are.

That is what your teenager received. The question now is what you do with it.

The seven declarations — what your teenager now knows

Tonight’s video gave teenagers seven specific answers to the identity question. As a parent, knowing what those seven answers are — and reinforcing them at home — is among the most important things you can do in the days following Ramadan.

1. They are a khalifah — placed here deliberately, with full knowledge of their weakness, for a purpose only they can fulfill in their specific context.
2. They are part of a chain — the product of fourteen centuries of ordinary Muslims who held so that the deen could reach them. And they are responsible for passing it on.
3. They are a person in the middle of their becoming — the confusion and not-yet are not evidence of failure. They are what becoming feels like from the inside.
4. They are someone whose trembling is seen — Allah knows not just what they do, but what they had to overcome to do it. The private struggle, the effort that nobody witnessed — He saw it.
5. They are not just themselves — they are part of a single body brought forth for all of humanity, with a responsibility to the people around them that goes beyond their own community.
6. They are someone carrying a bowl of milk — taqwa as the active, daily practice of protecting their book of deeds, carrying it carefully through everything the world places in their path.
7. They are someone planting trees — right now, in this season, in ways they cannot yet fully see.

These seven declarations are the answer to the Night 1 question. Help your teenager hold them. Ask them which one landed hardest. Name the one you see most clearly in them. Build it into the language of your home.

What the series revealed about your teenager’s interior

Across 30 nights, this series received responses from its audience that reveal something Muslim parents need to understand about what their teenagers are carrying.

The emails and comments that came back were not primarily about theological questions or Islamic rulings. They were about the interior life — the doubt that felt shameful to name, the depression that was being hidden because it seemed like a failure of faith, the shame around specific struggles that had never been told to anyone, the loneliness of feeling like the only one navigating what they were navigating.

Your teenager is carrying more than you know. Not because they are hiding it from you specifically — but because the Islamic content they have access to has not, until very recently, given them a language for those interior experiences. A language that is both Islamically grounded and honest about human struggle.

This series gave them that language. The question is whether you can receive it.

The parent who responds to their teenager’s newly found language — who hears “I related to the Night 15 episode on doubt” or “the Night 20 episode was about me” — with openness rather than alarm, with curiosity rather than correction, with Khadijah’s response rather than a lecture — is the parent whose teenager will keep talking.

Be that parent. The series opened a door. Your response determines whether your teenager walks through it toward you.

The Surat al-‘Asr framework — what Night 30 is asking your family to do

The series opened on Night 1 with Surat al-‘Asr — the framework that knowledge must be acted upon and invited to. It closes on Night 30 with the same instruction.

Tonight’s video makes two specific requests of its viewers:

1. Move the series from the watched category to the lived category. The content has no power as content alone. It becomes real when it becomes the life being lived.
2. Tell someone. Find the person in your life who is asking the same questions and was too afraid to say so. Share it — not as a caption, but as a conversation.

For Muslim parents, both of these requests have direct applications.

The lived category for your family means: the seven declarations are not just things your teenager heard. They are things your family believes and practices and names regularly. The khalifah framework is how you talk about purpose. The chain is how you talk about inheritance. The bowl is how you talk about taqwa. The vocabulary of the series becomes the vocabulary of your home.

The telling someone means: this series is not finished with your family. Think of the family in your community whose teenager needs what this series gave yours. The parent who is struggling to have these conversations and doesn’t know where to start. Share the playlist. Share a specific episode. Let the series do the opening that you might not be able to do alone.

That is how chains extend. One ordinary link at a time.

On FamCinema and what it means for your family

Tonight’s video introduces FamCinema — the media project Dr. Ali has been building alongside this series — and announces the premiere of the Hijrah animated series this Friday as a Eid gift.

For Muslim parents, FamCinema represents something worth paying attention to beyond the entertainment value of a specific series.

It is a demonstration of the tree-planting principle applied to culture. The recognition that Muslim families need media that reflects their values — not as a concession or a sanitized alternative, but as genuinely good entertainment that doesn’t require families to navigate content that conflicts with what they believe. That is a real need. And it is being addressed by someone planting a tree knowing that the shade will take years to grow.

Watch the Hijrah series with your family this Eid. Give your teenager the experience of Muslim-produced media that is funny and human and made for people like them. And if it resonates — tell someone. That is how the tree grows.

The FamCinema channel can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/@FamCinemaOfficial

Final discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. Which of the seven “who you are” declarations from Night 30 lands hardest for you right now? Why that one?
2. What is the one thing from these 30 nights that you are going to actually do differently — not think about, do?
3. Who is the one person in your life you want to share this series with? What is stopping you from doing it today?

