Anonymous on Finding Peace dahmousha on Discovering the Quran najaaba on An Enigmatic Smile Leqaa on An Enigmatic Smile dahmousha on Kindness
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One of the most difficult times of my life was after the birth of my fourth child, when I suffered from severe post-partum depression. Like many kinds of hardship that leave us broken open, healing involved a process of deep reflection, reevaluation, and recommitment. It was a slow and painful process but I worked through my perception of self, my choices in life and my relations with others. While struggling forward amidst heavy responsibilities and a weak support network, I eventually reached a state of peace and contentment.
My friend Janet, unknowingly, helped me through this painful period of my life when she gifted me with a set of 30 cassette tapes – the entire Quran, audible, one verse at time, first in Arabic then in English. During my drive time, which amounted then to almost three hours a day, I played the tapes. Knowing absolutely no classical Arabic when I started, I concentrated on the words to match the meanings between languages. After two years of daily lessons, I understood enough to switch to the only-Arabic recitation of the Quran, and continued learning for another year as I drove and then researched at home the new vocabulary. Eventually, I could understand fairly well the eloquent expressions of God’s speech to man, and I was able to listen to the entire Quran at least once a month. This process transformed me.
When I listen to the Quran, God talks to me. He tells me how to live well, He describes Paradise, He teaches me little prayers, He tells me that He hears and knows everything in my heart. He tells me that He is merciful and kind to all creation, and that He helps and supports particularly those who believe in Him and treat others well. He teaches me, through stories of prophets, how I should approach life and how He chooses the very best for us, even if it meant prison for Joseph, exile for Abraham, and false accusations for Mary.
I came to the realization that He chose everything for me because it was best for me. I often used to think that if only I had been given more opportunities as a child, I could have been such a better person. But then I realized how my childhood made me strong, so it was good. Now I accept that everything I go through is carefully measured so that I can be my best self. When I am suffering, I ask, “What am I supposed to learn?” hoping that enlightenment will lessen the pain. Sometimes it means I have to change. Sometimes it means I have to forgive. Sometimes it means I have to stand up with confidence and self-worth and be counted. Some things I may never know. But I stopped questioning God.
I stopped doubting God’s love and now I am sure of it. I feel it, and I can tap into it when I need to. Often I can stop the confusion to feel the embrace of my Creator, and experience His mercy and His limitless gifts. I know that if I don’t feel God’s love, it is because I have turned away from it, and I can just as easily turn again towards it, and recharge my soul with His love. It is so overwhelming sometimes, and it makes every created thing pale in comparison – they are shadows compared to the True Reality of God.
When I feel that warm embrace, and the security and confidence that I am being cared for in the best of ways, I can enjoy the smallest of things. I find more joy in my desert surroundings now than I ever did living on the shores of Lake Michigan, because now I feel God’s love in it all. For example, when I saw a tiny flower growing out of a thin crack in desert rock, I felt it was created just for me to enjoy – what other purpose did it have? In that moment, I felt God was smiling at me, and I could not help smiling back.
When I remember the dark days of my depression, I feel sad for a moment. But then I realize how much I grew from that experience, how much more I empathize with others’ struggles, and how I much more appreciate the smallest of miracles in everyday life. In many ways, depression was the beginning of the best days of my life. Having been at my lowest point, rising up was the only path available. Having been broken open, turning to my heart’s Creator was the only way to mend. I learned, with certainty, that with hardship is ease. And I finally found peace.
My first Quran was the 1934 translation by Abdullah Yusuf Ali. With English and Arabic text side by side, plus ample commentary, it was a good introduction to the Muslims’ holy book. However, I didn’t find it an easy read. I could not get a sense for its structure, and the verses seemed unorganized and fragmented. I struggled to complete reading its 114 chapters with over 6000 verses and felt, at the end, that I needed to start over again. So I found a different translation and started over. The new translation was different from Ali’s literary style, and featured only the English text, which made it difficult to cross-reference a verse or phrase with an Arabic speaker. By the time I finished reading the last verse, I realized that the Quran was not like any other book. Being of divine origin, it naturally exceeds human conceptions of organization and begs to be read, studied, reflected upon and discussed.
There are dozens of translations of the Quran, and each translator brings to light the meanings he understood through his research and experience. The more translations I read, the more frustrated I became. Wanting to both understand its meaning more deeply and experience the oral recitations in Arabic, I decided to study the single Arabic version available – the original words of God dutifully preserved since its revelation 1450 years ago. I undertook my study in stages. My first goal was to get a gist of the meaning so that I could follow the Arabic recitation in the mosque or over the radio. Having accomplished that, I studied the words, one by one, and penciled in my translation on the pages. By then, I had a fair understanding of the basic meaning in Arabic. My next goal was to read the Arabic text and so I would listen to recordings while moving my finger along the Arabic script, which was later followed by the study and practice of pronunciation. After years of study, I had surpassed my original goal and was able to understand, read and recite the Quran.
My experience with the Arabic Quran was vastly different from the English translations I had read. The Quran is an Arabic-language literary masterpiece both technically and aesthetically, making it impossible to translate the rhythm, rhyme, depth of denotation and subtlety of connotation. The oral recitation is deeply moving, often bringing the listener to tears for its beauty and impact. With regular reading, I began to experience a pattern of different emotions as I progressed through the Quran. The first third is tiring to me and demands my focused attention to detail. The second third is easier to read and appeals to my philosophical, contemplative nature. Gradually, the text becomes more powerful. The sentence structure grows increasingly short and terse, the vocabulary more rich, the rhyme more obvious. The intensity of expression lends a sense of urgency to the text and evokes strong emotions like awe, humility, tension, anxiety, hope and longing. My turbulent emotions peak near the end, which is followed by a calm resolution that stems from three commands that set me again on a clear and tranquil path. This pattern of emotions intrigued me, which led me to a more in-depth study of the Quran’s subject matter.
The first third has long chapters and long verses, but the structure is simple and clear. It is first and foremost a call to pure monotheistic faith and declares in very clear terms that there is only one God, the Creator of all. It outlines the main acts of worship – strict monotheistic belief, prayer, fasting, charity and pilgrimage – and gives a blueprint for building an Islamic community. It includes instructions related to marriage and family life, diet, spending, inheritance, and caring for vulnerable sectors of society. It emphasizes justice and moderation. This section also discusses principles of war and peace, peace and defense treaties, and jihad, which is the ongoing struggle to remove obstacles to justice and peace. The first third is an indispensable handbook for balanced personal and communal life.
The second third of the Quran seems to focus more on natural, historic and spiritual phenomena that build faith in God’s power, control and wisdom. My attention was drawn to natural phenomena such as the origin of the universe and the significance of water in creation, (21:30), the creation and development of the embryo (23:14), the properties of milk and honey (16:66,69), the underground structure and purpose of mountains (16:15), the language of ants and birds (27), deep seas and interior waves, barriers between fresh and salty water (24:40, 25:53) lightning, and sleep (30), all of which point to a Single Creator and Lord of the universe. Among the familiar things of this world, an unseen reality is also described, including angels, devils, Paradise and Hellfire, things we realize are not beyond the ability of an all-powerful Creator. Here the purpose of our earthly life is outlined – a test of faith and deed – and the inevitability of judgment and recompense is emphasized.
