This letter was meant for you. Yes, you specifically. The one who has been struggling and not understanding why it’s not working out. The one who has seen countless members of your family and friends “getting ahead” and sailing through this stage of life. The one whose suffering is not as visible or discussed in our communities, despite the pain striking and settling at the core of your heart, as you feel you have been left behind. This is regarding your pain from infertility and the struggle of not being able to have a child.

Know that you are not alone. There are millions across the world who are dealing with the same exact problem. But you have something that many do not: the Ultimate Supporter and Creator of the Universe is with you.

Infertility is not a sign of Allah’s Displeasure, but rather a test. As with every test, everyone advises patience; yet, sincerely practicing patience is difficult. It is, however, a choice and an action. How we actively practice patience will inshaAllah bring peace and blessings to our hearts and lives. While I cannot take away your pain and struggles, what I can offer is advice to remind you of some actions that can be taken to strengthen your relationship with Our Creator, and find ease through this difficult time. 

Advice #1: Elevate Your Du’a and Fully Trust Allah

Du’a is not simply asking from Allah . It’s the essence of worship and a way to rewrite our destiny. Du’a is, without a doubt, the most powerful tool we have at our disposal, but there are ways to make it more effective and meaningful. I will focus on these 3 points:

1. Etiquettes of Du’a
2. Focus on Forgiveness 
3. Practical Game Plan

The Etiquettes of Du’a

The first etiquette is regarding what we should say before we even start making dua to Allah . Specifically, praising Him and sending durood (peace and blessings) upon the Prophet . Sending durood on the Prophet is so powerful that even if we were to not ask anything and just spend our entire time sending durood on the Prophet , our worries would disappear and our sins would be forgiven. 

This isn’t to say we shouldn’t ask and make du’a for what we want, but it’s just a point of how many blessings there are in just sending peace and blessings on the Prophet . It could be that Allah appreciates so much that you send peace and blessings on the Prophet -the most beloved creation to Allah – instead of asking for your own needs, that He solves your problems and rewards you for it too. Do we really think that any problem in the world can withstand so many blessings coming from Allah ?

The second etiquette I want to mention is calling on Allah by His many blessed Names and Attributes. 

Specifically, some names that come to mind are:

• Al-Kareem and Al-Wahab – the One who is the Most Generous and Gives the best of gifts
• Al-Qadeer and Al-Azeez – there is absolutely no problem we can ever have that will be more powerful or unable to be solved by the Almighty and All-Powerful
• Al-Jabbar – the One who can mend your broken heart while you suffer through the pain

The third etiquette is to mention your weaknesses to Allah and never be disappointed in making du’a. When Zakaria made du’a to Allah for a child, he knew that his state of being old didn’t matter – the Lord of the Worlds could change anything and everything if He willed it. He went decades without children but remained optimistic.

Do not focus on what you can realistically do, but focus on what the Lord and Creator of the Worlds can do. Allah made the rules of the world we live in, including our own medical states, and He [wt] can do whatever He wills. 

The fourth etiquette is to have full trust in Allah’s Plan for you. This leads to consistency and surrendering yourself to Allah – you cannot lose hope. Even if you do not receive what you asked for, remember that Allah gave or will give you something equivalent or better; but it will be on Allah’s timeline, not ours. Our task is to be patient in making du’a. 

“Every one of you will have his supplications answered, as long as he is not impatient and he says: I have supplicated, but I was not answered.” [Bukhari and Muslim]

I’ve been guilty of this, where I make du’a and expect that my problem will be immediately solved. But du’a doesn’t always work like Amazon Prime. I personally know a couple who had multiple miscarriages, and it took almost 10 years for them to have their first child. We have to remember and trust that Allah knows and decides when the best time is for everything. He knows what is good for us and when it is good for us, and we do not. 

This is part of the perfection of our faith: to be content with what Allah has ordained after we have done everything we possibly can. This sentiment is perfectly encapsulated by the beautiful du’a of the righteous caliph Omar ibn Abdul Aziz : 

“O Allah, make me pleased with Your decree and bless me in Your providence, such that I would not like to hasten anything You delay, nor delay anything You hasten.”

The fifth and last etiquette I will mention is to take advantage of the times when du’a is accepted. These include:

• The last third of the night
• Between the adhan and iqaamah
• When it is raining
• When in sujud
• When traveling
• A fasting person as they break their fast

Focus on Forgiveness

We all fall short of our duty to Allah , and we all make mistakes. Even if we fulfill the obligations, did we fulfill them to a level that is befitting the Lord of the Universe? But, by the Mercy of Allah , He still may accept our broken actions. 

Allah created us so that we would turn back to Him after we slip. What’s also interesting is that asking forgiveness from Allah for those same mistakes is directly linked to certain blessings.

A man once came to al-Hasan al-Basri and complained to him: “The sky does not shower us with rain.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness (i.e. say أستغفر ألله).”

Then another person came to him and said, “I complain of poverty.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness.”

Then another person came to him and complained, “My wife is barren; she cannot bear children.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness.”

The people who were present said to al-Hasan: “Every time a person came to you complaining, you instructed them to seek Allah’s forgiveness?”

Al-Hasan al-Basri said, “Have you not read the statement of Allah? ‘saying, ‘Seek your Lord’s forgiveness, ˹for˺ He is truly Most Forgiving. He will shower you with abundant rain, supply you with wealth and children, and give you gardens as well as rivers.’”[Surah Nuh:10-12]

So, given that asking for forgiveness is one of the best ways to have a child, what is one of the best ways to ask for forgiveness?

The Prophet taught us Sayyid al-Istighfar – the master du’a for forgiveness. I would highly recommend memorizing it and repeating it often.

Finally, an important part of seeking forgiveness is to leave the sins that we are knowingly committing. While we cannot eliminate every mistake, we can at least do our best to leave the things we know we are doing that are crossing the boundaries of Allah . 

Practical Game Plan

Now, what is a practical way to implement some of these etiquettes of du’a? Here is a game plan inspired by the dua of the mother of Imam Bukhari and of the legendary hero Salahuddin when he defended Jerusalem from the Crusaders. While you may not be able to do all of this, the goal is to try to do the best of your ability and at least do part of it. 

1. Wake up during the last 1/3 of the night, especially on Friday night, about 30-45 minutes before Fajr, and pray 2 rakaats and make a long dua during sajdah (remember that in the Islamic calendar, Friday night starts on Thursday after maghrib)
2. Go to the masjid, especially on Friday morning, right before fajr adhaan
3. Combine the intention to pray 2 rakaats sunnah of fajr, sunnah of entering masjid, and sunnah in between adhaan and iqaamah, and make dua during sajdah
4. Make dua right after fajr salah, after you’ve done the adhkaar after salah
5. Consistently repeat this at least once a week, if not daily

During your du’a, complain of your own poverty to Allah and how you have done everything you possibly can, but there is nothing else you can do. Keep knocking on Allah’s door, just like Imam Bukhari’s mother. Imam Bukhari was born almost blind, and his mother would spend her nights making du’a for her son’s eyesight to be restored.

For 2-3 years, she she didn’t lose hope or give up. Just kept knocking and asking for a medical miracle from Al-Shafi.

Then one night, she saw Prophet Ibrahim in a dream, who told her that because of her persistent du’a, her son’s eyesight had been restored. Imam Bukhari would go on to author the most authentic book ever written by man, leaving behind a legacy of scholarship that still endures over 1,000 years later. 

This is the power of du’a. Not because of what you can do. But because of what Allah can. 

There are many other things that can be done to elevate one’s du’a, but the crux of du’a is recognizing that Allah is in control and we need Him . When we show and verbalize our need to Allah and show that we are not self-sufficient but rather completely reliant on Him , we hope He will shower His Mercy and Bounties upon us. And just like anything in life, if we continue to do the same thing over and over again the exact same way, du’a can start feeling mundane and even empty, so I hope implementing some of these points can revitalize and reenergize our du’a again.

Advice #2: Internalize the Quran

The Quran was sent as a mercy to mankind and the way to expel darkness from our hearts and lives as we go through the trials of life. But when we only focus on reading it without reflection, especially as non-Arab speakers, we miss many subtleties and messages. 

Do these 2 things, and you will see how your perception of the Quran will change and how peace will enter your heart:

1. Make yourself the audience of the verses you are reading. Do not just read the story of Musa and think of it as a nice history lesson. Internalize the message as if the Quran is speaking to you and that the verses were revealed specifically for you. If there are verses about arrogance, ask yourself – am I arrogant? If there are verses about patience, ask yourself – am I patient? And so on and so forth.
2. Pay attention to the Names of Allah that are used in the verses. Allah is the Greatest Writer, and every word and Name He places is placed in a very specific location for a reason. Reflect on what the verse is saying to YOU and why that specific name of Allah is being used. 

Advice #3: Practice Gratitude

Often, when we are struggling with something difficult, patience is what is recommended. But the fact of the matter is, sincere patience requires something even before that: gratitude. 

Allah told us in the Quran:

˹Consider˺ when Moses said to his people, “Remember Allah’s favour upon you when He rescued you from the people of Pharaoh, who afflicted you with dreadful torment—slaughtering your sons and keeping your women. That was a severe test from your Lord.

And ˹remember˺ when your Lord proclaimed, ‘If you are grateful, I will certainly give you more. But if you are ungrateful, surely My punishment is severe.’” [Surah Ibrahim; 14:6-7]

The Bani Isra’eel, after being tested with hundreds of their babies being murdered by Firawn, are not being told to be patient. They are being advised to be grateful. Ponder this profound point. Why would Allah and Musa advise them on gratitude and remembering the blessings they have? Does not patience in this scenario make more sense?

The only way to practice sincere patience is to first appreciate all the blessings Allah has already given us. Only then will we find the strength to sincerely endure the hardships we are facing for the sake of Allah . 

And for those who think, “What blessings do I even have to be grateful for?”, consider these questions:

• Would we trade even one of our eyes for Elon Musk’s trillion-dollar pay package?
• Would we trade our warm beds for living in makeshift tents during the freezing, wet winter of Gaza while consistently being threatened by bombs and airstrikes? Or for a place in a Rohingya refugee camp?
• Would we trade the security of our lives for the constant violence, hunger, and humanitarian crises happening in Sudan and Lebanon? 
• Would we trade our freedom to practice our religion and beliefs for the religious and political persecution happening to Uyghurs in China or Muslims in Kashmir and India? 

None of this is to say that we don’t have problems or tests in life. But when we consider the enormous blessings Allah has bestowed upon us, we would not trade our problems for anyone else’s across the world. 

Furthermore, not having a child does not mean you don’t already have a loving, supportive spouse – do we appreciate him/her as we should? Or do we wonder if things would have been better if we had married someone we could have children with? If so, we are failing at understanding that while children can be a beautiful part of marriage, not having children does not mean a marriage is any less successful or less full of love. The Prophet loved Aisha more than anyone else, and their marriage serves as a role model for all of us. This is despite them not having any children together.

Another point that I want to mention is that if we are given children and one of them causes us to lose our faith, was that child really a blessing? This point is emphasized during the story of Musa and Khidr in Surah Al-Kahf. Khidr kills a child and later explains to Musa that Allah wanted to replace that child with another one for the parents, as the first child could have caused them to become kuffar and destroy their relationship with Allah . Who is to say that if we are given a child, that would not happen to us, and Allah is in fact protecting us from a greater evil?

The final point I will mention is that there will always be blessings given to others that we may never receive. At the same time, we have been given blessings in our lives that others can only dream of. This is by the decree of Allah . So our focus should be on the blessings we have and how we can maximize them in pursuit of pleasing Allah . 