For parents:

1. What did you learn about your teenager across this Ramadan — from watching the series, from the conversations it produced, from what they shared or didn’t share — that you didn’t know before?
2. Which of the seven declarations do you most want your teenager to carry into the rest of their life? Have you told them that?
3. What is your family planting together — starting this Eid — that someone after you will sit under?

For discussion together:

1. Read Surat al-‘Asr together. What does “acted upon and invited to” look like for our family in the weeks after Ramadan?
2. Which week of the series was most relevant to where our family actually is right now? What would it look like to go deeper on that week together?
3. Make a du’a together tonight — for the series, for everyone who received it, and for what you are building together as a family. Let it be among the closing supplications of your Ramadan.

Eid Mubarak

This series was built for you — for the Muslim family navigating something genuinely difficult, in a context that doesn’t make it easy, with questions that deserve honest answers.

May He put barakah in it that outlasts all of us. May He make it a sadaqah jariyah that keeps giving shade to people who never knew the name of the person who planted it. May Allah accept it among our acts of worship in this noble month and make it a means of releasing us from the Hellfire …

And may He make your teenager — exactly as they are, in the middle of their becoming — exactly what He placed them here to be. Ameen.

Eid Mubarak. Was-salamu alaykum wa rahmatullah.

Related:

Running Away From Who We Are | Night 29 with the Qur’an

30 Nights with the Qur’an: A Ramadan Series for Muslim Teens

The post Coming Full Circle: Who Are You Now? | Night 30 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This series is a collaboration between Dr. Ali and MuslimMatters, bringing Quranic wisdom to the questions Muslim families are navigating.

What the Prophet Yunus Teaches Muslim Parents About Purpose, Escape, and the Shore That Waits

There is a specific kind of parental fear that is different from all the others.

It is not the fear of your teenager making a dangerous choice. It is not the fear of them drifting from the deen or losing their identity. It is the quieter, harder fear of watching your teenager run from something you can see is theirs — a gift, a direction, a version of themselves that is clearly there — and feeling unable to stop the running.

Tonight’s post is for the parent navigating that fear. And this guide is for helping you understand both what your teenager received in tonight’s video — and what the running might actually be for.

The reframe that changes everything

Tonight’s video makes a theological move that most Islamic education about Yunus never makes — and that Muslim parents most need to understand.

Yunus ﷺ was not weak. He was not faithless. He was not spiritually immature. He was grieving — with a grief so intense it overcame him — for people he loved so much, that their indifference to the message was unbearable.

The Quran addresses this idea directly in Surah al-Kahf: “Perhaps you will grieve yourself to death over their denial.” [18:6] — spoken to the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, but describing a prophetic pattern that runs through the entire history of the prophets. The prophets struggled because they cared too much to accept the people’s indifference without being broken by it.

What this means for your teenager is significant: if they are running from something — from their deen, from a practice, from a version of themselves they know they’re supposed to be — the running is not necessarily evidence of weak faith. It may be evidence of caring so much about something that the gap between where they are and where they want to be became temporarily unbearable.

That reframe changes how you respond. Not with alarm or judgment. With the question Khadijah’s model suggests: who are you already, right now, that I can name and affirm? What is the caring that is underneath the running?

What the Nineveh detail teaches parents

 Tonight’s video includes a detail about the Yunus story that is rarely taught — and that parents need to hear.

While Yunus was running, while he was in the whale’s belly, while everything looked like failure from the inside — his absence from Nineveh was producing exactly the response his presence had been building toward for years. The people noticed he was gone. They recognized what his absence meant. And they turned in repentance — before he came back.

The mission he thought was failing was actually working from the outside, in ways he couldn’t see from the inside.

For parents watching their teenager apparently go backwards — abandoning practices, drifting from the community, running from commitments — this detail carries specific and important comfort.

The years of Islamic education, the values instilled in childhood, the character built through family tradition, the seeds planted across a lifetime of ordinary faithfulness — these do not disappear during the running. They are working, from the inside, in ways you cannot see from the outside. The Nineveh principle: the mission looked like failure from Yunus’s perspective. It was all preparation from Allah’s perspective.

This does not mean parental passivity — you remain present, available, a Khadijah ready to wrap them in a cloak when they return. But it means that the running is not the erasure of everything that came before it. The soil that was cultivated during the years of investment does not simply disappear.