This section also mentions many miracles, such the story of Mohammad’s night journey to Jerusalem and ascension to the Heavens, the story of several youth who slept for 300 years. It describes the miracles of Moses – the staff, his hand, the Red Sea – as well of those of Jesus, including his immaculate conception and his ability to cure the sick and raise the dead, all by God’s permission. All of these subjects, which range from history to the Hereafter, from natural phenomena to nature-defying miracles, from the purpose of this life to what awaits us in the next, call me to faith and goodness.
The last third of the Quran, like the first, has prescriptions for the faithful but they lean toward personal behavior rather than family, commercial or military matters. For example, chapter 49 forbids slandering others, looking down on others, spying on one another, backbiting, defamation and suspicion. Many verses urge us to refine and perfect our character and behavior, and remind us of God’s justice, which manifests when we face the consequence of our own choices. Key verses are “No bearer of burdens shall bear another’s burdens” (53:38), “On that day you will be exposed; not a secret of yours will be hidden” (69:18) and “Shall we treat those who believe and do good works as those who spread corruption in the Earth; or shall we treat the pious as the wicked?” (38:29). Complementary verses describe in alternation the punishment of ingrates, unrepentant sinners and those heedless of God’s warnings, and the relief and reward of those with firm faith and wholesome work. Descriptions of Paradise are particularly enticing.
When I read the Quran as a whole, I am taken on both a rational and emotional journey that is not unlike the experience of a being engrossed in a skillfully crafted novel, or a beautifully orchestrated symphony, or a brilliantly produced film. The integrity, meaning and nuance of the verses impact me each time in similar ways and yet differently, depending on my frame of mind or current events in my life. Awestruck at its brilliance and beauty, I am thankful for the privilege of my journey with the Quran. Every step on the path, whether reading a translation of the meanings, or delving into a dictionary in painstaking study, or donning headphones for enraptured listening, is an experience with the Divine Speech. I have found nothing in life as enriching, as satisfying, as beautiful. It’s the discovery of a lifetime.
The concept of “home” has always been a big issue in our house. The children grew up among American, German, Egyptian and Kuwaiti cultures, making them what is known as “third-culture kids” or TCKs. This special breed of people, having spent significant parts of their developmental years in a culture other than their parents’ cultures, develop a sense of relationship to all of the cultures while not having full ownership in any. Our kids grew up as international travelers and cultural chameleons. They were bilingual, adaptable, mature, with an international orientation and cross-cultural skills. But every coin has two sides, and I discovered, eventually, that my kids often felt rootless, insecure, off-balance and unsure of where “home” was.
One of the most difficult questions TCKs are asked is, “Where are you from?” Most people automatically and confidently answer this benign question, but for a TCK, it is a conundrum. So we would joke at home about how to answer the question: just pick one culture that most closely resembles the one who asked; say I’m from everywhere and nowhere; say I’m from planet earth; ask so how much time do you have? We would laugh and let off steam but, eventually, the conversation turned serious. We had to come to terms with the question that would trouble us our entire lives.
To put their experience in context, I told them that many prophets had trans-cultural experiences, including Abraham, Lot, Moses, Joseph, Jesus and Muhammad. Prophets Abraham, Lot and Muhammad left their corrupt and polytheistic homelands to establish residence where they could worship the Creator undisturbed. Moses, a true TCK, toggled between Egyptian and Israeli cultures until he finally left Egyptian civilization for life in the wilderness with the Israelites. Joseph, an Arab boy sold into slavery in Egypt, undoubtedly experienced homesickness and a feeling of isolation in new surroundings. And Jesus, who fled his birthplace with his mother and Joseph to escape discovery and possible slaughter by King Herod, was, essentially, homeless for some time. The experiences of these great prophets, we surmised, most certainly gave them qualities of patience, tolerance and self-reliance, as well as mindsets that were inclusive, compassionate and charitable.
We discussed Muhammad’s advice to “be as a traveler” since this life is like “resting under the shade of a tree.” And we agreed that Paradise is our real home – God willing – in the sense that the Garden of Eden was the original residence of Adam and Eve before they were sent to earth, “a place of settlement and provision for a time” (2:36). The Quran reminded us that, “this worldly life is only (temporary) enjoyment and, indeed, the Hereafter – that is the (permanent) settlement” (40:39). The discussion around the prophets and the transient nature of life on earth was helpful, but it didn’t solve the need we all had to be able to identify home – not our dwelling place or location, but a place of identity and belonging.
I made a list of what home meant to me: the place where I belong, where I’m known, where I am welcome, where I’m comfortable to be me. It is a place where I’m not afraid to speak up, where I am accepted for who I am, where I can cry uncontrollably and laugh with all my heart. It is a place of forgiveness. Home is a familiar place where I share history and I am involved in shaping a common destiny. It’s where I experience togetherness and solidarity. It is where I invest myself, feel empowered to reach a potential, and am valuable to someone, at least. As I realized what home meant to me, I understood what it must mean to my own children too, and hoped that they would always find home in my presence.
Since TCKs are known to find belonging in relationships rather than locations, I knew that my role as a mother was important. I had to dig deeper into my conception of home to the idea of mother, perhaps the central and most significant presence in the home. To mother is to affirm someone by letting him know it’s OK to be him, as he is, that it’s OK to have needs, and to take love and care from others. To mother is to care for someone enough to give him what is good for him, not just what feels good to him. It is to care about his well-being and to let him know he can depend on you no matter what. A mother is something solid to lean on and something soft to fall on. To mother is to say, in words and deeds, that you are special the way nobody else can be, and that you are loved, no matter what is or was, or will be or will not be.
Would I ever live up to this concept of mother? Would I be able to provide that sacred place called home?
My children have grown and moved away to build families of their own – another generation of TCKs in a world that thrives on interconnectedness and cross-border movement. Like typical adult TCKs, they adapt quickly to new environments and are comfortable as outsiders. I hope they feel at home everywhere, because home is essentially a place of self-acceptance and self-worth, a place of shared values and aspirations. I hope that they are surrounded with motherly love that communicates acceptance, affirmation, and delight in the uniqueness of who they are and who they are becoming. And I hope that they extend to all they meet the prophets’ gifts of compassion and inclusion. If so, I’ll know that, wherever they are, they’ll be home.
 According to Matthew 2:13-23
I’ll never forget that kiss – an unexpected display of affection from Busybee. I had leased her to improve my equestrian skills and with the hope of training her for a therapy program for autistic children. But she had a bad reputation. Her owner had given up on her, saying she was moody and not fit for riding. She became agitated when mounted, often refused commands, and was generally unpredictable. I was told that her previous owners were rough with her and punished her harshly when she didn’t perform well. But she was the only horse available, so I took her under my care.