As Prophet told us, “Know that whatever happens to you could never miss you, and whatever misses you could never reach you.” [al-Mu’jam al-Kabīr]

Advice #4: Increase in Good Deeds

Part of showing and practicing gratitude to Allah is to obey Him and fulfill the obligations He ordained on us. But, if you only fulfill the obligations, that alone will not necessarily get you special treatment from Allah . If you think about our careers – how do we get ahead? We have to work harder than our coworkers, contribute extra on projects, serve on committees, etc., to get promoted. Those who barely do their job, under fair circumstances, would not be the ones who would get promoted and benefit from a bump in salary, benefits, perks, etc. 

In a hadith qudsi, Allah said:

“Whosoever shows enmity to someone devoted to Me, I shall be at war with him. My servant draws not near to Me with anything more loved by Me than the religious duties I have enjoined upon him, and My servant continues to draw near to Me with supererogatory works so that I shall love him. When I love him, I am his hearing with which he hears, his seeing with which he sees, his hand with which he strikes, and his foot with which he walks. Were he to ask [something] of Me, I would surely give it to him, and were he to ask Me for refuge, I would surely grant it to him. I do not hesitate about anything as much as I hesitate about [seizing] the soul of My faithful servant: he hates death, and I hate hurting him.” [Bukhari]

There are so many good deeds that can be discussed, including qiyam al-layl (which is the best prayer after the fardh salah), dhuha salah, various adhkaar, praying in the masjid, fasting, etc., but the one I want to emphasize is sadaqah. It’s an absolutely amazing, widely encompassing, and easy deed if we have the right mindset. Moreover, in the current state of the world where everyone is talking about investing and making money, the fact of the matter is, whatever money we spend in charity is our real investment because that is what we will see on our scale of good deeds in the Hereafter.

“Envy consumes good deeds just as fire burns wood. Charity extinguishes sinful deeds just as water extinguishes fire. Prayer is the light of the believer, and fasting is his shield from the Hellfire.” [Ibn Majah]

Advice #5: Seek Professional Help

The problem with this step is that we often either prioritize this step over fixing our relationship with Allah , or neglect this step completely. Take advice from qualified medical professionals, talk with your family and elders, pray istikharah, and make a decision regarding next steps in your journey. We will never know what will or will not work unless we try, but we should be informed about the risks and benefits of each avenue available to us so we can make an educated decision.

I would also mention that infertility can come with a whole set of emotions, including depression, anger, despair, hopelessness, etc., so a qualified therapist, especially one with an Islamic background, could be beneficial in understanding how to process and manage our emotional state from both an Islamic and psychological perspective. I have included a list of resources for mental health at the end of this letter.

A man said, “O Messenger of Allah! Shall I tie it and rely (upon Allah), or leave it loose and rely (upon Allah)?” The Prophet SAWS said: “Tie it and rely (upon Allah).” [Tirmidhi]

Final Thoughts

The Prophet frequently made a du’a asking Allah to make him firm in his religion.

It’s so hard to be consistent, and it’s even harder at times to be consistent and trusting when you don’t have physical proof in your hand of what you’re aiming for. There’s a reason why Muslims are called believers – one of them is that we believe in the Unseen. And can you imagine that the greatest of all creation, the Prophet , is making du’a to be steadfast on Islam? It’s surreal to me because he had the Quran revealed to him by Jibreel . But while we’ll never have the same level of iman as the Prophet , that doesn’t mean we don’t try. It’s up to us to remember that Allah is writing our story in the best way possible. 

Don’t be displeased with Allah . You are where you are, and I am where I am, and every person is where they are exactly as the Greatest Story Writer has written. While we don’t know how things will go in the future, our job is just to do our best with what we know now. And part of this journey for you involves your family, so encourage them to do the things you all find beneficial – inshaAllah you all will grow closer together as you continue to support each other.

At the end of the day, it very well could be you’re never gifted a child. That doesn’t mean that all your efforts and du’as went to waste. We don’t know what Allah protected us from and what reward Allah has prepared for us in the Hereafter. 

I want to end with this advice a friend pnce gave to me:

“One of Allah’s Mercies towards you is that He continually creates needs for you to Him. Whenever He fulfills one of your needs, He creates another for you, so that you do not become detached from Him. Indeed, souls are inclined to detach from those they feel self-sufficient without.  Whoever becomes self-sufficient from Allah and detaches from Him will perish. Therefore, some scholars have said: ‘that Allah creates needs for you so that your servitude to Him may grow.’”

May Allah always guide and bless our families and us to what is best for us in this life and the next, relieve our struggles, anxieties, and fears, and always keep us hopeful in His Mercy and Plan. 

List of Mental Health Resources:

• Muslim therapists in various localities in the USA: https://www.mapsnetwork.org/ 
• For a local Muslim mental health professional: Please take a look at the resources here to find a local Muslim therapist: 
  • https://muslimpsychologycenter.com/directories/
  • https://muslimmentalhealth.com/getsupport/
  • https://www.muslimtherapist.directory/
• If you are looking for assistance regarding spiritually-related concerns: Please consider Khalil Center: https://khalilcenter.com/. They are able to provide many psychospiritual resources, including therapy and religious consultations.
• For general options: Please try www.psychologytoday.com. This website can narrow searches down by religion, therapy type, insurance, and zip code.

The post On Infertility And Not Having A Child: A Letter To Couples Going Through The Silent Struggle appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

As always, the MuslimMatters Bookshelf has you covered! No need to hunt around for interesting books when we’ve got a list ready to go right here.

A Beautiful Patience by Samaiyah Mushtaq [Non-Fiction]

Dr. Samaiya Mushtaq writes about her husband, Dr. Mahmoud Sabha, and his journey into Gaza on medical mission – not just once, but twice. But this book isn’t just about him, or about what he witnessed in Gaza; it’s also about her own raw experience being the wife who stayed home with two young children, who wrestled with her own emotions… with guilt, fear, shame, anxiety, and more.

This unique memoir is so beautifully written that I was on the verge of tears almost every time I opened it. The author touches on her own background, her first marriage and divorce, her second – happy – marriage, motherhood and post-partum… and how all the blessings in her life competed with her husband’s decision to serve the people of Gaza.

There’s so much I want to say about the book, but really there’s nothing more to be said other than that everyone should read it immediately. It’s a book for us all – not the heroes of Gaza, but those of us left behind, those of us who open our newsfeeds every day to read about massacres upon massacres and then swipe to pictures of restaurant meals and think about buying a sweet treat on our next outing and then wonder what we’re doing for Palestine.

Dr. Samaiya’s vulnerability and honesty pulls the reader in, holds up a mirror to our own selves, and then shines a light on how – even as we grapple with our guilty consciences – the people of Gaza and the medical heroes of Gaza push through daily horrors with a quiet strength and beautiful patience that comes from complete and utter trust in Allah alone.

This book is truly incredible, especially as more and more news from Gaza is throttled by the zyeo entity and the genocide escalates daily. It is a primer on sabr and tawakkul, and challenging ourselves in our positions of privilege.

Hope and Despair: My Struggle to Free My Husband by Monia Mazigh [Non-Fiction]

Most young Canadians today don’t recognize the name of Maher Arar, but as part of the 9/11 generation, I grew up reading the news about Arar’s illegal abduction by the FBI and his deportation to and torturing in Syria at the behest of the RCMP.

Hope & Despair was written by Arar’s wife, Monia Mazigh, whose unyielding pursuit of justice for her husband is what finally resulted in his release – and the exposure of the Canadian government’s responsibility in the entire affair.

While this book is about Monia and what she experienced from the day of her husband’s disappearance, to the day that a public inquiry finally vindicated him, this book serves as a stark reminder of the reality we live in: our governments are corrupt to the core, intelligence and security agencies are evil in their very essence, and both have no inclination to change their ways.

Yet rather than languish in silence, it is our responsibility to do as Monia did: to never give up, to pursue justice, to fight against the powers that be, no matter the discomfort or risks it carries. Given that the Canadian government continues to target Muslims, this book is necessary reading for us all – that we too do not give into learned helplessness, but know that Allah does not help a people until they help themselves.
It’s also a reminder that anyone who blindly trusts in the government as an agency of truth or justice is an absolute idiot.

That’s not to say that there aren’t occasionally good people out there. Mazigh writes of individuals who listened to her, who campaigned with her, who did their best to subvert the machinations of injustice from within. Allah brings forth help from where we do not expect… but we must demonstrate our own commitment first and foremost.

The Arar case isn’t just an aberration in the fading annals of Canadian history. It is just the tip of the iceberg of the Canadian government’s entrenched Islamophobia, and just a glimpse of what they have done and continue to do to Muslims across the country.

Some Justice: A Ghazi Ammar Medieval Mystery by Laury Silvers [Adult Historical Fiction]

Laury Silvers’ medieval Muslim mystery novels are a force of creativity and thoughtfulness that make the reader overlook the lack of professional editing and the rough-around-the-edges craft.

This newest book, the first of a new series connected to her original series (The Sufi Mysteries), follows former Ghazi Ammar at-Tabbani as he tries to solve the first big case to come to his investigation agency… a case that seems doomed from the very beginning. Zaytuna, the original heroine of the original series, has her own mystery to solve, of course – one that will teach her yet another lesson in trusting God. Ammar has his own lessons to learn, and readers will be enthralled by the introduction to medieval Baghdad’s more unsavory elements.

Note: This book explores very heavy, very dark themes of suicide (and worse), and is absolutely a very adult murder mystery.

The Ocean Would Paint Me Blue by Zoulfa Katouh [Young Adult Fiction]

The author of the legendary “As Long As The Lemon Trees Grow” is back with a new novel! This one is solidly young adult, and definitely targeted at Muslim teen girls.

Jihad is a Syrian American Muslim girl, whose grief over her mother’s death has leached away her ability to see the world in colour. When she’s enrolled at a bougie private school to improve her chances of getting into an exclusive arts university, Jihad has to contend with elitism, Islamophobia, and a sketchbook with the mysterious power to magically paint her murals across the city.

In all honesty, this is in many ways a Muslim teen girl fantasy: from Jihad’s unique talents as an artist to the smart, attractive teen boy who’s interested in Islam and becomes Jihad’s loyal friend/ protector, there’s a lot of angst and just-under-the-surface romance (nothing explicitly haram, as there’s a lot of care to avoid this, but there is a fair bit of Jihad and Jamie talking alone together). This is also a magical realism book, which might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I know my teenage self would have been all over this book! Fans of SK Ali’s Misfits series will adore this book as well.

Amina Banana and the Formula for Fairness by Shifa Saltagi Safadi [Chapter Book]

The Amina Banana series never fails to serve up an excellent story that’ll keep kids hooked!

In book 4, Amina is struggling with how unfair life can be, AND with the school science fair. As always, the author manages to weave together a rich, layered story that covers themes that all kids will relate to: unfairness, jealousy, making some (big) mistakes… but also faith, forgiveness, and understanding.

I ADORE that there’s a scene where Amina wakes up to her grandmother praying tahajjud, proving once again that it is absolutely possible to include powerful Islamic representation in a kids’ story in a way that is organic and adds to the story without being preachy or annoying. There’s also a science activity included, as well as a recipe, and an explanation of the Islamic lunar calendar!

The Amina Banana series needs to be a staple for all chapter book readers – filled with heart, STEM, and most importantly, Islamic values that are never compromised.

Papa and the Missing Something by Shieda Majeed

“Papa and the Missing Something” by Shieda Majeed is a unique, incredibly sweet story about a man whose life is perfect… almost. Something inside him is missing, and he’s not quite sure what it is. This adorably illustrated picture book follows Papa and his family as they search for the “missing something.”

This is the first time I’ve ever come across a kid’s book specifically about parents coming to Islam, and this book is beautifully done! I did find it a titch long, but it should keep the attention of kids 7+ for sure. This is such a beautiful concept to see in Muslim kidlit, and it’s wonderful to see the spectrum of authentic Muslim representation mashaAllah.

…

What books have you added to your summer reading list?