Trust the process. We put in the effort. The results belong to Allah.

The Saudi Arabia story — what it means for parents

Tonight’s extended edition email tells a story that deserves attention from Muslim parents specifically: Dr. Ali’s escape to Saudi Arabia in 2011.

He went to escape many things, but one was medicine — burned out by years of caring for patients whose relationship with the medical staff was primarily aggression and abuse, asking himself repeatedly whether his years of training had been for this. He went intending early retirement. He went running.

What he found at the destination of his running:

• Patients who made du’a for his parents and his children. An experience of medicine that justified everything he had put into it.
• The opportunity to become a personal physician for Sheikh Jafar Idris.
• A close and enduring friendship with Sheikh Jafar’s son — a scholar and builder who has been among the most important relationships of his life.
• Access to a jama’ah of people building something real, rather than the expat community he might otherwise have belonged to.

He went running from his purpose and found, at the destination of his running, the fullest expression of his purpose he had ever experienced.

This is not a recommendation for running. The running itself was the wrong direction — he acknowledges this clearly. But it is a testimony about what Allah does with running when a servant turns back: He meets them at the shore with provision already prepared.

For Muslim parents watching their teenager run — this story matters. Not because it validates the running. Because it testifies to the fact that Allah is present at every destination, including the ones our children reach by going in the wrong direction.

The jama’ah that was waiting

One detail from Dr. Ali’s Saudi story deserves specific attention for parents: the jama’ah.

Through Yusuf Idris, Dr. Ali found access to a community of people building something real — scholars, educators, people seriously engaged in Islamic work — that he had wanted to belong to but hadn’t found before. His running to Saudi Arabia, which was intended as retreat, became the door through which he entered the community he had been looking for.

For Muslim parents, this raises an important question about your teenager’s running: what community are they looking for that they haven’t found? What jama’ah are they hungering for that the available options haven’t satisfied?

Sometimes teenage drift from the Muslim community is not rejection of the community concept. It is dissatisfaction with the specific communities available — communities that don’t feel alive, don’t feel relevant, don’t feel like places where real building is happening.

The response to that hunger is not to insist they make do with what exists. It is to help them find — or help build — the jama’ah that is actually worth belonging to. The hand of Allah is with the jama’ah. Help your teenager find one that makes that promise feel real.

The Quality of Yusuf Idris — a note for parents

Dr. Ali describes Yusuf Idris as someone who “consistently makes the people around him feel like more than they know themselves to be.” Not through flattery — through encouragement pointed at something real. Every conversation leaves you feeling that you have more to offer than you had recognized, that the direction you are heading is worth continuing.

That quality — the ability to see in someone what they cannot yet see in themselves and to name it with genuine encouragement — is the Khadijah quality. It is what she did for the trembling prophet. It is what Yusuf Idris does for the people around him. And it is what Muslim parents can do for their teenagers.

You have watched your teenager for years. You know their gifts, their character, their capacity, their resilience. You can see, from the longer view you have, the shape of what they are becoming before they can see it themselves.

Name it. Say it to them — specifically, not generally. Not “you will do great things,” but the specific thing you see: the quality you have watched develop, the gift that keeps appearing, the character trait that has been consistent since childhood.

That naming — received from a parent who has been watching carefully — is one of the most important things a teenager can carry into the rest of their becoming.

The Tasbih for Parents

 Tonight’s video closes with the tasbih of Yunus ﷺ as a practice for teenagers. I want to suggest it as a practice for parents as well.

La ilaha illa anta subhanaka inni kuntu mina al-dhalimeen.

There is nothing worthy of worship except You. How perfect are You above all that they associate with You. I have been of the wrongdoers.

As a parent, this tasbih has a specific application: it is the prayer of the person who has been running from something — including the running that parenting itself sometimes involves. The ways we have failed to be fully present. The Khadijah responses we didn’t give when our teenager needed them. The moments we responded with alarm or judgment rather than with the wrapping in a cloak that the situation required.

Make this du’a tonight. As a turning back to Allah. The turning is always possible. The response is always available. And the shore — with provision already prepared — is waiting.

Discussion questions for families

 For teens:

1. Have you ever run from something that turned out to be exactly what you were meant for? What did you find at the destination of that running?
2. Is there something you are currently running from — a practice, a commitment, a version of yourself you know you are supposed to be? What would naming it out loud feel like?
3. Is there a Yusuf Idris in your life — someone who makes you feel like more than you know yourself to be? What do they see in you that you struggle to see yourself?