I could feel her dissatisfaction and mistrust from the beginning. Just walking her around the equestrian club was a challenge. Not wanting to follow my lead, she decided she would dominate the walks and lead me around. She would yank at the rope, quicken her pace ahead of me, and veer off the path I set. Testing my limits, she would often balk, occasionally rear and once dealt me a swift kick to my leg during a walk. It was hard to maintain my composure, to meet her unpredictable moods with firm yet calm resolve, and to consistently treat her with respect and loving care – characteristics I had hoped to instill in her so that she could be a reliable therapy horse.
Work continued week after week and, like her owner, I almost gave up. But after each session, no matter how frustrating it was, I would stroke her affectionately, sympathizing with her early trauma and acknowledging her dignity and worthiness for love. Then, as I stroked her flank one day, she suddenly turned to me and kissed me! From that day, she transformed into a willing trainee and became everything I had hoped she could be. As a therapy horse, she was composed, compliant, reliable and, most importantly, safe for the autistic riders that fidgeted on her back, day after day.
My experience with a horse provided insight into people who behave with suspicion, insult or hostility. I believe that people hurt others because they themselves are hurting. I don’t need to know the details of their lives to sense their underlying pain or shortage of love. If I can look beyond their hurtful and aggressive words and deeds and react instead to a troubled soul or a broken heart, I can more easily choose compassion and kindness. When I am tempted to react to belligerent people with similar belligerence, I hear the Quranic advice, “The good deed and the evil deed are not alike. Repel (evil) by that which is better, and then the one between you and him is enmity will become as though he was a devoted friend” (41:34). Overriding my gut reaction to retaliate, and deliberately choosing a wholesome and positive response, takes self-control, confidence and patience. A measured response is not always easy.
The Quran supplements its advice to reply to evil with good with a qualifier: “But none attains to this except those who are patient, steadfast…” (41:35). The verse reminds me that I should not expect an immediate positive response to a single act of kindness. I will need to forgive and be kind repeatedly and consistently to prove to the offender that I value him. Having dignity, I must dignify others, even when they are vulgar. And just as I wish to be treated with honor, I should honor others, even if they make themselves seem unworthy of it. How could I hope for forgiveness if I myself cannot forgive?
Eventually, love pays off. Busybee’s kiss was a sign that kindness had mended her heart. She told me she was ready to love in return and since then she has touched autistic children in ways I cannot fully understand. But seeing them riding Busybee, smiling brightly, I realized that she had become the therapy horse of my dream, with more to give than I ever imagined. Most of all, she taught me that patient kindness will eventually triumph and then will carry forward in untold ways.
If love is a sublime and sought after emotion, then it follows that unconditional love is even more lofty and desired. We seek love because it is enjoyable, affirming, exhilarating. We usually love others for their positive traits – their outlook on life, their ethics and sense of purpose, their enthusiasm and dedication, their honesty and courage, their sensitivity and passion. A lover will compliment their beauty, appreciate their virtues, affirm their worth, and enjoy making them happy. But there is much more to love. As Viktor Frankl so eloquently said,
Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality. No one can become fully aware of the very essence of another human being unless he loves him. By his love, he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in the beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of what he can be and of what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true.
Unconditional love begins when we see others in their totality, the good and the bad. It delights in the good but, although it forgives the bad, it cannot accept complacency. Unconditional love manifests in the presence of vulnerability and imperfection, and is both tested and proven in episodes of confrontation, opposition or rejection. The unconditional lover will risk honesty, which will inevitably hurt you. He wants to make you see, to dare you to new experiences, to open you to change, to push you to the limit of your growth. He wants to uncover what is meaningful and important for your life, what will make you a better person, what will lead you to your ultimate potential. This expression of unconditional love is risky, because not all of us are ready to accept true love. We will often feel hurt, betrayed, painfully unloved. In fact, we may avoid unconditional love because it portends discomfort, change, hard work. It challenges us and tires us.
Love, particularly unconditional love, are gifts to lovers in earthly life, celestial gifts that must have an origin in God. His love for us is evident, and revealed in the gifts of life itself, the physical, mental and emotional capacities we enjoy, the beauty within and around us, and the mystical and spiritual aspirations that lead us to greater awareness of Him. We are naturally inclined to sense God’s love and respond to it with gratitude and yearning. We seek God’s love and acknowledge it, especially when we are satisfied, pleased. And we yearn for unconditional love, yet we don’t understand what it means.
Yes, God is Kind, God is Love. He is Grand, Good, Eternal. He describes Himself as Holy, Compassionate, Merciful. We implore his Gentleness, Generosity and Forgiveness. We claim to love God. Yes, loving this God is easy, and we are willing to love at this level. But God is also Truthful, a Guide who allows distress to afflict His creation, the Lover who sees our potential, who is not satisfied with mediocrity. Are we ready for the Truthful to assess our soul? For the Guide to lead us to and through our vulnerabilities? For the growth envisioned by unconditional Love?
When we are subjected to childhood traumas over which we have no control, when we experience failure and privation despite our best efforts, when we suffer physical pain and material loss in our fight against injustice, when we are afflicted with natural disasters or life-threatening illness that turn our lives upside down, we blame God, doubting His love. We want love but not unconditional love. We forget that the unconditional lover is not satisfied with the outcome of a pampered life, that which stunts our growth and cripples us. He sees our potential and propels us toward its realization. Or perhaps he sees our contradictions and tries to purge our hearts of insincerity. The unconditional lover will forever challenge our status quo, will prompt our growth, will provide us with the means to flourish.
To perceive and accept unconditional love – that which transforms and elevates you – necessitates a degree of patience and trust. Prophet Muhammad said, “When God loves a people He subjects them to trials, so whoever is content, then for him is pleasure…” The Quran confirms it: “And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient, who, when disaster strikes them, say, ‘Indeed we belong to Allah, and indeed to Him we will return.’ Those are the ones upon whom are blessings from their Lord and mercy. And it is those who are the [rightly] guided” (2:155-157). If you accept God’s unconditional love, you will be vulnerable to Him and accept His will, even that which hurts, that which perplexes you. Loving unconditionally will make you putty in His Hand, the mighty Hand that shapes you in turn with tenderness and force, with abundance and privation, with that which makes you whole and that which breaks you. He will periodically knock on your heart to crack its fragile shell and give it space to grow. Then, if you meet the tapping with indifference or avoidance, He will insist with greater and greater intensity, until He breaks your hardness and a new heart emerges, trembling in the Hand of its Maker. Are you ready for the unconditional, nurturing love of God in this moment? When He heats you in fire then forges your shape like a blacksmith, will you yield to Him or will you rebuke Him, question His wisdom, rebel against His will?
To love God conditionally is to accept His gifts and thank Him when life goes according to plan, but to ignore Him when called, question Him when dismayed, rebuke Him when disappointed, rebel against Him when challenged. To reject God’s love is to turn away from and avoid what is good for your soul, what expands and elevates it. To distance yourself from the varying expressions of His love is to become stagnant, numb and lifeless.
To love God unconditionally means to follow Him. It means to love all that is from Him, to seek it, embrace it, and submit to it with total acceptance, without blame. Although loving God will challenge you, and may cause some discomfort from time to time, you won’t retreat. You will look beyond any inconvenience, even before the trial of true love begins, and fix your sight on the face of the Beloved. The lover will trust the Beloved with a trust due to none other than Him, saying, “Ask what You will. I am yours.”