Related:

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Summer Reads For All Ages

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

The post From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Your Summer 2026 TBR appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

* * *

Back Into the Fold

The next few months passed without serious incident. Our caravans were attacked a few times, but the attacks were clumsy and undermanned. I knocked a man out, broke another’s leg, and slashed another’s hamstring, hobbling him, but I did not kill anyone. This was deliberate on my part. After what had happened last time, I wanted no more blood on my hands, no murdered souls haunting my nightmares.

I began praying again. Ahmed welcomed me back into the fold without comment. By then I had earned a reputation within Five Stars Trading Company as disciplined, reliable and unusually calm under pressure. I arrived to work early, maintained my equipment carefully, avoided gambling houses and never drank. I also fought well enough that older guards stopped treating me as a curiosity.

Back in Deep Harbor, I was summoned unexpectedly to the company offices overlooking the western canal.

Shah Suliman stood waiting beside a large map covered in ink markings and trade routes.

“You read maps?” he asked abruptly.

“Not really, but I learn quickly.”

“But you are literate?”

“Yes, of course.”

One eyebrow lifted slightly. “Interesting. Come, let me show you.”

Using a slender stick, he pointed out to me the features of the map: mountains, rivers, provincial and national boundaries. He showed me the scale that indicated the relationship to actual distances, and the green lines that represented standard Five Star routes.

Then he pointed toward a route stretching westward farther than any I had traveled before.

“Have you heard of Persia?”

I twisted my mouth to the side and thought. “Far away land. A Muslim land. Where the flying carpets come from. And pistachios.”

Suliman laughed loudly at that. “Carpets indeed. Not flying, but yes, the Persians make intricate, durable and iconic carpets. Pistachios, as you say, and other nuts as well, along with dates and dried apricots, and a variety of spices. And horses! You have never seen horses like these, Darius. The Emperor’s horse is one we brought from Persia.”

“It sounds amazing. Have you actually been there?”

“Yes. And you are going in six days. There will be sixty wagons. The route is dangerous, and the potential for profit immense. We are sending Sergeant Karim with you.”

For a moment I thought I had misheard him. Then a smile crept over my face.

“You are sending me to Persia?”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “Prepare well. The war has cut into our profits. We are hurting more than anyone knows. This expedition must not fail.”

I felt honored that Suliman had confided in me, and vowed that, for my part, I would not fail him.

Sixty Wagons

The caravan that departed Deep Harbor was unlike anything I had ever seen. Sixty wagons stretched along the road like a moving village. There were merchants, translators, scribes, cooks, teamsters, laborers and guards, along with more than three hundred horses and pack animals. Every wagon carried cargo worth a small fortune. All the recruits I had trained with were together on this voyage.

As we rolled out through the city gates, I looked back only once. Deep Harbor’s walls receded behind us, then vanished into the morning haze.

At first the journey felt much like any other route. We crossed familiar provinces, camped beside familiar roads, and listened to the same complaints from merchants who thought the world existed solely to inconvenience them. They complained that the horses smelled, the road was too rough, and that we took too many breaks or not enough.

A common complaint was that the guards were not subservient enough. They wanted us to bring them food or drink, wash their clothing and polish their boots. We were not there for that. Our job was to be vigilant.

I had a small dual-language copy of the Quran with me. In the evenings, when I was off shift, I sometimes spent time reading it, working my way through the Arabic letters as Zihan Ma had taught me, learning the shorter surahs in Arabic, and memorizing the meanings in my language.

I sometimes noticed Weili watching me as I did so. Oh, she pretended she was brushing her horse or mending a tear in her tunic, but every now and then she’d glance my way. This made me smile. Weili was a beautiful young woman. There were a lot of men in the caravan who wanted her company, both merchants and guards. All were older than me, and some had money. The fact that she chose to spend her time spying on me as I read the Quran filled me with a warmth I did not care to examine.

When I had memorized a surah, I would sit with Ahmed, and he would check and correct my pronunciation, and tell me something about the tafsir or asbab an-nuzul.

Thin Air

The landscape began to change.

Mountains rose higher than I had ever seen or imagined. We crossed over a high altitude pass where, bundled like sheep, we shook with cold and gasped in the thin air. Several horses died of pneumonia and were slaughtered for food, though the Muslims among us did not eat of that.

Longwei, the poet of our group, composed a short poem:

Six horses drink from a mountain stream.
Two are soon to die.
A dragonfly buzzes from wagon to wagon.
The mountains watch us pass
without a whisper or a nod.

Meilin groaned. “If this journey does not kill me, old man, your poetry will.”

As for me, I found Longwei interesting. In the evenings when the caravan camped for the night, the guards took shifts keeping watch and guarding the perimeter. When Weili and I were not on shift, we often joined Longwei around his campfire. He was the eldest of us by far – perhaps sixty years old – and, by his account, as well travelled as anyone in the world. He claimed to have studied horsemanship in Mongolia, kung fu at the Shaolin temple, philosophy at a great university of the west, and poetry with a disciple of the tradition of Su Dongpo.

I could not guess at the truth of all that, except for the martial arts. I had noticed that Longwei always woke with a groan, clutching his back and rubbing his knees. Once he warmed up, however, he went through a series of morning exercises that looked much like my own Five Animals warmup. In combat, he was not acrobatic or flashy, but rather highly efficient in his movements. That kind of efficiency only came from training. His movements were in fact reminiscent of snake style, and reminded me of how my father used to move.

Often Meilin joined us around the fire, though I could not imagine why, since all she did was poke fun at Longwei.

A Drinker and Gambler

As we moved on, I saw rivers wider than any in my homeland, and valleys so fertile it seemed that they could feed the world. We passed through cities whose names I could not pronounce and whose markets sold foods that were gloriously spicy and strange. One town was famous for melons so large that a small child could sit inside one. Another sold sweet cakes flavored with rose petals.

Longwei composed:

A river as blue as a lung full of air.
Rose petal cakes.
A moment in time
fading to the sound
of the wagon wheels.

I liked it. It made me feel wistful and slightly sad. Yet Meilin cackled and said, “Those cakes went to your head, old man. Who do you think you are, Li Bai, the Poet Immortal? As for me, I welcome the sound of the wagon wheels, for with every moment it takes us closer to our destination.”

As for Kuangren, the little punk was missing in action half the time. He might be the son of a noble, trained in riding, etiquette, and archery, but he was a degenerate drinker and gambler. He owed money to a score of merchants and guards, and carried a flask from which he drank like a pelican, even when on duty. Our caravan did not pass through cities – we skirted them – but whenever we were within a few hours riding of one, Kuangren inevitably disappeared. Sometimes he returned looking spooked, as if someone were chasing him.

Other times he came back whistling, often with a trinket he hadn’t possessed before. He might return with a silver ring, silk gloves, a carved pipe or a jade figurine. When questioned, he refused to say how he’d come upon them. We guessed that he was either a thief, or – judging by the smell of perfume that sometimes clung to him – a seducer of wealthy women.

“Do you not care,” I asked Sergeant Karim once, “that Kuangren might be a thief?”

“I despise thievery,” he replied, “but first, I cannot prove anything, and second, what I care about is this caravan. If he steals from someone on the caravan, or if his thievery imperils us, I’ll deal with it. Otherwise, it’s not actionable.”

I did not know how Karim would “deal with it,” but I was sure it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.

Alhamdulillah

One night as I sat with the Quran, Weili approached me openly.

“Would you teach me?”

“Sit,” I told her, and without further discussion I began to teach her Surat Al-Fatihah.

“Zihan Ma taught me,” I told her, “that we begin every day with Bismillah, and lie down to sleep with Alhamdulillah. When Adam’s soul was breathed into his body, he sat up and sneezed, and said, ‘Alhamdulillah.’ This was the first word spoken by a human being, because it expresses the fundamental relationship between humankind and the Creator. We praise Him, and we are grateful to Him. Both of these attitudes are included in the word hamd.”

Weili smiled at me, and it was as if the sun had risen in the middle of the night.

“Darius, you’re very smart,” she said.

I blushed, and was grateful for the cover of night. “Not especially. I was fortunate to have a teacher.”

“My father taught me some things when I was small,” she said. “But I don’t remember. He was Muslim, but my mother was not. My family were farmers from the south. The invaders attacked our town. My father was killed, and my mother was taken captive. All my close relatives were slaughtered. I hid in a water urn and survived. I was sent to live with my aunt’s cousin in Deep Harbor. Her husband is an archery instructor. But he’s not Muslim.”

She said all this in an apologetic tone, and I felt deeply sad for her. I had often felt sorry for myself, but her story was far more tragic than mine. Yet she never complained. She rode tall in the saddle, practiced her archery, fought well when necessary, and cared for herself without asking for help from anyone.

That was the moment I began to fall in love with her.

The Birth

One evening the caravan stopped beside a stream. While we were making camp, I heard someone – a portly merchant with long, braided hair – say that one of the mares was acting strangely. I and a few other guards went to look. The other horses were feeding, but this mare was pacing, then lying down, then standing back up again. Her coat was slick with sweat.

“She’s in labor,” Weili said.

“Why would someone bring a pregnant horse on a caravan?” I asked.

She shot me a look. “It’s not always obvious. Don’t ask dumb questions.”

“Don’t we need boiled water, clean towels and I don’t know what else?”

“No,” Sergeant Karim said, arriving on scene. “Just back up and let the mare do her job.”

At that, a few dozen people stood at a respectful distance and watched as the mare gave birth, then licked the foal to clean away the birth fluids, and nudged the foal to breathe. Within an hour the foal was standing on wobbly legs. It was astounding, and all I could say was subhanAllah.

The next day Longwei recited a poem:

A mare knows how to clean the afterbirth.
A swallow builds a perfect nest.
Even turtles know where to bury their eggs.

Yet we humans walk where there is no path,
and often fail to earn our daily bread.
We kill from desperation,
and walk in darkness
in the midday sun.

Meilin groaned. “Just kill me now, please. Darius, do one of your insane moves and cut me in half with your sword.”

Coming out of the mountains, our caravan went south. We moved slowly as always, and the mare who had given birth – freed from the duty of carrying a rider or pulling a wagon, trotted alongside, as did the foal. The foal was brown with a white chest and white feet, and Weili named him White Chest, which I thought was a silly name, though I kept my opinion to myself. When White Chest became tired, he was ushered up a ramp onto a wagon, where he slept as the caravan rolled on.

A Barren Land

I kept thinking of Longwei’s poem. I had found the foal’s birth to be a beautiful and miraculous event, yet the same event had pushed Longwei’s mind to thoughts of loss and death. What had he been through to see the world that way? And what did he mean that we kill from desperation? I killed as a last resort, to protect the property of my employers. It was not an act of recklessness or despair.

We stopped at a river, and Sergeant Karim commanded us to fill every container we had with water. Continuing on, we passed through sparsely wooded foothills, then into a land of flat red earth that baked beneath the sun. When Sergeant Karim saw a man using the water generously to perform wudu, he punched him hard enough in the chest to knock the wind out of him. As the man lay gasping, Karim shouted, “A trickle only! Enough to wet your skin for wudu, no more! Any man who wastes water will be put on horseshit duty and cut to half rations.”

Trees in this land were scarce, and were twisted and stunted. In the villages we passed, everyone was barefoot. The men bore spears and hard stares, the women looked disconsolate and overworked, and the children had bloated bellies.

As we rode, Longwei recited another poem he’d composed:

A dry forest and a roasted plain.
A raven pecks at a monkey’s corpse.
I suddenly feel that I am dreaming
of my own future.

At this, Meilin laughed uproariously.

Kuangren gave a disgusted cluck of his tongue. “Why are you laughing? It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

Meilin grinned. “That’s what’s funny. The poet opens his mouth, and just when you think he might offer a wing of hope or a glimpse of heaven, he slaps you with a handful of baked earth.”

Weili, riding past, sitting upright and alert in the saddle, smiled. “That was well put. You are a poet too, Meilin.”

“Heaven forbid,” Meilin muttered.