For parents:

1. What do you see in your teenager that they cannot yet see in themselves? Have you said it to them — specifically, recently, in a way they could receive?
2. Is your teenager’s running from purpose driven by indifference — or by the kind of grief that comes from caring too much? How does that distinction change your response?
3. What jama’ah is your teenager looking for that they haven’t found? How can you help them find or build it?

For discussion together:

1. Read Surat al-Anbiya [21:87-88] together. What does wa kadhalika nunjil mu’mineen — “and thus do We save the believers” — mean for your family right now?
2. Is there something our family has been running from — a commitment, a practice, a direction — that we need to name and return to together?
3. What would it look like for our family to say the tasbih of Yunus together tonight — genuinely, not as a recitation but as an acknowledgment?

The Bottom Line

Your teenager may be running right now. From their purpose, their practice, a version of themselves they haven’t yet grown into.

The Yunus story — told tonight in its full depth — is not a warning about the consequences of running. It is a testimony about what Allah does with the turning. He meets His servants at the shore. With shade already prepared. With provision already growing. Sometimes with a friendship they didn’t know they were going to find.

Be present. Be a Khadijah. Name what you see. And trust that the purpose — still there, still waiting, still theirs — will receive them when they return.

Wa kadhalika nunjil mu’mineen.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 29 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 30 — The Full Circle. We return to the question that opened Night 1 — and answer it differently.

For daily extended reflections with journaling prompts, personal stories, and deeper resources, join Dr. Ali’s email community: https://30nightswithquran.beehiiv.com/

Related:

Building From the Ground Up: Week 4 Recap | Night 28 with the Qur’an

30 Nights with the Qur’an: A Ramadan Series for Muslim Teens

The post Running Away From Who We Are | Night 29 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This series is a collaboration between Dr. Ali and MuslimMatters, bringing Quranic wisdom to the questions Muslim families are navigating.

Week 4 Reflection — A building inspection for families

What are you building — and is it built on the right foundation, for the right Master, with the right community, and in the right direction?

That is what Week 4 of “30 Nights with the Quran” was about. And this recap is for the parent who wants to understand what their teenager received — and what it means for how you build alongside them.

The Single Argument Week 4 was Making

Each night of Week 4 addressed a different dimension of the same fundamental question. Understanding how the six nights fit together helps parents see what their teenager has been receiving — not as a series of disconnected topics, but as a single, coherent argument about how to build a life of purpose and for Allah.

Night 22 on purpose, established the direction: you are a khalifah, placed here deliberately, building toward something larger than accumulation or recognition.

Night 23 on ummah, established the community, the jama’ah: you are not building alone, you are building as part of a single body brought forth for all of humanity.

Night 24 on ikhlas, established the motivation: the building is for Allah alone, and the health of the intention is what determines whether it will stand.

Night 25 on legacy, established the time horizon: you are planting trees whose shade you will not sit in, and the planting begins now regardless of how early it feels.

Night 26 on taqwa, established the foundation: without the active, deliberate protection of your book of deeds underneath everything else, the building will eventually collapse from within.

Night 27 on becoming, established the process: the building is not supposed to be finished in this life, and the trembling is not the end of the story.

Six nights. One building. Your teenager has been receiving the blueprints.

What the Building Inspection Reveals for Families

The email tonight invites subscribers to do a building inspection — five honest questions corresponding to the five building blocks of Week 4. For parents, a version of that inspection applies directly:

Foundation — Is taqwa operating in your home? Not as a word that gets used in Islamic contexts. As a daily practice. Is the protection of your book of deeds — and your children’s books of deeds — an operating principle in how your family makes decisions?

When no one is watching, when the servant is not visibly present, when the bowl is in your hands in the ordinary moments of daily life — what does taqwa look like in your household?

Direction — What is your family building toward? The culture offers a very compelling answer: accumulation. Academic achievement, financial security, social standing, worldly success. These are not inherently wrong. But they are insufficient as the primary direction of a family’s building. What is the khalifah metric in your home? What does success look like when the only audience that matters is Allah?

Community — Is your family genuinely embedded in a jama’ah? Not attending a masjid occasionally. Genuinely present in a Muslim community — known, accountable, invested in the wellbeing of the people around you and available to them in return. Your teenager is watching how seriously you take the ummah. And the body they see you belonging to is the body they will either join or distance themselves from.