Our primordial selves are open to the delights of love. Our mature selves are open to the challenges of unconditional love. With insight, we recognize it when we experience growth after painful or traumatic episodes, and may even be grateful for the truths it revealed or the personal strengths it nurtured. But if we are to move beyond our selfishness on the receiving end of love, and become a lover as well, we must accept the implications of unconditional loving — appreciation of how God manifests His unconditional love for us, and then loving Him, unconditionally, in return.
We are called to believe in God, to reflect on life, and to comply with His will. The Quran says, “Whoever believes, it is for his own good and whoever is blind, it is to his own harm” (96:104) and that the heedless are those who “have hearts with which they do not understand, and they have eyes with which they do not see, and they have ears with which they do not hear” (7:179). “If Allah touches you with hurt, there is none who can remove it but He. If He designs some benefit for you, there is none who can keep back His favor… Truth has reached you from your Lord. Those who receive guidance do so for the good of their own souls and those who stray do so to their own loss… Follow (the Quran that) is revealed to you and be patient and constant…” (10:107-109).
With our limited knowledge and experience, we can’t fully understand God’s will, but with complete trust in our Creator, we can accept it, embrace it. When we love God unconditionally, we will seek His guidance and then consciously and faithfully follow it. We will fulfill His prescriptions and avoid His prohibitions. We will be pleased with the Word of God that guides us to our greatest potential and the Hand of God that shapes us into our best selves. We will be able to accept the mysteries of our lives –the unavoidable trauma, pain and want – as being part of the process that makes us who we are, who we were meant to be. We will become resilient to mental, spiritual and physical challenges, resourceful and strong in the face of adversity, perceptive to others’ suffering, compassionate and responsive to their needs, daring against injustice, trusting in ultimate good.
With total submission to a loving and beloved Lord, we can find a place of peace and stability, a place where trauma, pain and want no longer prevail. We can find a place of love, exquisite in breadth and depth and, if we surrender to it – to the unconditional Love of our Maker, we will be blessed with His pleasure, abundance and infinite mercy. In our search for this place of love, both in this life and the next, we can only ask God to help us respond to His love with total submission – to offer to our Beloved our own unconditional love.
One of the companions of Prophet Muhammad said, “I haven’t seen anyone smile more often than the Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him.” With that, one would assume he was particularly cheerful, since smiling usually is an expression of happiness, pleasure, joy or amusement. We take that for granted. But, knowing about Prophet Muhammad’s life, I find his smile a bit mysterious.
Muhammad never knew his father, since he died before he was born. His mother died when he was six – old enough to remember his loss for the rest of his life. Handed over to his paternal grandfather, he grieved his passing just two years later. He then settled with a poor uncle, working as a shepherd to earn his keep. Later, he built a family with Khadija and had six children. The two boys died as toddlers. His wife of 25 years died and then, one by one, three of his daughters died, leaving him with only the youngest, Fatima. How, after so much loss, can one continue to smile? And not just to smile, but to smile more than anyone else?
Muhammad, peace be upon him, was known as the Messenger of God. His duty was to convey the divine revelation to his people in Mecca and, by extension, to all mankind. He was also charged with explaining and practically demonstrating the teachings of the Quran to his followers, which might not be overly difficult in ordinary circumstances. However, doing that in the midst of ridicule, slander, assault and attempts on his life added weight to his burden. Eventually, he fled his hometown a refugee, finding asylum in Medina. The experience would make even the most resilient of people downcast and bitter. And yet he smiled more than any of his people.
After finding refuge in Medina, Muhammad, peace be upon him, was able to build a community on the teachings of the Quran. It is here where he should have finally enjoyed the fruits of his labor in a society of peaceful followers. But he experienced betrayal and intrigue from the hypocrites in Medina and outright attack from the bullies of Mecca. In one conflict after another, he defended his people from brutality, robbery and annihilation, joining the heat of battle without exception. He was always on guard, always negotiating peace, always working for stability so that he could fulfill his mission. Most men would have been plagued with worry, anxiety and fear. Yet he smiled.
His ability to hold his head high despite growing up as a poor orphan, to be happy even though he lost nearly his entire family, to carry on despite fierce opposition and brutal confrontation, and to smile throughout – to the extent that his followers said he smiled more than anybody else – confounds me. Where did he get his strength?
It must have been from prayer.
In spite of his heavy responsibilities, Muhammad, peace be upon him, always found time to pray. He welcomed, even waited for, the five times a day he would gather his people and lead them in prayer. He told the muezzin, “O Bilal, call for prayer – give us comfort by it.” When the people went home to sleep, he went home to pray, sometimes standing the whole night in devotion and supplication. He often cried in his prayers to the extent that he would wet his beard and even the mat he prostrated on.
His heart must have been broken with loneliness, trampled with brutality, stretched to bursting with fear. With that swollen, aching heart, he stood for prayer in front of his Lord, where he found a soothing presence. In that embrace, he unloaded the weight of the world from his back and cleared the sadness of tragedy from his heart until he met calm emptiness, stillness, quiet exhaustion. Then, from the Grace of God, the vacuum filled with Light! His heart swelled anew with courage and strength, peace and optimism – even joy. He overflowed with divine Love, which made him to his companions “more beautiful than the full moon.” With the effects of prayer obvious in his countenance, he was able to meet everyone with an encouraging word, a charitable gesture and a warm, genuine smile.
I can see him in my mind’s eye — radiant, beautiful, smiling. May the peace and blessings of God be upon him.
The teacher walked into the classroom with a big smile as I and my 20-odd classmates waited to hear our final marks. We had spent the term memorizing 20 pages of the Quran. Every Wednesday, the teacher called students one by one at random, recited a verse from within a 2-page section, and evaluated our ability to continue reciting by heart from that point, with perfect pronunciation of the letters and their accompanying qualities such as elision, nasalization, and vowel elongation. Being a foreigner among native Arab students, I avoided the teacher’s attention by sitting on the periphery of the classroom, out of her line of vision, hoping she would call on me last. It worked, because as she walked in, she looked to the center of the room.
“Because of your hard work and good hearts, I’ve decided to give each of you a full mark!” she exclaimed. The students were delighted, and blessed her for her generosity, but I sat annoyed in my corner seat. That’s not fair, I thought. I knew I wasn’t the best student in class, nor was I the worst. I wasn’t happy with the extra points and would rather have gotten the 80% I deserved. I felt the better students were cheated, and the poorer students were deceived. I felt invisible and, although I had sought it throughout the term, suddenly I was resentful. Why did it bother me when I clearly stood to benefit from the teacher’s blanket decision?
The dissimilarity between two verses in the Quran provided a clue. The first is “And those who were conscious of their Lord will be urged on in crowds towards Paradise until, when they reach it, they shall find its gates wide open, and its keepers will say to them, ‘Peace be upon you! You have done well! So enter to stay forever!’” (39:73) I hope to be of those led into Paradise amongst a crowd, where there will be an air of excitement and joyful anticipation, of mutual congratulations and camaraderie. But perhaps, despite the relief and thrill of the moment, I would feel just one of the masses: overlooked, insignificant and invisible in the crowd.