The One I Missed

The foal, White Chest, grew quickly, and often ran madly up and down beside the caravan, making everyone laugh. At some point I realized that I was no longer lonely. I rarely thought of my parents, or of my aunt, Zihan Ma and Haaris. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about them. I loved them. But I was young, and every day was an adventure. There was always something new to see. And the job was demanding. I didn’t often have the luxury of daydreaming. By the time my head hit the pillow at night, my body was a wrung dishrag. I always fell asleep almost immediately.

The only one I truly missed was Far Away, which was strange. Why should I miss one mangy old cat more than the people who had taken me in and cared for me? Yet I did. I made dua for him after every salat: “Ya Allah, protect Far Away and care for him. Don’t let him run off or come looking for me. And let me see him again one day.”

One evening, after Karim caught two guards neglecting their horses, he marched the entire company into the camp enclosure and delivered one of his lectures.

“If your horse goes lame,” he growled, pacing before us, “the caravan slows down. If the caravan slows down, merchants lose money. If merchants lose money, Five Stars loses money. If Five Stars loses money, Shah Suliman becomes unhappy. And if Shah Suliman becomes unhappy, Karim becomes unhappy.”

He pointed at the guilty guards.

“You do not want Karim unhappy.”

“No, Sergeant,” everyone answered.

Karim was not satisfied. He paced up and down. “You all have grown lax,” he said at last. “We have not had a serious attack in some time. You have grown complacent. Men swapping shifts without permission, not oiling and sharpening their weapons, neglecting their horses, gambling.” He smiled at us, but it was like a tiger’s smile before it rips your throat open.

“It’s my fault,” he went on. “I’ve been too easy on you.” He pointed, and moved his finger along the line of men. “Not anymore. The next guard I catch neglecting any aspect of their duties, there will be consequences.”

I soon found out what those consequences were. I had often been astounded that Kuangren got away with half of what he did. One night, apparently, it was too much for Sergeant Karim. What happened next shocked me.

* * *

As-salamu alaykum dear readers. Just a quick note to assure you that Darius’s story is taking him far from where he began, but the road has not forgotten its destination. Stick with me, and inshaAllah we’ll get there together.

Come back next week for Part 18 – The Glory of Persia

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:

Kill the Courier |Part 1 – Hiding in Plain Sight

Moonshot: A Novel of Marriage, Love and Cryptocurrency

The post Far Away [Part 17] – The Caravan appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This Qurayshi woman remains anonymous, but her story features most prominently in the Qur’anic exegetical literature in connection to the 20th ayah from Surah An-Nisa¹. Her claim to fame was an incident in which she confronted ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (d. 23 AH/644 CE) for a policy he enacted while caliph that limited the amount of

Pre-modern and modern exegetical heavyweights alike often affirmingly cite this anonymous woman’s advocacy in connection to the meaning of the verse:

“If you desire to replace a wife with another and you have given the former a heap of gold (as a dowry), do not take any of it back. Would you take it unjustly and very sinfully?” [Surah An-Nisa, 4:20].

Most narrations focus on her success in convincing ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb to rescind his policy to institute a cap on the mahr based on the merit of her argument. According to one narration, ʿUmar instituted a policy that put a 400-dirham limit upon the marital gifts given to women upon marriage.² The Qurayshī woman argues that a correct understanding of Q. 4:20 demonstrates the permissibility of  women requesting a high marital dower (even heaps of gold), if they so wish. 

It is interesting to note that not a single exegete (mufassir) cites this story with any sense of rebuke, chastisement, or dissent to this woman’s advocacy. From Ibn Atiyya (d. 541/1147), Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī (d. 606/1209), and Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad al-Anṣārī al-Qurṭubī (d. 671/1273) to Ismāʿīl ibn ʿUmar Ibn Kathīr (d. 773/1371) and Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir ibn ʿĀshūr (d. 1973), among many others, exegetical heavyweights cite this incident affirmingly. The woman’s success in advocating her case and ʿUmar’s subsequent repeal of his policy becomes further evidence for classical exegetes that it is permissible for women to request a high or excessive marital gift. The primary piece of evidence they reference is the verse itself, since God does not use anything that violates divine law as an example.³ Accordingly, the verse’s example of a man giving his bride a qinṭār (a large amount of wealth) for her marital gift means it is valid to do so.  

Yet what is more important than the validity of women’s right to request as high a mahr as they choose, are the critical lessons offered by this historical incident on the ethics of dissent, a community’s inclusivity of individuals impacted by policies, women’s advocacy, and cultivating an egalitarian cultural ethos. There are many relevant lessons to glean from the historical encounter between this anonymous Qurayshī Arab woman and ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (God be pleased with them) during his reign as caliph of the Muslim empire between 634 to 644 CE. The woman’s ability to offer a dissenting opinion to his policy reflected a new cultural ethos that valued women’s perspectives, intelligence, knowledge, and contributions. I will provide a brief analysis of the historical narrations (riwāyāt) that have been transmitted about this woman’s advocacy and ʿUmar’s response, God be pleased with them. 

In the twentieth-century commentary of Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir ibn ʿĀshūr (1879–1973), Al-Taḥrīr wa’l-Tanwīr, he narrates the following version of this historical incident: 

For this reason, when ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb delivered a sermon in which he forbade excessive dowries, after he descended [from the minbar], a woman from Quraysh said to him, “O Commander of the Faithful, is God’s Book or your statement more worthy of being followed?” He replied, “Indeed, the Book of God. Why is that?” She replied, “You have just forbidden people from charging a high amount [al-mughālāt] in women’s dowries, although God states in His Book: even if you have given her a great amount of gold, do not take any of it back” (Qur’an 4:20).

ʿUmar responded, “Everyone has a greater understanding [afqahu] than ʿUmar.” In another narration, he said, “A woman is correct and a leader is mistaken—and God’s help alone is sought [wa-llāhu al-mustʿān].” Then he returned to the pulpit and said, “I had previously restricted you from being excessive in the dowries of women; however, let every man do with his wealth as he wishes.”⁴

The first lesson to be gleaned from this riwāya (narration) is the nascent Muslim community’s inclusivity of women in this space where ʿUmar declared this new policy. All the historical narrations about this incident demonstrate that this woman was in the vicinity to hear ʿUmar’s ruling and publicly challenge this policy. Furthermore, the historical records underscore the woman’s accessibility to ʿUmar (God be pleased with them) such that she could respond to him when he declared this new ruling. She did not struggle to hear his policy from a remote room with a dysfunctional sound system. She did not have to walk around a building to find the men’s section. She did not have to walk down a second-floor balcony reserved for women or seek permission to speak to ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb . She did not have to write a letter to his secretary to request a meeting with him. In only one of the exegetical reports I have come across, that of  Ibn ʿAṭiyya in his commentary, al-Muḥarrar al-Wajīz fī Tafsīr al-Kītāb al-ʿAzīz, he writes that the woman approached ʿUmar from “behind the people” (min warāʾ al-nās)⁵. One of the narrations in Ibn Kathīr’s commentary notes that she was standing in the rows of women, which nonetheless indicates she was close enough to be heard (فقالت امرأة من صفة النساء)⁶.

Whether the woman approached him from behind the men or not, the transmitted reports unquestionably affirm the woman’s ease of access to ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb . This accessibility is even more remarkable when we consider that ʿUmar (God be pleased with him) was not only functioning in his capacity as an imam, but as head of state, the caliph of the Muslim empire. The anonymous woman’s ability to offer a dissent to his policy reflected an egalitarian cultural ethos that valued women’s voice and perspective. 

These observations give rise to the following questions: How many Muslim women today would have access to a religious leader if she disagreed with a statement or policy he issued? Could this exact scenario be replicated in our own mosques today in North America? How many women would be rebuked, shunned or herded away if they wanted to be publicly heard in a mosque? Furthermore, do the structures and designs of our mosques today facilitate women’s access to the space where policies are being enacted? Or rather, do our mosques exclude women from spaces where policies are being enacted, even when those policies impact them directly? 

Second, and quite significantly, the reports cited in the exegetical literature affirm that the woman’s understanding of this ayah was correct. Although we don’t know her name, we know that her skilled legal reasoning changed a policy that may have impacted women for centuries thereafter. If God states in His Holy Book that upon divorce, men cannot take back a penny of what they’ve gifted their wives in the form of mahr, even if it was a heap of gold, this indicates that women could ask for heaps of gold, which would be deemed excessive in that historical context. In al-Qurṭubī’s commentary on this verse, he notes that scholars have agreed that there is no limit to the amount a man could gift his wife as a marital gift (mahr), but they disagree on the minimum amount⁷. Therefore, this woman’s advocacy and ʿUmar’s subsequent repeal of his policy have shaped legal scholars’ understanding of this issue for centuries thereafter.  

Third, ʿUmar’s response to this woman offers many lessons in effective leadership. First, he took the time to listen to her. Although he was a busy man and of great status, he didn’t see it “beneath him” to hear out this woman’s argument. Second, he displayed great intellectual humility by submitting that she was correct and that he made a mistake. Third, he immediately corrected his mistake, validating her judgment to subsequent scholars who analyzed this incident. He didn’t make excuses about how it would make him look or claim “it’s too late now.” He simply walked back up the minbar and rescinded his policy. According to a narration in Ibn Kathīr’s commentary on Q. 4:20, ʿUmar states, “I had forbidden you from increasing women’s marital dowers beyond 400 dirhams. However, whoever desires, let him give from his wealth whatever he likes.⁸” The narrations underscore ʿUmar’s remarkable intellectual humility, as he allegedly states, “God forgive me; everyone is of greater understanding [afqahu] than ʿUmar.” In another narration, he states, “A woman was correct, and ʿUmar was mistaken.⁹”

Fourth, the different transmitted narrations about this historic incident reveal the female companions’ deep level of trust in divine justice and their direct spiritual connection to God. Like the female companion whose advocacy forms the backdrop of Sūrat al-Mujādila (Khawla bint Thaʿlaba ), this female companion demonstrates a deep spiritual connection to God and her faith in divine justice. In one of the narrations in Ibn Kathīr’s tafsīr, after ʿUmar declares, “Do not increase the dowries of women, even if she is the daughter of a nobleman,” the tall Qurayshī woman says to ʿUmar , “That is not for you [to limit] (mā dhāka laka).¹⁰” 

Her statement, “that is not for you [to limit],” reflects more than meets the eye. Like other female companions during the prophetic period, this seventh-century Qurayshī woman felt a deep, personal connection to God and recognized Muslim women’s rights as divinely ordained. She and other female companions, based on other historical reports, did not view the male companions as the arbiters of their faith or deliverer of their rights. They understood that their rights came directly from God. 

The woman’s statement, “That is not for you [to limit]” reflects a recognition that the marital dower (ṣadāq) is ultimately a legal right that God Himself bestows upon women. The bride has full autonomy to determine what her ṣadāq should be, and the woman is the sole recipient of this gift. This anonymous Qurayshī woman’s ability to recognize God as the ultimate arbiter of women’s rights reflects her deep intellectual insight. Centuries later, legal-minded scholars arrived at a similar conclusion. For example, in his commentary on Q. 4:4, al-Qurṭubī notes writes, “Al-Ṣadāq [marital gift] is a gift from God to women.¹¹” Similarly, the thirteenth-century exegete al-Rāzī, a logician and philosopher known for his philological tafsīr, deduces a similar understanding as the Qurayshī woman – that God is the one who has gifted women the ṣadāq. In his commentary on Q. 4:4, al-Rāzī asks, “From whom is the mahr a gift [ʿaṭiya]?” He notes that there are two possibilities. It is either a gift from the husband or a gift from God. In support of the second possibility, he writes, “Others have stated that God gave both men and women the shared benefits of marriage, such as sexual enjoyment and procreation, yet God ordained this gift from the husband to the wife, so it is a gift from God [to women] from the outset.¹²” 

This seventh-century Muslim woman’s response to ʿUmar , “that is not for you [to limit],” would come across to many Muslims today as offensive or insulting. Can we imagine, for a moment, a woman telling a religious leader in our Muslim community today that a specific matter was beyond his authority to determine? Instead of viewing this statement as insulting or offensive, we should view it as an affirmation of this woman’s tawḥīd, her belief in one God with whom there are no other sovereigns. This is perhaps the most important quality that we need to revive in our own communities today. The recognition that our loyalty belongs to God first and foremost, and that human beings can never stand as intermediaries in our relationship with God. Accordingly, when humans fail to deliver justice, whether they are religious leaders or not, this should not shake our faith but invigorate our search and advocacy for divine justice.  