Intention — What does your family’s ikhlas look like? Are your children watching you do good things privately, without documentation or announcement? Are they absorbing a model of virtue that doesn’t require an audience — or are they learning that the deed undocumented is the deed that didn’t quite happen? The ikhlas you model in front of them is the ikhlas they will carry into their own lives.

Time horizon — What is your family planting? Not in general terms — specifically. What is the tree your family is growing together that someone after you will sit under? The investment in Islamic education, the community institution being built, the character being formed in your children — these are trees. Are you tending them with the awareness that their shade is already needed?

The becoming framework — for parents of teenagers in transition

Night 27’s content on the Prophet ﷺ — the shivering man in the cloak who was told arise before he felt ready — has specific and important implications for parents of teenagers who are visibly in the middle of their becoming.

The developmental reality of the teenage years is that almost no teenager can see the shape of what they are becoming from the inside. The confusion, the not-yet, the gap between who they are and who they sense they are supposed to be — these are not signs of failure. They are the interior experience of a becoming that is already in progress.

What Week 4 Asked of Muslim Parents

Each night of Week 4 contained an implicit challenge to parents alongside the explicit content for teenagers. Taken together, those challenges form a clear picture of what Week 4 is asking of you.

Night 22 asked: do you know what your teenager thinks they are here for? Have you ever asked them directly — and if so, have you listened to the answer?

Night 23 asked: is your teenager embedded in a real Muslim community — not as a concept, but as a lived experience? Have they felt the body respond to them?

Night 24 asked: are you modeling ikhlas — the private deed, the secret sadaqah, the worship that no one knows about — in front of your children? Or are they absorbing a model of virtue that requires an audience?

Night 25 asked: have you told your teenager what you are building that will outlast you? Do they know what sadaqah jariyah looks like in your family’s actual life?

Night 26 asked: are you giving your teenager both wings — fear and hope — or have you sanitized fear out of their relationship with Allah in an attempt to make the deen more appealing?

Night 27 asked: are you being a Khadijah for your teenager — holding first, then naming who they already are — or are you asking them to perform a composure and certainty they don’t yet have?

These are not comfortable questions. They are the right ones.

Discussion questions for families — Week 4 reflection

For teens:

1. Which night of Week 4 landed hardest — and what did it reveal about what you are building?
2. If you could name one specific thing you are planting right now whose shade someone else will sit in — what would it be?
3. What is the thing you are supposed to be doing that you have been running from? What would it take to stop running?

For parents:

1. Which of the five building inspection questions reveals the most vulnerability in your family’s building? What is the most honest answer to that question?
2. Have you named, specifically and recently, what you see in your teenager’s character — who they already are, not who you hope they will become?
3. What are you planting together as a family that will outlast you? Can your teenager name it?

For discussion together:

1. Read Surat al-Hashr 59:18 together: “Let every soul look to what it has sent forth for tomorrow.” What has our family sent forth? What do we want to send forth in the two nights that remain?
2. What is the one thing each of us is carrying forward from Week 4 — not our favorite lesson, but the one thing we are going to actually do differently?
3. Make du’a together tonight — specifically, for the building. For the foundation. For the direction. For the Master it is for. Ask Allah to accept it.

The Bottom Line

Week 4 built something in your teenager. Six nights of honest engagement with questions about purpose, community, intention, legacy, foundation, and becoming — in the spiritual intensity of Ramadan — do not leave a person unchanged.

Your job as a parent is to tend what was planted. To ask the questions that keep the building inspection honest. To be present for the becoming that is happening right now, in this season, whether or not you can see its shape yet.

Two nights remain. The series is almost complete, alhamdulillah.

But the building — insha Allah — is just getting started.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 28 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 29 — The Prophet Who Ran: Returning to Purpose After Running From It

For daily extended reflections with journaling prompts, personal stories, and deeper resources, join Dr. Ali’s email community: https://30nightswithquran.beehiiv.com/

Related:

The Muslim You Are Becoming | Night 27 with the Qur’an

30 Nights with the Qur’an: A Ramadan Series for Muslim Teens

The post Building From the Ground Up: Week 4 Recap | Night 28 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Like many women in their early forties, I’m experiencing some perimenopausal symptoms. The most obvious change in my menstrual cycle has been a clockwork return of my menses after fifteen days of purity. This is my first Ramadan where I’ve had my period at the start and at the end of Ramadan. A younger version of me would have been extremely annoyed with this turn of events. The current version of me is practising surrender. On a practical level, this means that I am spending less time in prayer, fasting, reading Qur’an and going to the masjid, and more time resting, making dua, listening to Qur’an, and helping my children with their acts of worship.