The second verse sets a different scene: “and every one of them will appear before Him (God) on Resurrection Day alone” (19:95). The prospect of being alone with God, presumably to review my earthly record of thoughts, words and deeds, was my Quran-memorizing-test anxiety multiplied by a million. The immediate reaction is dread, self-doubt, and the desire to be invisible, to get lost in the crowd, to be waved on toward my destiny without being singled out.
Which is better, I wondered: to be in the periphery and benefit from God’s overarching forgiveness and generosity to the crowd? Or to sit in the examination seat in His focused attention and scrutiny as I stutter my way through? Why does it matter as long as I achieve a passing grade?
It matters to me. It matters that I am seen, faults and all. It matters that God would take the time to look me in the eye, address me by name, listen to my voice, acknowledge my struggle, soothe my nerves, and allow me all the time I need to answer the questions on the test. It matters that I am singled out from the crowd, chosen for a brief encounter with God, whose presence I have sought for so long. Even if my mistakes are called out, it doesn’t matter, because it means He was paying attention. It means I wasn’t invisible. It means I mattered, even just a little, to Him.
I pray that the day I meet God will be my best day ever, and that my meeting alone with Him, after a lifetime of focus and practice, will get me the passing mark. And I would not foolishly object if He, in His overarching generosity, said, “Full mark!” despite my mistakes. Afterwards, it would be nice to join my colleagues from Life on Earth for a graduation party, and to walk in crowds toward the open doors of Paradise. It’s where I’ll know how special it is to be singled out from the crowd.
When we meet someone new, we usually introduce ourselves with our name and a relevant role. “Hello, my name is Teresa. I’m Salem’s mother.”
Likewise, when God sent His message, the Quran, He began with an appropriate introduction: His name, His title and His role. “In the name of Allah, the Continually Merciful, the Especially Merciful. All praise is for Allah, Lord of the Universe, the Continually Merciful, the Especially Merciful.…”
People use many words to refer to Lord of the Universe such as God, the Great Spirit, the Divine, the Deity, the Higher Power, Nature, and so on; the list is endless if we consider the nomenclature for God in different languages. It may not be incorrect to use these words, but they are descriptions of Him – titles we humans have conceived to identify him. However, the Lord of the Universe introduced Himself with His name, getting quite personal with the reader. My name is Allah. And in case the reader is apprehensive about being addressed by the Lord of the Universe, He immediately adds “the Continually Merciful, the Especially Merciful.” Now the reader is at ease. Any images of an angry, vengeful or chastising Lord are overshadowed by His use of the word merciful four times in the first ten words of His message.
After introducing himself by His name and describing His prominent quality of ongoing and exceptional mercy, God shares with us His title: Lord of the Worlds. While the word lord in contemporary English denotes a superior ruler, leader or officer, its meaning in the Quranic context must be examined in light of the Arabic word used, Rabb, which is commonly translated as Lord. The word Rabb in the Semitic languages can mean nourisher, one who provides the means of sustenance, one who raises or teaches another, one who serves as master over another and, of course, God. In the Quranic context, the meaning combines these concepts to denote one who sustains and leads something through developmental stages so that it can attain its full stature or perfection. The title Allah uses for Himself is “Lord of the Worlds,” or of all beings, is followed again by the double qualifier — the Continually Merciful, the Especially Merciful. Not only is Allah He who nourishes, guides and develops us, He does so with continual and exceptional mercy.
The verses continue: “King (or Owner) of Judgment Day.” Just when we’re getting comfortable with the idea of a merciful Lord, Allah shares another of His titles with the reader. Suddenly the reader is jolted from a complacent existence under the provision and guidance of a continually and especially merciful Lord to a Day of Judgment, over which Allah, the King, will preside. The phrase implies not only an afterlife but also a trial. The reader becomes anxious. Judgment? How will we be judged? What is the criteria of success? What will happen next? The reader is dazed, or at least should be. At this point, there is a pause, and Allah invites the reader to respond. What should he say?
What does one say upon meeting the Lord of the Worlds and the King of Judgment Day? Common rules of etiquette between people do not necessarily apply. One would naturally be at a loss for words. So Allah provides the appropriate response: “It is You we worship and it is You we ask for help. Guide us to the straight path, the path of those upon whom You have bestowed favor, not of those who have evoked your anger or of those who are astray.”
With this suggested response from the reader, Allah indirectly makes few points. First, the reader should acknowledge Allah as the Lord, both in the sense of the only deity to be worshiped and of a benefactor whose assistance should be sought. Second, the appropriate request should be offered in the collective sense, not a personal one, which would smack of selfishness; we are responding to the Lord as a community. Third, it is on Judgment Day that the community will be divided into those who have been favored by Allah, those who have evoked His anger, and those who have been lost. Fourth, there is hope: there is a straight path that leads the envious position of being favored by Allah on Judgment Day. The suggested response is a request for guidance that, in turn, anticipates a reply.
It is given in the following verses. “This is the Book [of Allah]; there is no doubt about it. It is guidance for Godfearing (or God-conscious) people…” (2:2). Ever generous, the Lord sent 600 full pages of guidance, His message to the human community, which is known as the Quran. It thoroughly introduces the Creator to its reader and shows us how He manifests His love for us.
In response to that Divine Love, it befits us to behave in certain ways, and the Quran outlines how to express our love to Allah in return. Impossible to achieve by thought and emotion alone, showing love for Allah must be expressed more concretely in a particular context. The context, as we know, is life on earth, in communities, in daily interactions with others. As individuals and as a community, we express our love for God by acts of devotion to Him and by showing mercy to one another.
The Quran shows the path to love.
It is not unusual to sometimes feel overwhelmed by the many responsibilities of modern life – family needs, work schedules, social commitments, and the pressure to develop professionally or face obsolescence. It’s also not uncommon to lack focus because of the many forces that take our attention in different directions, such as the constant notifications of our social media accounts, the allure of online entertainment, the boredom that drives us to local attractions, and our own physical needs for food, enjoyment and rest. All of these pressures and distractions weigh us down, making it difficult to sift out our goals, focus on achieving them, and build the life we dream of.
Fasting the month of Ramadan, in addition to being an act of worship and a gesture of gratitude for divine guidance, is a way to regain control of our lives. There are three levels of fasting. The basic level of fasting is to abstain from eating, drinking, smoking and intimacy during daylight hours. To do this for an entire month proves to us that no physical pleasure can control us; in fact, we take control of the food, the sugar, the nicotine, the caffeine, the sex. We prove to ourselves that we can control our impulses and regulate the physical demands of human life. This is not a small thing. And there’s more.
The second level of fasting is to abstain from saying what shouldn’t be said and seeing what shouldn’t be seen. We refrain from expressing anger, sharing gossip, telling little lies, and watching violence, gore and sexual content on our screens. We realize that having control over our stomachs is insignificant if we can’t take control of our tongues, ears and eyes. Exercising that kind of discipline for a month shields us from the problems we often bring upon ourselves when we say or do something spontaneously in reaction to others without pausing to consider the effects, or when we regularly experience what taints our best selves. The second level of fasting empowers us to regulate the social and recreational aspects of our lives. That is not a small thing! But there’s more.