Related:

[Podcast] Guardians of the Tradition: Muslim Women & Islamic Education | Anse Tamara Gray

The Light of Female Islamic Scholarship: Da’wah, Difficulty, And Determination

The post The Woman Who Corrected Umar: Mahr, Tafseer, and Advocacy appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Libraries continue to play a deeply important role in society. Reading remains a signifier of emotional intelligence as well as intellectual knowledge. Unfortunately, we find that many Muslims discount the value of reading, especially fiction, without understanding that even fiction exists in our historic tradition. Not all fiction is “haram”! At the same time, Muslim parents, especially in the West, often bemoan that their children are always on screens, or consuming unIslamic content. Admittedly, the cost of books has gone up (along with groceries, gas, and everything else!)… So where are we supposed to get halal Muslim books from without bankrupting ourselves? 

Cue the concept of a local Muslim library. Imagine a resource where books by Muslims, for Muslims, can be found in one place, free of cost for patrons! While this sounds amazing, someone has to actually put one together. AlHamdulillah, more and more Muslim communities are taking on the responsibility of establishing libraries in our communal spaces. As one of those who took on this project in my own community, I’ll be sharing an outline of what you need to know before you go about creating a Muslim library of your very own.

Intention/ Purpose

What kind of library do you want to establish? This might sound like a silly question, but the truth is that there’s a world of difference between an Islamic library and what I call a “Muslamic” library.

Islamic libraries are focused on Islamic content; that is, Islamic knowledge across various genres, maintaining a strict adherence to solely what is Islamically correct. This has incredible value of its own, and is a fantastic resource for parents wanting to share knowledge with their children, with laypeople seeking to increase their own knowledge of Islam, and for students of knowledge or scholars who need access to Islamic texts that may be difficult or unaffordable to purchase on their own.

A “Muslamic” library, on the other hand, will contain fiction, including novels that involve Muslim characters, but – as fiction often does – include stories, events, and characters which reference or engage in things that aren’t strictly “halal.” That doesn’t mean those novels are encouraging haram things, but that they present actions or situations in the context of a character’s development, or simply referencing things that do happen in real life. This can also include genres such as fantasy, which aren’t teaching about Islamic beliefs around the ghayb, but are flights of imagination and whimsy. And yes, we’ve already talked about whether Harry Potter is haram!

Muslamic libraries have the benefit of presenting diverse characters and situations that readers can experience through storytelling, providing emotional depth and insight. As for determining what’s “halal enough” to include in a Muslamic library, this will be covered in the section on how to select books for your library.

As you consider what kind of library you want to build, think about who your target audience is. Is it children or adults? Students at a serious madrasah, or just kids who yearn for stories where they can see themselves reflected? Parents who need stories to tell their kids at bedtime, or Muslim homeschoolers and educators? Students of knowledge and scholars, or the average Muslim? The answers to these questions will help you refine the process of building your library and determine what your priorities should be in terms of choosing the right kinds of books to include. 

Location and Pitching the Project

Do you have a location for your library? Where will you start this project? Will it be a religious space, like a masjid or Islamic center, or be part of a Muslim school, or will it exist in an entirely separate third space? Do you have authority within the space, or do you need to seek the approval of a masjid/ organization board? Who has final say over the books chosen?

All of these factors will impact how your library is set up, and the extent of flexibility you will have in curating the library, as well as accessibility to the library itself. Often, you will have to pitch the idea of the library to multiple organizations/ masaajid, as not everyone is interested in the idea of a public library (or the potential liabilities involved). Ensure that you have a thoughtful, detailed pitch to present! Demonstrate that you’ve thought this through, have done your research, and have an action plan for implementation and maintenance. 

Selecting Books

Great, you have a place to set up shop! Now, how are you going to choose the books to include in your library?

The first point to remember is who your target audience is – that will immediately narrow down the types of books that you’ll be acquiring to start the library. For an Islamic library, are you a subject matter expert? If not, ensure that you have at least one or two people who are, as this will require filtering out work that is passed off as “Islamic” but may in fact be deeply problematic.

Along these lines, what are the affiliations of the location your library will be located in? If it’s a masjid, do they have strict rules around the types of content that they will host? For example, if it’s a Salafi masjid, will they allow works by non-Salafi scholars? Books on tasawwuf? Books on fiqh based on specific madhaahib? On the flip side, is it a masjid that is completely anti-Salafi, or stringently adhering to one madh’hab?

Your book selection will be thus constrained by the organization that you’re dependent on for location.

If you’ve got more flexibility around choosing books, especially if you’re able to have a “Muslamic” library instead, you still need to think about how you’ll be selecting books and determining what’s acceptable and what’s not. Not every book written by someone with a “Muslim” name is okay! There are many books (including kids’ books!) out there that explicitly promote haram relationships, belittle the Shari’ah, have internalized Islamophobia, or other problematic elements. On the other hand, there are many books that will mention these things without promoting them, but as part of the context/ setting/ plot/ character development, with characters who will then change for the better. There are also books which may not exactly promote the haraam, but simply incorporate them as part of the story without passing a value judgement on them.

You will need to consider different genres, age groups (e.g. toddler books, picture books, early reader, middle grade, young adult etc.), your own community’s culture and approach to literature, and what to do if a library patron complains! However, you don’t need to start from scratch – one very valuable resource to turn to are Muslim book reviewers, who do the hard work of going through lots of different books and sharing their reviews of craft and halal-ness. Specific accounts (and websites) that are dedicated to this purpose include The Islamic School Librarian, MuslimKidsBookNook, and my own book reviewing account, as well as Goodreads.com, where you can see reviews from readers around the world. There are also many others involved in the “Muslim bookstagram” space online, so it’s worth doing your research to ensure that you’re getting a full picture of each book selected. And yes… you will need a lot of time for this part!

Funding/ Getting books

You’ve gotten approval, you’ve even decided your criteria for selecting books… Now how are you going to actually get the books you want? Most libraries have a combination of streams: donations (in the form of people donating books – which you’ll need to check for appropriateness and physical state – or money given specifically for the library); an allowance provided by the masjid/ Islamic organization to purchase books and other associated library expenses (bookshelves, software etc.); paying out of pocket by yourself (this gets VERY expensive, very fast!); and the final option – applying for grants! Depending on the country/ city/ locale you live in, there may be government or non-profit grants offered towards “arts and culture” programming. It’s absolutely worth applying for these! AlHamdulillah, my own Islamic center’s library received a local arts and culture grant that paid for our library software as well as a fair bit set aside for books. Regular funding is extremely important in order to continue buying new books, as well as replacing lost or damaged books (which happens a lot). 

As you think about how you’ll pay for books, you’ll also need to create a budget based on the funding that you have available. How many books do you want to start with in order to launch the library? Do you have a monthly allowance that you can use to purchase a certain number of books each month? Or can you splurge and buy a hundred books right off the bat? A budget will be important in order to keep track of ongoing expenses as well, and being able to determine how much you’ll need on a monthly or annual basis to maintain the library.

When purchasing books, be creative and look for various options. You don’t have to buy everything new, or from Amazon! Websites such as BookOutlet, BookDepot, ThriftBooks, and AbeBooks are all valuable resources for purchasing heavily discounted books. Don’t disregard your local thrift store, library sales, or used bookstores either – you’ll be surprised at what kinds of Muslamic books you can find there. You may also find it valuable to create a relationship with a local Muslim bookstore and get discounts. 

Systems and Maintenance

You’re almost there! What else do you need to know for setting up your local Muslim library? This is where things get boring but important: the nitty gritty details. How is your library going to operate? When will the library be accessible to the public? What days/ times will the library be open? Who is going to physically be present to oversee the library’s operations? How will you keep track of the books? There’s a lot of questions, and only you will be able to answer most of them.

One of the most commonly asked questions that I can help answer is about library systems. You will need a way of keeping track of the books, and the most efficient way to do that is through a library software of some type. 

The Handy Library app is suitable for personal libraries or fairly small ones, and allows you to scan the barcodes on physical books to add them to your account’s database. For a one-time fee, you can add an unlimited number of books to your account, and keep track of people borrowing the book (which is information that you’ll have to input yourself). 

ResourceMate is a more expensive, but much more expansive library software program that connects to multiple other library databases around the world. You also have the option of purchasing custom barcodes and library cards for your library, which means that you can then operate like any other public library! There are many other options that you can research online as well and determine which is most suitable for your particular library, budget, and other constraints. 

Whatever software or system you choose, however, somebody will need to be responsible for maintaining the library itself. This means that there will need to be at least one designated person willing to show up in person, input each book into inventory, ensure that patrons are registered, keep track of books being borrowed, follow up on late returns (and contend with damaged and lost books!), and of course… dealing with library patron complaints (which are inevitable). 

All of this means that you’ll need to develop a library policy as well. What information is required for someone to register as a patron of the library? How will you be able to communicate with them for book returns? How will you hold them accountable for late fees or replacing lost and damaged items? Do parents need to sign an agreement that they, and only they, are responsible for the types of books their kids borrow? 

Building Upwards

Libraries aren’t just physical locations filled with books… they’re also a place of community and growth. Libraries often serve multiple purposes, especially in terms of providing community programming around literacy, life skills, and more. Don’t let your library remain stagnant – once you’re able to establish the library itself, consider how else you can utilize this space and community to benefit your community. Host Muslim authors for meet-and-greets, set up a book fair, organize monthly storytimes, and encourage kids to write their very own stories and share them with the community in the form of spoken word or open mic events. The potential is endless! And if you still have questions, consider booking a library consult with the MBR team!

A Final Word

The one piece of advice I want to leave you with is the importance of sincerity and of commitment. Always ensure that your intention is truly for the Sake of Allah, no matter what drama you have to deal with or challenges come your way. Don’t let people sour you off from work done for Allah’s Sake! Commitment goes hand-in-hand with sincerity. Don’t start a project just to lose interest and walk away from it; this creates a lack of trust in the community around being able to have long-lasting, meaningful projects. Of course, if life circumstances are such that you have no choice but to abandon the library, then so be it – but make sure you take the necessary steps to find a replacement who will take this project very seriously. Great projects don’t last without effort and commitment, and a library should ideally play a very special role in every Muslim community.

And… that’s it! 

Congratulations, you’ve done it! You’ve established a Muslim library of your very own! May Allah grant you barakah and tawfeeq in your efforts, and count it as a sadaqah jaariyah for all involved.

What questions do you still have about setting up a community library? What did I miss? What experiences do you have to share about your own library? What success stories can we learn from?

Related:

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Palestinian Literature For All Ages

The post How To Build A (Muslamic) Library appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

* * *

Books and Lessons

Seeing Zihan Ma shook me and almost made me question the path I was now on – but not quite. Still, it reminded me of all he had taught me: medicine, calligraphy, and deen. I knew in my heart that these things were treasures I should not lose. So I bought an old acupuncture text. The diagrams fascinated me. Sometimes I copied the meridian charts repeatedly onto scrap paper while trying to remember Zihan Ma’s lessons.

Other nights I practiced calligraphy by lantern light. My handwriting remained clumsy, but slowly improved.

In a secondhand Islamic bookstore near the grand masjid, run by an ancient scholar with a bent back and a beard that hung to his waist, I spent a considerable amount of money to buy two books I had seen on Zihan Ma’s bookshelf: the Forty Hadith by Imam Nawawi, and Tianfang Dianli (Laws and Rituals of Islam) by Liu Zhi. Some nights I would sit in the masjid from Maghreb to Ishaa, reading one of these books.