Last Ten Nights

What helps is remembering that Allah is All-Knowing and All-Merciful, and He has willed for me to be in a state of menstruation at the beginning and end of Ramadan. One of my teachers said that this Divinely-ordained pause from prayer and fasting gives women like me the opportunity to long for these acts of worship, and increases our gratitude when we return to them. Even though it isn’t easy for me to pay back my fasts outside of Ramadan, I can trust in Allah rewarding me for doing so. Orienting everything back to Allah , instead of my own self, has been very helpful.

Different Acts of Worship

I may not be able to pray, fast, or perform i’tikaf in the masjid during these last few nights of Ramadan, but there is still so much I can do. I can still make heartfelt du’a, give in charity, feed fasting people, listen to Qur’an, teach my children the value of patience, and so on. I can remind myself too that the mercy of Allah is vast, and He is the one who can accept our acts of worship and multiply the reward, no matter how much we fall short. Shifting my mindset into one of abundance, instead of scarcity, has made all the difference. InshaAllah, even menstruating women can catch the blessings of Laylatul Qadr.

Teaching Moment

My children were shocked to hear that just as they will be rewarded for fasting, I am also rewarded for refraining from fasting during menstruation. It was a struggle for me to keep a straight face when my tween daughter exclaimed, “What? You get rewarded for doing nothing?”

I explained that Allah is Most Generous, and He rewards us all for performing our obligations – which, in the state of menstruation, means refraining from prayer and fasting. This is not including all the countless other acts of service, words of affirmation, comforting back rubs that mothers do every day, let alone putting restless children and babies back to sleep at night. None of this is lost on Allah , even if our children might not be immediately cognizant of what we sacrifice. 

Abu Yahya Suhaib bin Sinan (May Allah be pleased with him) reported that:

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, “How wonderful is the case of a believer; there is good for him in everything and this applies only to a believer. If prosperity attends him, he expresses gratitude to Allah and that is good for him; and if adversity befalls him, he endures it patiently, and that is better for him”. [Sahih Muslim]

Seasons of Life

What helps is surrendering to the qadr of Allah in this new season of my life. Resisting the reality of my more frequent menstruation will only add to my unhappiness and discomfort. I can reframe this as part of Allah’s Plan for me to slow me down and prioritise my self-care after the last intense decade of raising three small children close in age. Menstruation is something that women go through for almost four decades of our lives – at least half of our time on this dunya! – and it helps to accept the ups and downs of each stage.

Health Awareness

As part of our Ramadan practice, perimenopausal women can schedule a check-up with our gynaecologists to check the level of our hormones. We can continue lifting heavy weights so we can build our strength in midlife and beyond. We can prioritize going on walks regularly to keep our bodies limber and strong to help us age well.

My husband and I make du’a that we can continue to prostrate to Allah till the end of our lives, and investing in our physical health is part of that.

Menopause

When I speak to my mother or older friends who have gone through menopause, they offer a valuable perspective. Their advice is to be patient with the stage I am in, because the season of menopause brings its own challenges. With their decrease in estrogen, they also struggle with menopausal symptoms such as hot flashes, vaginal dryness, and a higher risk of cardiovascular issues and bone breakage.

These are serious matters which, for now at least, I don’t have to worry about. Because they no longer menstruate, they are able to fast and pray every day – which can feel tiring after four decades of being able to take breaks. Uninterrupted prayer and fasts are something I long for when I’m in the thick of paying back my fasts, yet again. 

Conclusion

Perimenopause is a season of life that can bring about more frequent menstruation in Ramadan. It helps to remember that even in a state of menstruation, women can catch the blessings of Laylatul Qadr. Even if our acts of worship differ during menstruation, the One we worship remains constant. Modelling this acceptance will inshaAllah help our daughters when it’s their turn, especially when we look after ourselves and honour the season of menstruation we are in. What gives me lasting comfort is always turning back to Allah and focusing on what pleases Him, instead of fighting the reality of the season I’m in.

Related:

– The Menstruating Woman’s Guide To The Last 10 Nights Of Ramadan

– A Woman’s Guide to Spirituality in Ramadan during Menstruation and Postnatal Bleeding

 

The post I Got My Menses Twice This Ramadan: Practicing Surrender And Maintaining Constant Worship appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The pilgrim offers Zahra four simple words that unravel a secret she has carried for years.

Previous Chapters: Part 1  | Part 2

* *  *

A Spark

Ismail reached his hand across the table. Momy looked at it for a moment, then extended his own. They clasped hands.