The third level of fasting is to resist what is useless, negative and mundane and replace it with what is constructive, positive and beneficial. It’s like cleaning your closet – getting rid of the clothes that are outdated, ill-fitting, worn out, or useless. Likewise, we purge our minds from old mindsets that hold us back, from ugly attitudes that accentuate our flaws, from excuses that keep us from being our best selves and from worthless clutter that crowds our minds. This naturally extends to activities, as we reevaluate how we spend our time and whether it contributes to our ultimate success and happiness.
If we apply the three levels of fasting and really focus on the physical, social and mental benefits, we will finish the month possessing the tools we need to stay in control of our lives. We will be able to control our bodies and minds, and we can focus our energy on achieving what really matters. We emerge from this annual training with enhanced feelings of autonomy and self-determination, greater belief in our potential for goodness and meaning, and powerful tools to help us meet our goals for the coming year. And when we falter and forfeit some of that control, Ramadan will revisit soon enough to reinforce its valuable lessons.
But before we credit ourselves with too much strength, autonomy, and potential, let’s take a moment to look at the source of this beautiful month. Our Creator, who knows inside out, has ordained this fast as a way to express our gratitude and become more conscious of Him. Practicing the three levels of fasting give us the clarity, strength and incentive to stay focused on the terminal point of this journey called life, which is standing before our Creator with our record in hand. It is here – when our deeds, words and thoughts are on display – that we will be thankful for Ramadan, when we learned to take control.
The essence of Islam can be found in a single statement, the “kalimah,” which embodies both its doctrine and practice. We hear this statement five times a day from the minarets: “There is no god except Allah and Muhammad is His messenger.” Any true religion should offer sound doctrine and clear practice, and this simple statement sums it up.
The doctrine is that our Creator – the Lord of the universe – is the only one deserving of our worship; all matters of faith revolve around that. To understand the significance of this statement, consider Islamic art – the geometric, symmetric, and possibly infinite continuation of lines, curves and patterns – which always begins with a single point on a page or canvas. It is from this point that a line or circle is first drawn, and from which a beautiful work of art takes shape. Without that point of reference, without the consideration that each line and curve originated from that point, and without respect for the relation that every intersecting point has with the original one, the whole pattern will be imperfect, unbalanced and eventually unrecognizable.
Islam, as the inspiration for this beautiful art form, is identical in that it, too, has as its epicenter a single point from which every thought, intention, action and hope begins. That point of reference is God. When someone makes God the single reference point in his life, from which all expression originates, his life can be one of both precision and beauty, of discipline and creativity. In Islamic art, the original point is simply a dot on a page. In Islam, a single, unique God is the focal point, around which all of life revolves.
The second part of the statement instructs us of the practice of Islam: that Muhammad (peace be upon him) is God’s messenger, a man whose role was to convey the message and implement it in all spheres of human conduct. Thus, he is a role model for humankind. He is the teacher with textbook in hand, and his role was to apply the teachings of the Book, answering the questions of his students along the way.
Not only did Muhammad (peace be upon him) relate God’s Word to the world, he answered, with his sayings and conduct, one of the most important questions ever asked: “How are we supposed to live?” He provided guidance in all matters of life, whether in the home, on the job, in the marketplace, or on the battlefield. He interacted with men and women, young and old, friends and foes. He taught us how to manage personal relationships and international treaties. He taught us to be fully human, yet quintessentially spiritual.
The simple statement, “There is no god but Allah and Muhammad is His messenger” is a profound concept that sums up the thought and practice of a true Muslim. It is the vision, mission, objective and benchmark of life, all in one.
Summarized excerpts from the book by Mawlana Abul Kalam Azad (edited by Syed Abdul-Latif), first published in 1958; published by the Islamic Book Trust in 2003. ISBN 983-9154-49-4. 118 pages.
The Quran is simple and direct, imparting a message that need not be considered obscure or mysterious. Although its meanings are layered and deep, it is the clear and direct messages to which we should pay the most attention. What follows is an introduction to the Quran in general and to surat al-Fatiha in particular.
There are four qualities attributed to God in surat al-Fatiha: 1) that He is the Rabb, or the one who cares for, nourishes, provides for and “raises” us much like a loving parent; 2) that He is merciful and this care reaches all beings, and is always in the spirit of mercy, despite our perceptions of our experiences; 3) that, as an aspect of mercy, He dispenses justice, if not on earth than eventually on Judgment Day; 4) He offers guidance (huda) in various ways (including instinct, senses, reason and revelation) so that we can grow spiritually, enjoy His favor and avoid His anger.
Belief in the existence of God is ingrained in human nature, and man’s concept of God naturally assumes Oneness or Unity as well as Omniscience and Omnipotence. From the time of Adam, who understood this primordial truth, man retrogressed, perhaps due to his inability to comprehend the Absolute transcendental (non-physical) nature of God. Relating the qualities of humans or other creatures to God (personifying God) and image worship ensued. However, the highest that the human intellect can achieve is to think of God abstractly, without any symbolic aid – the transcendental view; it is this view that the Quran endorses and emphasizes: “There is nothing like Him.” (41:11 and 112:4) While the Quran mentions many attributes of God (as adjectives), these do not lead to physical incarnations or symbolic representation.
The Quran mentions many prophets of God who came to restore the primordial faith in the One and Only God. Most followers failed to draw the line between the teacher and the teaching, eventually becoming excessively devoted to God’s messengers (rather than to God who sent them) and even attributing divinity to them. However, the testimony of faith in Islam continuously reminds us that “there is no God except Allah (the God) and Muhammad is his servant and messenger.” By repeating this statement, we can never hail Muhammad as God or His incarnation, and by extension, all prophets of God. This statement simplifies religion to the utmost, making true faith accessible to all, and putting an end to arguments about the divinity of creatures and, especially, of God’s messengers.
Just as the primordial concept of the Creator – a single God – was the natural understanding of early man, so was the concept of a single human community. It is inconceivable that Adam and Eve, or the earliest communities, considered themselves as anything but a single community. Only after they focused on their differences that the concept of “otherness” was born. The Quran says, “People were one community… (2:213) Because of the multitude of prophets who came to mankind over the centuries, there are bound to be differences in the minutia of daily life. These differences, however, should not divide mankind. The human population should remain a single community.
The Quran is uncompromising regarding the unitary and transcendental concept of God. It also endorses a single community and is opposed to “otherness” or groupism. Furthermore, the Quran guides the reader in the proper treatment of others. The foremost command in this regard is not to become divided: “He has prescribed for you the religion which He enjoined upon Noah and which We revealed to you (O Muhammad), and which We enjoined upon Abraham and Moses and Jesus, commanding, “Establish this religion and do not be divided regarding it.” (42:11). Every sort of groupism, such as sexism or racism, is against this command. Any paradigm other than what supports a unified, egalitarian human community is groupism of some sort and not the universal way of God.