Three days after Zihan Ma visited me, a courier arrived at my room shortly before noon.

He wore the dark blue sash of Five Stars and carried himself with the stiff posture of a minor functionary who enjoyed the importance of his duties a bit too much.

“Darius Lee?” he asked.

I nodded.

“You are invited to lunch with Shah Suliman at the Golden Lotus Pavilion. Immediately.” He handed me a folded note bearing Suliman’s seal and departed without another word.

I stared at the note for some time after he left, wondering what Suliman might want with me. Had I done something wrong? Was I to be reprimanded? Was I in danger?

Respectable

The Golden Lotus Pavilion was one of the most expensive restaurants in Deep Harbor. I had never set foot inside it, though I had passed it many times, and seen the nobles and merchants entering and dining on the upper balcony, which overlooked the river.

I washed quickly, combed my hair and put on my best clothing, which consisted of dark trousers, a wool tunic, and my least worn cloak. I strapped my dao to my back – I never went anywhere without it. For footwear I had only the kung fu shoes and my regular traveling boots. Moving quickly, I cleaned the road dust from the boots with a damp cloth, rubbed a mixture of tallow and beeswax into the leather, then hurriedly buffed them with an old rag until they gleamed. I still looked like a caravan guard, but a respectable one.

Of course, “respectable” might mean something very different to the people who ate at the Golden Lotus. But my father had taught me never to think of myself as beneath anyone else. In their hearts and souls, not to mention when squatting on the chamber pot, the rich were no different than the poor, and were often worse in character.

Two men in embroidered jackets stepped forward the instant I reached the entrance stairs. One was as tall and wide as a door, while the other was fairly ordinary looking.

“This establishment is private,” the big one said.

“I’m meeting Shah Suliman.”

He looked me up and down openly. “And I’m having an affair with the Emperor’s daughter.”

“You’d better keep that to yourself.”

He clucked his tongue. “Get lost.”

“I’m serious,” I insisted. “Suliman sent for me.”

“Then he should have come to collect you personally. Enough.” He put a huge hand on my shoulder.

Anger rose inside me. I worked for Five Stars, I bled for them. Not to mention, I was a member of the Shah family, though no one but Suliman seemed to know that. For the first time I felt a sense of resentment that Suliman was honored, while I was treated like streetside trash because I wore travel boots and a worn cloak. Why should that be?

“Get your hand off of me,” I said flatly. “Unless you want to lose it. It won’t be the first arm I’ve taken.” I touched a hand to the hilt of my dao. “You might have heard of me. They call me Bridge Boy.”

Internally I cringed. I never thought I would use that stupid nickname to my advantage. But I could not leave Suliman thinking I had failed to show up for this meeting.

The big man flinched and yanked his hand back as if he’d touched fire. He reached for the baton he carried at his hip. But the other one stayed his hand. “I’ll go check it out,” he said.

Routine Questions

A few minutes later, during which time me and door-wide stared each other down, Suliman came down personally,

“I’m so sorry, Darius,” he said. “These men -” he snarled the world – “had instructions to let you through.”

“This kid is your lunch companion?” the big man said incredulously.

Suliman’s face went hard. “Know your place,” he said flatly. He turned to me. “Let’s go upstairs.”

My eyes moved from one person to the next. “I lost my appetite.”

Suliman nodded. “I understand. How about if we walk and talk?”

We walked back toward the canal district, and when Suliman gestured toward a cramped working-class noodle shop, I nodded. Inside, steam clouded the windows. Laborers crowded shoulder to shoulder at rough wooden tables while harried but nimble servers carried bowls back and forth with astonishing speed.

Suliman seemed comfortable. We ordered beef noodles, pickled vegetables and tea.

He asked me a series of fairly ordinary questions:

How were the routes?

Which guards worked well together?

Had Karim trained us well?

Did I prefer horseback escort or wagon duty?

I answered cautiously.

Finally he set down his chopsticks and said, “You’ve done well so far.”

“Thank you.”

“The reports on you are excellent.”

“You get reports on everyone?”

“Reports are written on everyone. I don’t read them all personally.”

“But you read mine.”

“We have investigated you thoroughly.”

Father’s Footsteps

I sat back, digesting this. “What do you mean?”

“My men followed your father’s footsteps. They went to the town where he raised you. They even saw your mother’s grave. We have confirmed that you are Shah Nur’s son.”

I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. “I don’t need anyone to confirm what I already know. And I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks.”

“Are you sure?”

I ignored that, as curiosity had overcome me. “Your men saw her grave? How does it look? And the farm? And Lady Two?”

“Your father’s farm has been incorporated into a larger company farm owned by a wealthy businessman. Your father’s house is gone, but the grave is well tended. I don’t know who Lady Two is.”

I wondered if the “wealthy businessman” was the Mayor. A strange hollow feeling opened inside my chest. I was happy that whoever had bought the farm had enough respect to maintain my mother’s grave. But I hadn’t thought of her much lately, and I felt my heart stutter with guilt. She was the only person in my life who had ever truly loved me, and I was forgetting her. I needed to go back there, to sit by her side and talk to her.

“I hear,” Suliman said, “that Zihan Ma came to see you. What did he want?”

I stiffened. “You know about that?”

“I know many things.”

I took a bite of food. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he wanted me to return to live with him.”

“Are you considering it?”

I frowned. “No. Not really.”

He stirred his tea slowly. “Perhaps you should.”

“Why?”

He met my eyes, and I sensed genuine unease beneath his calm demeanor.

“It may be better for you in the long run.”

“Why?”

“Well.” He stood, leaving a large sum of money on the table – a lot more than was needed in this establishment. “May Allah protect us all.”

“You’re leaving? What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Everything we just talked about. You’re doing well. Consider Zihan Ma’s request.”

With that, he left me sitting there with more questions than answers. I pocketed the wad of money and finished my food.

Scut Work

Five Star began sending me on longer routes, which paid better. Sometimes I was accompanied by one or two of the other rookies I’d trained with, and occasionally by all. Because we were rookies, we were given the scut work.

Veteran guards rode at the front and rear of the caravan where the danger was greatest and the prestige highest. We rookies spent our days doing everything else.

We tended the horses, cleaned tack, inspected hooves for stones and cracks, hauled water, unloaded wagons, set up camp, dug latrines, and stood the least desirable watches. If a merchant wanted help erecting a tent, we were summoned. If a wheel broke, we repaired it. If a horse threw a shoe, we chased it down and held it while the farrier worked.

Worst of all, whenever wealthy merchants needed to relieve themselves along the road, a guard was expected to accompany them into the bushes to ensure they were not attacked by bandits, wolves, or overly curious travelers.

I spent many hours standing awkwardly among trees while pretending not to notice what was happening a few paces away.

“It is an honorable profession,” Ahmed informed me solemnly one evening.

I threw a pebble at him.

Even so, I found myself enjoying caravan life.

The roads carried us through mountains, forests, villages, farms and bustling market towns. Every journey revealed something new. Sometimes Longwei pointed out distant kingdoms or trading routes. Sometimes Ahmed told stories from the war. Sometimes Meilin complained so loudly and continuously that everyone else rode faster simply to escape her.

Unexpectedly Cheerful

I found myself unexpectedly cheerful whenever Deng Weili was in my caravan. I told myself it was only because she was such a good shot, so having her around made us all safer.

Once she found me studying the acupuncture text after we’d made camp for the night.

“You study medicine?” she asked skeptically.

“A little.”

“And hurt people professionally?”

“I don’t think of it that way.”

She shook her head slowly. “You are a strange person, Darius Lee.”

There came a time when I started wondering about her. Where was she from? Where were her parents? What else did she like besides archery? What did she think about during the long days on the road?

I didn’t know why I wanted to know these things.

Ambush

The longer routes brought greater danger.

One autumn afternoon we were escorting a shipment of medicines and dyed textiles through a wooded valley north of Deep Harbor. The road wound between steep hills thick with pine trees, and as we entered the narrow pass, a feeling of unease settled over me. The place felt wrong somehow. There were no farmers working nearby fields, no travelers moving in either direction, and not even the sound of birds. The only noises were the creaking of wagon wheels, the clatter of harnesses, and the occasional snort of a horse.

Ahmed seemed to sense it too. He guided his horse alongside mine and scanned the ridgelines.

“Too quiet,” he muttered.

I nodded. I was about to ride forward and speak with one of the veteran guards when the attack came.

Arrows burst from the trees without warning. One struck the side of a wagon with a heavy thump. Another buried itself in the neck of a horse, causing the animal to rear and scream. Merchants shouted in panic as guards scrambled into position. Before the echoes of the first volley had faded, armed men came rushing down the slopes carrying spears, axes and crude swords.

Training took over before conscious thought could catch up.

The veteran guards moved immediately, forming a defensive line around the merchants and wagons. Ahmed was already shouting orders. Kuangren had an arrow nocked and flying before I had even drawn my dao. Somewhere behind us, Meilin charged forward with a double-headed sword she sometimes carried, screaming insults so colorful that several merchants later adopted them into their foul-language repertoires.

I remember glimpses more than a coherent battle: Deng Weili standing atop a wagon, loosing arrows with terrifying speed and accuracy; Longwei dragging a wounded merchant to safety; frightened horses straining against their reins; the smell of dust, sweat and blood mixing in the autumn air.

Then one of the attackers came for me.

He was older than I expected, perhaps forty years old, with a graying beard and the gaunt appearance of a man who had not eaten properly in months. He carried a wood axe and wore patched clothing that hung loosely from his frame. For a brief instant he looked less like a bandit than a desperate farmer.

Then he jabbed at my chest with the axe. It was a halfhearted attack, as if he were testing the strength of a river’s current

Wielding my dao, I knocked the weapon aside and slapped him in the face with the flat of the blade. I don’t know why I did that. Five Star policy was to kill bandits. Yet in the moment I chose to simply stun him. He staggered backward, shaking his head, but instead of retreating he tightened his grip and attacked again.

This time I struck his weapon arm hard with the spine of the blade, and heard his arm break. Remarkably, he did not drop the weapon. He groaned in pain and transferred the axe to his other hand.

“What’s the matter with you?” I shouted. “Don’t make me kill you! Just run away.”

Fear flashed across his features, then shame, only to be replaced with grim desperation.

“No choice,” he said.

He took a step forward and I knew that either he would die or I would.

As he swung the axe at my neck with all his strength, I stepped inside the radius of the swing, seized his weapon arm with my left hand, and drove my dao all the way through his torso. His eyes widened in shock and bewilderment, and his face went white. He stumbled backward and fell, taking my dao with him, pulling it free from my hand. That had never happened to me. I leaped forward, put my foot on the man’s thin chest, and with two hands pulled the dao free from his dead body.

A Little Too Well

I stood there with my dao hanging at my side, dripping blood, as the battle raged around me. What was the matter with this stupid old father? Why was he even here? I bent over him and shouted, “Why did you do that?”

My shout attracted another of the bandits, who came at me.

I went a little crazy then. I fell into River Flow, and moved from one bandit to the next, cutting, slashing and thrusting. I felt no fear. It was an exercise, a training session beneath the stars. When there were no more opponents I moved in a circle, dao ready, my eyes sliding over everything like those of a man who sees either nothing or everything. Men stood in a wide circle around me, but they were Five Star guards.

“Darius!” one of them shouted. “Snap out of it!”

It was Ahmed. I let River Flow go and stood up straight. There was a trail of dead bodies behind me. I looked from one to the next. I had killed six men.

“Darius,” Ahmed said again. “Sheath your weapon.”

I gave the dao a flick to clear the blood, took a rag from my pocket and gave it a quick wipe, and sheathed it.

The circle around me dissolved. The surviving bandits had fled into the hills, leaving their dead and wounded behind. The merchants celebrated their survival. The guards congratulated one another. Someone clapped me on the shoulder and called me a hero.