As I watched, Momy – a perpetual slouch – sat up straight. His eyes widened, as if he had just awakened from this banal existence into a world that spread out before him like an endless meadow, more beautiful than anything he had imagined. He looked younger and older all at once.

His mother reached toward him, but I calmed her with a gesture. “It’s just a handshake.”

Ismail released Momy’s hand. Zahra went to her son and touched his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

Momy shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Can I have another piece of cake?”

“But what was the gift?” She looked at Ismail. “What was that?”

“A spark,” Ismail replied.

Zahra looked at me. I knew something significant had transpired, but I also knew that – just like my own experience – it was personal, and should not be questioned. Imitating my nephew, I shrugged as well. “I want more cake too.”

Zahra snorted, then served the cake and refilled our tea cups.

Ismail added a spoonful of sugar. Stirring the sugar, he looked sideways at Zahra. “Do you want your gift?”

She stiffened. “I’m not going to shake your hand.”

Ismail nodded. “Of course.”

“Alright.” Her lips were tight. “Get it over with.”

Ismail rose. “Let’s sit on the sofa.”

Four Words

Hesitantly, Zahra led the way to the living room. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa, not quite facing each other. Ismail’s back was straight, his expression serious.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said.

Zahra blinked rapidly. “What? What did you say?”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’d better watch yourself.” Her eyes were fixed on the Persian rug. “In fact, you should get your things and leave.”

“Once,” Ismail said, “in the county jail in Little Rock, I was attacked while I was in salat. No warning. They knocked me down, kicked me and stomped on my neck. My arm was broken, I lost two teeth, and I was paralyzed from the neck down. The doctors at the state hospital told me I might not walk again. I entrusted my future to Allah. I prayed with my mouth only. A month after the attack, I moved a finger. A month after that, I walked out of that place. An experience like that is dehumanizing. You wonder if you could have done something to prevent it. You feel rage at the perpetrators.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I said softly, but Ismail did not look at me. His gaze remained on the floor somewhere between himself and Zahra.

“We are all wounded in this life,” Ismail went on. “Our Prophet, sal-Allahu alayhi wa-sallam, was in sajdah in front of the Ka’bah when one of the Quraysh dumped the waste and entrails of a camel on his back. Yet the Prophet did not raise his head until his young daughter Fatimah came and cleaned the filth from his back. Was he diminished by that? Never. He was the most elevated man to ever live. He was the Beloved of Allah.”

Zahra stood. “I have no idea what you’re prattling on about,” She looked ready to run.

I did not understand what was happening. It seemed that Ismail was talking about something other than what his words described. Something that only he and Zahra understood.

Sincere and Pure

“As fresh as the first winter snowfall.”

“You,” Ismail said to Zahra, “hold no blame. You are as fresh as the first winter snowfall, clean and crisp on the fields. You are all that is sweet, sincere, and pure. Everything that was once possible for you is possible still, by the will of Allah.”

Zahra had covered her face with her hands, and stood very still.

“I will leave you now,” Ismail said, and stood.

I went to my sister and touched her shoulder. “Zahra?”

She turned to me and threw her arms around me, hid her face in my chest, and began to sob. “He hurt me,” she wailed. “He had no right.”

“Who?” I said gently. “Ismail? Or… Waleed? Your husband?”

She shook her head and wailed, “No!” For a long time she said nothing more. She sobbed until my shirt was wet with her tears and mucus. Finally, her sobs slowed. “It was Dr. Zakarian,” she said, barely audibly.

I frowned. “Who’s that?”

“One of the doctors,” she whispered, “at the hospital where I used to work.”

“What did he do?”

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say.

She went on as if I had not spoken. “I was working nights. It was late. Almost nobody on the floor. I was in the supply room getting IV kits, or syringes, I don’t remember. He came in behind me.”

She swallowed, then looked away. “He shut the door and locked it.”

My breath caught in my chest.

“I told him to stop fooling around. I thought he was joking.”

Zahra broke away from my embrace, went to the sofa, and sat with her arms around her knees. For just a second, I wondered where Ismail had gone – maybe to the bathroom? – but my attention was focused on my sister.

“I said no,” Zahra continued, staring at the floor. “I told him no. I tried to fight. He…” She bent forward, hugging herself. “He was too strong.”

Momy made a small sound, like he had been punched in the stomach.