Some people accept the message of unity of God and unity of man, and the Quran offers them guidance for the most upright life. Others reject it and to them it is said, “There is no compulsion in religion.” The Quran encourages tolerance towards people who believe differently: “to your religion and to me mine” (109). Those who believe in God and live righteously should never look down on others who are yet to be guided. Just as God provides for and guides all His creatures to their purpose and potential, He will according to His wisdom, offer guidance to people according to their aptitudes and readiness. Guidance is an ongoing process for each of us.
But there is a third group that deliberately and violently oppose and persecute those who believe. It would be a disservice to humanity to leave the third group’s hostility unchallenged, because it would uphold wickedness or cruelty. So in order for mercy to prevail, there must be the presence of justice. It is the duty of all people to oppose those who sow discord among people; however, within the right to justice is the recommendation for forbearance, forgiveness and magnanimity. But those who insist on oppression and the corruption of God’s way will eventually meet justice.
One aspect of justice is the law of causation, which results in man’s punishment or reward in this life and the next. Every thought, feeling and action produces a result appropriate to it, and that is its recompense – reward or punishment. The law of causation often results in unpleasant happenings that man may mistakenly assign to divine displeasure. The afflicted may sooner or later realize that they were, in fact, an aspect of Divine mercy; that which exposes blockages on the path of perfection, alerts him when he goes out of bounds, makes him aware of his poor decisions, and helps him restore the necessary balance so he can get back on the straight path. But for he who resists guidance in these cases, the force may increase (which is further evidence of God’s mercy) or he may be left off the path entirely. The latter should not assume that he will escape justice, which will be complete in the next life. “He who does right – it is for himself, and he who does evil – it is for himself. And your Lord will not deal unfairly with his servants.” (41:46)
The Quran asserts that salvation is the result of devotion to God and righteous living. Just as the laws of nature regulate and sustain the universe, there is a spiritual law to govern the life of man, and this law is one and the same for everyone. This “straight way” (the Deen) is belief in the Unity of God and righteous living. The Quran says, “…They who set their face toward God and do what is right – their reward is with their Lord…” (2:105-106). “Whosever believes in God and the Last Day and does what is right shall have their reward with their Lord…” (2:59). “By time, man is in loss except those who believe (in one God) and do good works, and enjoin truth and enjoin patience” (103). Therefore the two key conditions of salvation are devotion to the one true God and righteous living.
The straight way, which is the object of guidance asked for in Surat al-Fatiha, is the way of conformity or surrender to the laws of life fixed by God. There has been no variation in that way throughout time, despite variances according to era, climate, culture, etc. The primary aim of this spiritual law of life or the way of God, the Deen, is to preserve the unity of mankind and not to serve as a force for disunity. Rather it should inspire the feeling of fellowship between one and another and facilitate community life bound by the common tie of devotion to God. This is the central principle for the unification of the human race.
Modern life, which is characterized by computerization, communication, and globalization, has made work easier and given us more leisure options, but has also contributed to mental and social problems. “Modern man” is often characterized by lack of purpose, distraction, low stamina, isolation, loss of community involvement, decreased empathy, and general depression. Given the busy schedules that we often feel we have little control over, it’s hard to make major lifestyle changes. But our Creator has prescribed a treatment for whatever social, emotional or personal challenge we face in life – it is called Ramadan.
Feeling a lack of purpose in your life? Fast the month of Ramadan. Nobody would undertake such a long and difficult commitment without a reason, whether or religious conviction, health benefits, personal challenge, or solidarity with Muslims. The Quran says, “Fasting has been prescribed for you as it was prescribed for those before you so that you may learn God-consciousness” (2:183). If you sincerely fast, observing the restrictions on food, drink and marital intimacy in daylight hours, you will develop a strong sense purpose – which for most is to obey and worship Almighty God. You will also become a more sincere person, since fasting cannot really be observed by another person – only you and God. Ramadan is the perfect time to ask, “What is the purpose of my existence?”
Most people nowadays are distracted due to busy schedules, incessant phone messages and emails, and the demands of media for our attention. We lack focus and can hardly finish one task from start to finish without distractions. Some people cannot even eat a meal without their phones nearby so they can check WhatsApp messages. If this describes you, I recommend fasting the month of Ramadan, which will eliminate at least one major distraction in our lives – eating – during daylight hours, which will increase productivity and focus on other activities. And then, when the meal is finally served after sunset, I guarantee you will put your phone away so you can enjoy your breakfast.
We generally have less physical strength and lower stamina than our parents and grandparents had at our age, due to our sedentary lifestyles and the prevalence of desk jobs. Fasting Ramadan will improve your fortitude and determination; how else would you be able to refrain from satisfying your basic needs and desires for such long periods? How else would you be able to ignore hunger, thirst and fatigue while you carry on with life’s usual demands? Ramadan is a perfect time to show yourself what you’re capable of. You will find a self-disciplined, patient, flexible and resilient person.
Another byproduct of our modern lifestyles is isolation. Families are often separated and must resort to social media to keep in touch. Social media has enabled us to have friends from around the world that we meet in virtual spaces. However, this has had a negative impact on the “in-person” relationships with those around us, with many people preferring to relate to others through their phones. Ramadan helps this situation because there are many communal meals, whether at home, in mosques, or special gatherings for social groups. In addition, the extra attention on prayer brings neighbors together in the mosques daily, which builds stronger communities. Finally, zakat ul-fitr, or the pre-holiday charity, requires us to reach out to someone less fortunate in the spirit of sharing and celebration.
Modern life can sometimes lead to apathy, which is caring little for others, and a sense of entitlement, which is overestimating your rights. Feeling the hunger and thirst of fasting makes you keenly aware of the blessing of food and clean water in your life, and more aware of the fact that many people do not have what you will promptly consider a luxury. Feeling the deprivations of the poor is a wonderful lesson in empathy and compassion, one that is never forgotten after fasting the month of Ramadan, and which makes it so much easier to share our resources with the disadvantaged.
Finally, all the above symptoms of the modern man lead to depression, which is common today. Fasting Ramadan is a way to start overcoming depression because it has several positive results simultaneously: a renewed sense of purpose, realizing your personal strength, increased involvement with others, awareness of blessings that you formally took for granted, taking control of yourself through managing your needs, desires and thoughts, and drawing closer to your Creator and the Provider of all your needs.
Fasting the month of Ramadan definitely has its benefits in this life, especially in the modern age. And this is just the tip of the iceberg, because there are well-researched medical benefits as well as deeply personal spiritual blessings, not to mention the promised rewards that ensue in the Hereafter. The total benefits of fasting are known only to God, who says in the Quran, “… and it is better for you to fast, if you only knew” (2:184).
An estimated three million people gathered in the holy city of Mecca in April 1997 to visit the first house of worship on earth, the Kaaba, which was built by Abraham in ancient history, and which has continued to be the center of worship for the monotheistic religion of Islam. I was one of those three million pilgrims performing the rites of hajj, or pilgrimage. Awe and humility filled my heart and soul as I witnessed pilgrims from every nation of the world gather to worship God, seek His forgiveness, and renew their commitment to Him. People of all races and cultures stood silent in perfect concentric rows during congregational prayer. Both the rich and the poor stood before God, supplicating with outstretched hands, and people of all ages and abilities strove their utmost to perfect their worship. I cannot express the humility and gratitude I felt to be among the Muslims in Mecca.