I did not weep or vomit. I felt empty. I sat beside a wagon, and Ahmed handed me a waterskin. His expression was solemn, not celebratory.

“You did the job,” he said quietly. “Maybe a little too well, but it’s what they pay us for.”

That night, I tossed and turned, and shouted in my sleep.

Cat Toy

The next day the caravan passed through a market town, and we guards were allowed to go shopping in shifts. I went to the market with Weili. She bought bootlaces, a silken cord for her hair, a comb made from buffalo horn, and tea.

I bought warm gloves, a sesame sweet, and a small bag of spiced nuts. When we passed a vendor who sold cat combs and toys, I found it funny. Would people really spend money on such things? I picked up a toy that consisted of a thin stick with a string and a little toy bird on the end. The bird had real feathers, and I dangled it, making it dance. With a smile, I wondered what Far Away would think of it. Would he turn up his nose, or go crazy for it? And Haaris, he would probably laugh his head off.

Suddenly my hands began to shake. I put the toy down and turned away, and before I could take a step, I burst into tears. I walked to a corner where the marketplace wall met the wall of a vendor’s stall, and slid down with my back against the wall. I covered my face with my arms as I shook and moaned. An arm went around my shoulders and Weili said, “It’s okay. Tomorrow’s a new day. Take it one day at a time.”

“What do you know about it?” I finally managed to ask.

She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Too much.”

My life took a turn then. I found myself praying less. Ahmed would call us for salat and sometimes I’d join, but often I’d make an excuse. I tucked the Islamic books away under my bed back in Deep Harbor and stopped reading them.

I didn’t want to be this way. I looked back at the naive, eager young man who had spent his time reading Islamic books, and wanted to be that man again. Truly I did. But the blood that had flowed from the edge of my sword told the truth about me.

I was promoted from scut work to proper guard duty, up front with the veterans. I was the youngest one there. But no one questioned my age when robbers came screaming from the hills with blades in their hands, and I was in the front lines, fighting like a man who didn’t care if he lived or died. No one told me to choose between healing and violence when my sword saved those around me from murder.

The merchants respected me because I was useful. The guards respected me because I fought well and never boasted. Even Kuangren, who disliked nearly everyone, stopped mocking me after I pulled him off his horse during an ambush moments before a spear would have taken him through the chest.

At Ishaa time I listened to Ahmed reciting the Quran and he led the Muslims in salat. Tomorrow’s a new day, I would think to myself. I repeated the thought like a mantra as I fell into night after night of troubled sleep.

* * *

Read Part 17 – The Caravan

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:

Kill the Courier |Part 1 – Hiding in Plain Sight

Moonshot: A Novel of Marriage, Love and Cryptocurrency

The post Far Away [Part 16] – Five Star Trading Company appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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

* * *

Training to Exhaustion

I arrived before dawn at the Five Stars western compound, expecting a few drills and lectures before being handed a uniform and sent onto the roads. After all, I’d already won a fighting tournament, right?

First we were all de-loused, then given physicals. Upon learning of my cracked tooth, the screener gave me a note and sent me to a dentist two streets over, who applied a resin to seal my tooth. Then I returned to training.

It did not consist of easy drills and lectures. Instead, Sergeant Karim nearly killed us.

There were twenty-three candidates on the first day. To my surprise, five of these were women, including Deng Weili, the young woman who’d won the archery competition. Five Star apparently cared far more about ability than background..

“I don’t care if you squat to pee or not,” Sergeant Karim declared on the first day. “I don’t give a crap if you come from merchant or warrior families, or if you crawled out from under a rock. I don’t care if you are Muslim, Buddhist, Confucianist or if you pray to your own left foot. I don’t even care if you are a Korean lunatic, Tibetan navel-gazer or Uighur yak driver. All I care about is whether you can perform. The second I see weakness in you, the instant you say, ‘I cannot do it,’ you’re gone.”

Sifu Lu was not among the trainees. He apparently fought in the tournament only for status; he had a thriving school and I supposed he did not need the caravan guard job.

By the end of the second week, only eleven remained, myself and Deng Weili included. Sergeant Karim believed in exhausting men and women until their true character emerged.

“If you cannot function while tired,” he barked repeatedly, “then you cannot function at all.”

Weili made me nervous. She was nineteen years old, with intelligent dark eyes and an expression that often suggested she was privately amused by everyone around her. She wore her hair tied neatly braided and moved with quiet confidence whether holding a bow, climbing a wagon or cleaning horse tack. When she was around, I felt like I could not put my feet right.

There was another woman survivor as well. Her name was Meilin, which meant beautiful and delicate, which was funny because she was in her thirties, ruddy faced and a bit chubby, yet as muscular as an ox. I didn’t know if she grew up in a wushu school or what, but she could do cartwheels and flips, and could wield a variety of weapons with skill, including the three-sectioned staff and the broadsword. Yet she looked like a farm woman. Watching her was like encountering a young piglet, thinking how cute it was, and seeing it transform into a tiger before your eyes.

Fortunately, there was little time for male-female interactions, or any socialization at all. We recruits rose before dawn each morning. Out of the eleven, seven were Muslim, and were given the opportunity to pray Fajr. Then we ran the warehouse perimeter carrying sandbags on our shoulders. After prayer came conditioning drills: climbing ropes, hauling crates, lifting wagon wheels, carrying injured men on stretchers and pushing overloaded carts through mud pits behind the stables.

The Real Instruction

After breakfast the real instruction began.

Environmental awareness was Karim’s obsession.

“A caravan guard who notices danger after the attack begins is already dead.”

So he trained us to observe constantly:

• disturbed mud beside roads
• unnatural silence in forests
• travelers who avoided eye contact
• broken branches
• missing birdsong
• fresh horse dung
• suspicious movement on ridgelines
• hidden weapons beneath cloaks

Several times daily he deliberately tested us. One moment we might be marching normally; the next he would suddenly bark:

“How many blue doors did we pass?”

“Which horse is limping?”

“What was the innkeeper’s daughter carrying?”

“Who was watching us from the alley?”

Or we’d be marching through the forest, and a volley of dull arrows would come flying from an unseen location – once from archers perched high in the surrounding trees. These arrows could still bruise and cut, and in once case broke a man’s arm. He was not eliminated from the program, but was put on leave, and would have to repeat the training from the beginning when he recovered. So we were down to ten.

Wrong answers to questions earned punishment – usually running. There was always more running.

We learned hand signals for silence, danger, retreat, ambush and changing formation. Karim expected us to communicate almost wordlessly while moving.

“The roads are noisy,” he said. “People panic. Horses scream. Rain falls. Learn to use your eyes and hands.”

Group combat proved even harder. Individually many of the trainees were competent fighters. Together we were a disaster. Men collided with one another, blocked each other’s strikes or line of sight, broke formation and forgot their assignments entirely.

Karim beat us across the shoulders with a bamboo rod whenever we drifted out of position.

“You are guards,” he roared. “Not opera performers!”

The exception was a man in his thirties named Ahmed. He was slight of build, but with muscles as hard as stones sliding beneath his skin. He was a rare veteran of the war against the invaders, highly experienced in all battlefield tactics and maneuvers. Very little in the training program was new to him, and I was surprised they even put him through it. He was also a faithful Muslim, and would rally the rest of us to pray together every day. I made it a point to stay near him in training, watch him and learn from him.

Another vital lesson was that the merchants and cargo always came first. This was the prime responsibility of a Five Stars guard.

“If a guard dies protecting the wagons, that is acceptable,” Karim shouted. “If the wagons burn because a guard chased glory, he has failed.”

We practiced defensive wagon circles, escort formations and retreat drills. We learned how to shield the caravan merchants during attacks and how to prioritize wounded horses versus damaged cargo.

Horse Care and a Bad Companion

Horse care itself consumed astonishing amounts of time.

I had cared for and occasionally ridden the donkeys on the farm, but had never ridden a horse in my life. Suddenly I had to learn horse feeding schedules, hoof cleaning, recognizing sickness, repairing tack, calming frightened animals, and spotting exhaustion before collapse.

“An abused horse remembers,” Karim warned us. “And a dead horse can delay the entire caravan.”

I learned why Ahmed, our unofficial Imam, had been forced to go through this program: he had no experience with horses. He’d been an infantry soldier, and never even brushed or shoed a horse. It was odd to see this battle-hardened veteran shying away from a rearing horse. I showed him how to approach an animal gently, and speak to it softly to win its trust.

These concepts did not sit well with one of the recruits, a sallow-faced, mean young man named Kuangren, whose name meant madman. I supposed that was a street nickname that he was proud of. He was the son of a noble, skinny and bad tempered, and he always whipped the horses too hard.

“They’re stupid beasts,” he would complain. “You have to show them who’s boss.”

In spite of Sergeant Karim‘s earlier lecture about absolute egalitarianism, Kuangren often seemed to get a pass. Sure, the Sarge often shouted at him, but he never put his hands on the sullen young man. It was said that Kuangren had been excommunicated from his rich family for excessive drinking, gambling and consorting with prostitutes. He was arrogant and did not work well with others. I had to admit that he was good with a bow and a sword. Still, I found it baffling that he hadn’t been cut.

Afternoons were devoted to languages, customs and etiquette. That surprised me, as I had expected lessons in fighting, not lectures on understanding cultures. But Karim insisted: “A stupid guard starts wars. A smart one smooths over conflict.”

We learned basic greetings from neighboring regions, local taboos, negotiation etiquette and religious customs.

“In some places,” Karim explained, “showing the sole of your foot is an insult. Elsewhere refusing tea is offensive. Somewhere else touching a man’s wife, even bumping into her by accident in the marketplace, might get your throat cut. Learn the difference.”

One trainee laughed during the lecture.

Karim expelled him from the program. “Go live ignorant,” he said.

Nine of us were left. Then a boy, the youngest of us at only 14, loosed an arrow by mistake and shot another recruit in the leg. The boy was fired, and the other one was given leave.

Yet another young man became violently ill after eating or drinking something bad. He continued to waste away until he was sent to a Five Star medical clinic.

Good At Everything

Deng Weili, the archer girl, was somehow even more intimidating up close than she had been on the tournament field. She was good at everything, and Karim clearly respected her, which meant the rest of us suffered for it.

“Observe Deng!” he barked repeatedly. “She notices things before you idiots step in them!”

The other trainees grumbled openly about this. Not me though, I admired the girl.

Unfortunately, whenever Weili spoke directly to me, my brain stopped functioning. Once she asked me to hand her a water bucket and I nearly dropped it onto my own foot. Another time she caught me staring at her archery practice and raised one eyebrow.

“You trying to put the evil eye on me?”

“I was only observing your form,” I replied.

“And what conclusions did you reach?”

“That you rarely miss.”

She smirked slightly. “You are more right than you know, Bridge Boy.”

I had no idea how to answer that, beyond to say, “Don’t call me Bridge Boy.”

She walked away shaking her head while several trainees laughed openly at me.

At night we slept in long warehouse barracks smelling of sweat, leather and horse blankets. Men snored and shouted in their sleep. Bruises covered my body constantly. My hands blistered. Twice I considered quitting, but each time I remembered sleeping beneath the bridge. Besides, if the women could make it, so could I.

Occasionally Shah Suliman visited the compound to confer privately with Karim. The two would stand overlooking the training yard discussing routes, supply reports and candidates while Karim gestured toward us with visible irritation. Suliman never approached me directly, but more than once I noticed him watching me thoughtfully while I trained.

Six of us graduated: myself, Ahmed, Meilin the chubby farm fighter, the nasty youth Kuangren, Deng Weili, and a tall, muscular man named Longwei, who was thought stupid because he spoke slowly, but who – if you took the time to converse with him – was well travelled and thoughtful.

Caravan Work

Within a month the six of us were traveling with caravans as armed guards. At first we were assigned only to local routes between Deep Harbor and the surrounding provinces, where the roads were dangerous but still reasonably well patrolled.