“Afterward, I had to finish the shift,” she whispered. “Do you understand? I had to wash my face and go back out there and act normal. And then I had to keep seeing him. Every day.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She glared at me. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes puffy. “I was ashamed,” she said. “I never reported it. I worked closely with Dr. Zakarian. I thought, maybe I led him on without meaning to. Maybe if I wore hijab it wouldn’t have happened.”

I swallowed hard. “It wasn’t your fault. Just like Ismail said.”

Only then did I notice that Ismail’s pack and boots were gone. I recalled his last words: “I will leave you now.” I hadn’t been paying attention.

Something to Take

I turned to Momy. “Sit with your mom.” Without hesitation, Momy went to his mother and put an arm around her shoulders. I hurried to the front door, yanked it open, and dashed out, not even bothering to put on my shoes.

It was drizzling outside. The wind reached through my clothing with icy fingers and raised goosebumps on my arms. I ran to the sidewalk, looked one way, then the other – and there was Ismail, kefiyyeh wrapped tightly around his neck, pack on his back, already a block away. I called out and ran to catch up, my bare feet slapping the sidewalk and splashing in puddles.

He turned to face me. His lean face was beaded with rain.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

He took my cheeks in his hands and kissed me on the forehead, then pulled back. “I thank you,” he said. “Allah reward you for the food and company. It was an honor to meet you.”

I raised my hands questioningly. “Where will you go? You’re not even wearing a coat.”

“Many places. But eventually to my homeland of Al-Quds, then to Makkah, then to the masjid of our Beloved Prophet, sal-Allahu alayhi wa salam, to bring him greetings from a distant people and a broken land.”

I studied his oddly light-colored eyes. His rangy body and easy strength were youthful, but his eyes were ageless.

“You said you would take something.”

He smiled. “I already have.” He held out his hand. I shook it, then the man called Ismail turned and walked away.

A Bushel of Lemons

The faint sounds of talking and laughter woke me up. It was late morning, and the pale sun eased in through the living room window onto the sofa where I slept. I threw off the heavy blanket and sat up. I was thinking about my idea for the Malcolm X youth conference. After breakfast, I would write an email to a few colleagues.

“That’s enough!” It was Zahra’s voice, outside. “Come down now before you fall and break your neck.”

La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah. She wasn’t fighting with the neighbors again, was she? Dressed in red flannel pajamas, I hurried to the door, slipping my feet into a pair of Arabic sandals.

Outside, I was amazed to find Momy on a tall ladder, picking the lemons from the tree. He wore a heavy jacket and gardening gloves to protect himself from the thorns. Zahra stood at the bottom of the ladder, surrounded by bags full of lemons. I walked over to her.

“Look at this!” she said, grinning. She pointed to the bags. “We have half a bushel already.”

The sight of Zahra grinning left me speechless. Finally, I said, “Isn’t a bushel two thousand pounds?”

She shook her head. “You’d better stick to teaching history.”

I gestured to Momy. “I’ve never seen him do actual work before.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Momy called down.

“Yeah, be quiet Amir,” Zahra said. “Don’t jinx it.”

Egyptian Lemonade

“Zahra.” I tugged at her sleeve. “I was thinking about something.”

“Me too,” she said. “But you go first.”

“The thing is, I knew all the kids at the masjid back then, when we were young. And I don’t remember anyone named Ismail.”

Zahra put a hand on my shoulder – an odd gesture from her – and regarded me solemnly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But don’t you want to know -”

“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t.”

I took a breath, let it out. “Okay. What were you going to say?”

“You have money saved, right?”

“Yeah, some.”

“I want you to extend the house.”

Egyptian lemonade

I frowned. “What for?”

“For you. I don’t want you to have to sleep on the sofa anymore. I want you to build a master bedroom and bathroom for yourself, and for… whoever. For the future.”

“I’m not taking Samina back.”

Zahra smiled. “There are other women in the world.”

“I need another bag!” Momy called.

I reached up and took the full bag he had collected – it bulged with fat, glistening lemons – then handed him one of the empty bags on the ground.

Momy resumed plucking lemons. The citrus scent was sweet and tantalizing in my nose. My father had planted this tree, and it was taller than the house. The lemons shone in the morning sun, each one a miracle and a gift. I would make lemonade for tonight’s iftar, I decided. Egyptian-style lemonade with sugar, mint, and milk. Zahra and Momy would love it.

THE END

 

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

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

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

 

Related:

A Wish And A Cosmic Bird: A Play

Searching for Signs of Spring: A Short Story

 

The post The Pilgrim [Part 3]: Not Your Fault – A Ramadan Story appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.