The Hajj rites not only remind Muslims of their ties to the prophet Abraham, but also of their ultimate death and return to God. As I began my pilgrimage, I put all worldly concerns out of my mind and prayed, in the words of Muhammad (p), “At Your service O Lord, at Your service. There is no god but You. All praise, goodness and authority are Yours. There is no god but You.”
The essence of Hajj is spending the day on the plain of Arafat near Mecca. It is said that on this day God descends to the lowest heaven and says, “Behold my servants who come tired and dusty in search of my mercy,” and that He answers the prayers of His supplicants this day. Naturally, the whole day was spent in worship, prayers, and meditation. The hope of His presence, the longing for nearness to Him, and the promise of His Mercy were fuel for the heart and soul. Furtive glances at my watch reminded me how short a day can be and how precious time really is. As the sun set, I left Arafat, regretting that the day had ended so soon and longing for an eternal home in His presence.
After sunset we preceded to Muzdallifa to rest before completing the Hajj the next day. There we collected pebbles, which we would later cast at the three pillars erected to symbolize Satan. This rite originates with Abraham who, on at least three separate occasions, confronted Satan, who sought to tempt him and lead him away from obedience to God. On one such occasion, Abraham understood God’s wish for him to take his wife Hagar and infant son Ishmael to the barren, unpopulated valley of Mecca and leave them there. He did so and, as he walked away, Satan tempted him to return for them. Unflinching in faith, Abraham cast stones at Satan to drive him away. On another occasion, Abraham saw in a dream that he was to sacrifice his young son and understood that it was a command from God, a test of faith. Both Abraham and Ishmael were willing to obey, but Satan tried to tempt them. They cast stones at him to drive him away. As Ibrahim placed the knife at his son’s throat, a sheep appeared out of nowhere, and Abraham knew that it was sent as a substitute; he had proven his faith and his obedience. Thus, after casting pebbles at the pillars, the pilgrim sacrifices a sheep or other animal and distributes its meat to the poor, which is symbolic of faith, obedience and charity.
To complete our Hajj, we visited the Sacred Mosque in Mecca to perform seven circumambulations of the Kaaba, which resemble – on an atomic level – the motions of electrons around the nucleus, and – on an astronomic level – the planets revolving around the sun. Our revolutions around the House of God, like the prayer of Abraham and Ishmael as they built it, impressed upon me the purpose of life: “Our Lord, accept this service from us and make us Muslims, bowing to Thy will, and of our progeny a people bowing to Thy will.” We then walked seven times between the ancient hillocks of Safa and Marwa as Hagar did after being abandoned in the valley. She ran in frantic search for water for her infant son from one hill to the other until, after the seventh time, water sprang up at her son’s feet. The underground spring, called Zamzam, has quenched the thirst of innumerable worshippers ever since. We often drank from that spring with prayers for health and strength, for the prophet Muhammad said that in Zamzam water is both nutrition and healing power. With our Hajj complete, we thanked God for the opportunity and the means to fulfill our obligations to Him and prayed for His acceptance of our effort.
The rites of Hajj replaced mere intellectual comprehension of religious history with the experience of sharing faith and practice with our ancient fathers. I developed profound respect and affection for Abraham and his family, and I felt immense pride in being one of his faith – true monotheism. As millions of Muslims gathered on those days in worship, I felt a brotherhood that renewed my faith in the worldwide Muslim community and inspired hope for our future. Thus, the pilgrimage linked the past to the present and, through me and my fellow pilgrims, both ancient and future generations of Muslims were bound in faith and brotherhood.
A few images of Hajj are carved in my memory. An old man, smaller and thinner than I, brushed against me as we pressed through the crowded corridor on the way to the Sacred Mosque. He turned and implored, “Forgive me, pilgrim.” Tears welled in my eyes as I forced a smile. He had done nothing to offend me. Being young and strong, I could only feel shame as he asked me for forgiveness. I remember him often and as God to bless him.
And then there was Shaima, a beautiful woman from Turkey, who stopped me in the market one morning and asked in broken English where I was from. She gave me a book and said, “hadiya,” the Arabic word for gift. I was astounded by the feeling that this woman was my sister and my friend because of our faith and by the fact that the language of the Quran was our means of communication. My husband and I later met her husband, a member of the Turkish parliament, and learned that they have three children. They asked us to pray for them. That’s all I know of Shaima from Turkey, yet I feel an affinity with her that is symbolic of my affinity with all true Muslims around the world – one people who worship one God and mold their lives around faith and obedience, resulting in similar lifestyles and a common language.
The pilgrims who slept on the cool marble floors of the mosque were at the mercy of the thousands of Muslims who passed around and over them as they rested. I marveled at the confidence with which they slept and the care that was taken by the passersby not to disturb them. The kindness and mutual respect that I witnessed was overwhelming. I wished the Muslim nation would always be so tolerant and unified.
The birds that flew around the Kaaba were a source of wonder. There were those that flew low and fast over the heads of worshippers as they circumambulated the Kaaba; twice I felt a puff of wind from their wings as they sped past me. And there were those that soared high above the mosque in effortless flight. I wondered at their purpose and their mode of worship, for the Quran says that every kind of creation has its own form of worship.
An account of my pilgrimage would not be complete without a mention of the pain I endured for most of those ten days and many days before the Hajj. A misaligned spinal column and a resulting pinched nerve cause considerable pain in my right shoulder and arm. Sitting and standing for long periods exacerbated the problem, something that cannot be avoided during Hajj. A veteran of back pain, I prayed for relief and bore it patiently with the belief that whatever happens to a believer is good for him. As the pain worsened, I grew desperate and, feeling totally defeated by pain, I surrendered to what God had chosen for me. I repeated again and again, “Over everything He has decreed. We belong to Him, to Him we are returning, and He can do whatever He likes with us.” It was then that I realized that if I could accept pain with faith, then I could accept everything else He has chosen for me: the color of my eyes, the color of my skin, my birthplace, my parents, my siblings, my ailments, my children, my provision, my life span, and my place of death. How many aspects of our lives have we no choice over, yet of which we still disapprove? How can we find faults with what God has chosen for us in His infinite knowledge, wisdom and love? How do we dare to be ungrateful? Through the pain I realized a valuable lesson in acceptance and trust. It was only then that the pain finally subsided.
Coming home was a challenge. To be a guest in God’s house for ten days and to have dedicated and intimate dialog with Him for this period was a mercy, a comfort and an immense honor. It was a thirst quenched for a brief while. To come home was to replace the shackles of daily life on earth: distractions, temptations, hard work, fatigue. It took days to muster the resolve I needed to continue living and working to the utmost of my ability with faith in life after death, faith in eternity, and hope for my return to His love and mercy, this time with no end. As I returned to my earthly responsibilities, I prayed, “At Your service, O Lord, at Your service. There is no god but You. All praise, goodness and authority are Yours. There is no god but You.”