Sergeant Karim rarely traveled with us himself, but his presence lingered constantly in our minds. Any time someone failed to notice a suspicious rider, a wobbly axle, or a poorly secured crate, one of the others would mutter in Karim’s growling voice, “Use your eyes, idiot,” and everyone would laugh nervously.

Our group settled into familiar roles surprisingly quickly.

Ahmed naturally became the steady center of us all. When arguments broke out over routes or guard rotations, he calmed them. As it happened, all of us new guards were Muslims except for Kuangren and Meilin. There was a scattering of Muslims among the veteran guards as well. When prayer time came, Ahmed called us together for salat quietly no matter how exhausted we were. Longwei called the adhaan in his slow, steady style, and we each put down a blanket, no matter where we were.

Ahmed had seen enough real warfare that ordinary danger did not excite him much. Once, after we fought off robbers along a forest road, I found him sitting calmly beside a wagon afterward, patiently sewing a tear in his sleeve while everyone else still argued excitedly about the fight.

Meilin was perhaps the strangest among us. Around campfires she complained constantly about sore feet, bad food and cold weather, sounding every bit the weary farmwife she resembled. Then robbers would appear and suddenly she became terrifying. More than once I saw bandits recoil in genuine alarm after she shattered a spear shaft with her three-sectioned staff while charging straight into them screaming curses.

Longwei spoke so slowly that strangers often assumed him dim-witted. In truth he had a strong mind. He could identify accents from distant provinces, predict weather changes and accurately estimate the value of cargo. During long rides he told fascinating stories about foreign ports and mountain kingdoms he had visited in his youth.

Kuangren remained unpleasant. He drank too much whenever we entered towns, gambled recklessly and treated locals badly. Yet he fought with real courage when attacks came. I could not deny that. During one ambush he took an arrow through the shoulder and still managed to shoot his attacker from horseback before collapsing. Afterwards, while Ahmed stitched the wound, Kuangren cursed continuously and accused us all of incompetence.

Deng Weili, meanwhile, continued making my life difficult merely by existing.

She rode with impossible confidence and could loose arrows accurately even from horseback at full gallop. Merchants adored her because she was polite and intelligent. The rest of us respected her because she never panicked under pressure. During one tense crossing through flooded roads, she spotted hidden movement in the reeds nearly a full minute before anyone else, giving us enough warning to prepare for the attempted ambush.

“You see?” she told me afterward while checking her bowstring. “That’s why Karim likes me more than you.”

“I think he just likes the turn of your ankles.” This was a cruel thing to say, and completely untrue, but it popped out of my mouth unbidden.

Weili glared at me for a moment, opened her mouth as if to berate me, then her face softened into a sly smile. “Oh, does he? That’s what he likes?” She walked away, leaving me standing red-faced.

Caravan work might seem glamorous to some, but it was hard work. Harder than working the docks, even. We escorted merchants, medicines, textiles and food shipments through increasingly dangerous roads. Refugees, deserters and starving men prowled the countryside. Rarely, robbers attacked openly. Other times they followed us for days waiting for weakness.

Riding a wagon for hours left me feeling like my bones were dice being rattled in a cup. There were times, passing through dangerous areas, when the caravan stopped neither for sleep nor meals, and we prayed and ate on the move. The constant need for vigilance wore on a man’s mind. I noticed Kuangren, for example, becoming increasingly irritable and paranoid. Once he shouted, “Ambush!” and let loose several quick arrows, only to find that he had killed a squirrel. Everyone laughed uproariously, and he sulked for days afterward.

An Unexpected Visit

Every time a caravan returned to Deep Harbor, we were given several days off. With the money I was now making, I rented a permanent room above a noodle shop near the western canal district. It was a tiny room with a narrow bed, cracked wash basin and boarded up window that rattled in the wind. The chatter from the noodle shop came through the walls, vendors shouted in the street outside, and roaches scurried across the floor.

It was my home. I accepted this fact. I missed my past, I missed Haaris and Far Away, but this was my life now. New adventures opened before me. Still, there was a part of me that didn’t know what I was doing anymore, or why. I was lonely. I wrote this feeling off as fear of something new, and ignored it.

I bought sturdy boots. Better clothing. A winter cloak lined with wool. I repaired and sharpened my dao regularly, oiling the blade with almost religious care. Every now and then I returned to the bridge with donations of food and warm clothing. There, with my old riverside companions, I felt comfortable and whole, for a while.

Sometimes, when we were given leave, I followed my colleagues to see what their lives were like. One by one, I learned their secrets: Kuangren immediately vanished into gambling houses and brothels. Longwei visited teahouses and storytellers, and fought in amateur wrestling competitions for money. Meilin always ate enormous meals at restaurants, then went to stay with a woman who looked like her sister. Ahmed spent much of his free time at the masjid. As for Weili, she went to an archery range where she practiced shooting for hours, then to a little rooming house on the other side of town from my own. I wondered, did she not have a family? Was she an orphan too?

Having learned these things, I realized that the knowledge meant nothing and did not ease my loneliness. I stopped following them.

I was in my little room, eating noodles purchased from the shop downstairs, when a firm knock sounded at the door.

I felt a rush of excitement. Who could it be? Maybe one of my work mates had come to visit?

I opened the door and found Zihan Ma standing before me. He looked different. There was gray in his hair that had not been there before, and new lines creased his forehead. Either I had grown or he had shrunk, for I stood the same height as him now. He wore walking boots and a medical bag slung over one shoulder.

What I noticed most, however, was that his eyes were tired.

A Grievous Error

“Uncle!” I blurted out. “How did you find me?”

He took a slow, deep breath. “I have been looking for you, Darius. For many months I have looked.”

“You have?” I remembered, some months ago, seeing him standing in front of the masjid, watching the faces of the men as they entered. “But why?”

His eyes met mine. “I judged you wrongly. I committed a grievous error. I ask Allah’s forgiveness and yours. We miss you. We want you to come home.”

This speech, short as it was, carried such weight that I took a step backward, then another, until I found myself sitting in the only chair in the room, beside a small table.

“May I enter?” Zihan Ma asked.

I waved to him to enter.

“May I sit on the bed?”

I nodded dumbly.

“What…” I paused to gather my thoughts. “So you now do not believe that I stole the bracelets and the gifts?”

“I know you did not.”

“How do you know?”

He swallowed. “Your Nai Nai sent a letter by courier, only a week after you met her that day. Those bracelets had been locked in a secure chest. She confronted her husband, and he admitted that he ordered the servant to plant them in your pack. His justification was that you were a bad seed, and it would be better for the family to get rid of you.”

I tilted my head back and looked at the wooden ceiling rafters. “So now you know I’m not a bad seed, is that it?”

“I never thought that.”

“What if… What if Nai Nai had not written that letter?”

Zihan Ma sighed. “I made a mistake, Darius. Have you never made a mistake that you regret deeply, and that you are ashamed of?”

I gave him a blank look. “Not really.”

He winced at that. “Haaris misses you. You’re his brother. And he has to do all the farm work by himself again. It’s hard for him.”

That hurt me. “That’s not fair.”

“Your Lee Ayi talks about you every day.”

I stood suddenly. “I have a new life now. I have to go forward, not backward.”

Zihan Ma stood as well, pushing on his knees with his palms. “Our home is your home,” he said. “You can return anytime, to live or to visit. You don’t even have to knock. We love you. I… Well, I love you.”

This nearly made me break into tears but I held myself rigid. Zihan Ma turned to leave.

“Uncle. How is Far Away?”

He smiled. “He runs, climbs walls, suns himself atop the house. Bao Bao can’t keep up. He even jumps onto the donkey’s back sometimes. Alhamdulillah for all His mercies upon us. The world is built upon rahmah, Darius. Mercy. Nothing else. I forgot that for one moment. I am sorry.”

When he left, and the door was firmly closed, I fell onto my bed and wept.

* * *

Read Part 16 – Five Star Trading Company

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:

Kill the Courier |Part 1 – Hiding in Plain Sight

Moonshot: A Novel of Marriage, Love and Cryptocurrency

The post Far Away [Part 15] – Caravan Guard appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

May Allah accept our worship, our sacrifices, and increase us in remembrance of Him in these days.

Related:

The Best Actions for Eid al-Adh’ha [Imam Dawud Walid]

‘Eid Al-Adha: Important Reminders

The post Eid al-Adh’ha 1447 AH appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

When Allah swears an oath in His Book, it signals immense significance. In Surah al-Fajr, Allah swears by the dawn and by the ten nights. The majority of the mufassireen including Ibn Abbas, Ibn Kathir, and Ibn Taymiyyah identified these ten nights specifically as the first ten days of Dhul Hijjah, not the last ten nights of Ramadan. Ibn Hajar al-‘Asqalani in Fath al-Bari (the commentary on Sahih al-Bukhari) noted that what makes these days uniquely precious is that no other time of year brings together all the great acts of worship simultaneously: prayer, fasting, charity and Hajj converge in these ten days alone, and that convergence is what elevates them above everything else, including Ramadan.

Reflect on the Past Year

There is something else about these days that we rarely pause to acknowledge. Dhul Hijjah is the final month of the Islamic calendar. The year is closing. Before the rush of these blessed days pulls you forward, let them also turn you inward, toward an honest account of how the year was spent, which sins have accumulated, which obligations were neglected, which relationships were damaged. The best deeds in the best days of the year deserve to be paired with a sincere intention to enter the next year differently.

Many Muslims become busy with celebrations, gatherings, and preparing the feast for Eid, but the righteous predecessors viewed the end of the year very differently. They saw it as the closing of a personal record, a chapter of deeds that would never return until the Day of Judgment. Our most powerful reflection should be: Who have I become this year? Not what was earned, posted, achieved, or purchased, but what changed within the soul. Did the prayers become stronger or weaker? Did the Qur’an become more beloved or more neglected to us? Did sins quietly become habits? The scholars often said that one of the clearest signs of Allah wanting good for a person is steady growth in obedience and a heart that begins to feel uneasy with sin. Ibn al-Qayyim wrote extensively in Al-Jawab al-Kafi that sins darken the heart slowly until a person no longer feels their weight. The end of the Islamic year is therefore a crucial time to sit alone and honestly audit the state of one’s heart before Allah.

And alongside repentance, bring gratitude. How many unseen disasters did Allah shield you from this year? How many duas were quietly answered? How many times did He conceal your faults while still holding the door open? Ibn Rajab in Lataif al-Ma’arif warned that the greatest loss is reaching a sacred season without internal transformation. Gratitude softens what guilt alone cannot. Enter Arafah with both the humility of someone who knows what they’ve done, and the hope of someone who knows Who they’re standing before.

Gear up for the best day of your life

The Prophet ﷺ testified that these are the best days of this world. Ibn Abbas narrated: ‘There are no days in which righteous deeds are more beloved to Allah than these ten days’. The companions asked, ‘Not even jihad, ya Rasulullah?’ He ﷺ replied: ‘Not even jihad, except for a man who goes out risking his life and wealth and returns with nothing.'” (Bukhari)

‘Whoever cannot perform Hajj should magnify these ten days and fill them with good deeds at home, for they are more beloved to Allah than even the days of Ramadan.’ (Ibn Rajab)

Among the deeds we should prioritise are:

1. Fasting: It is Sunnah to fast the ninth day of Dhul Hijjah. Fasting is one of the best of deeds, and these are the best of days.
2. Raise your voice with dhikr: The Prophet ﷺ said: ‘There are no days greater in the sight of Allah than these ten days, so increase in them the Tahleel, the Takbeer, and the Tahmeed.” (Ahmad)

   Ibn ‘Umar and Abu Hurayrah would go out to the marketplace during these ten days reciting Takbir aloud, and the people would follow their practice.

3. Give Sadaqah: The Prophet ﷺ said: ‘Charity extinguishes sinful deeds just as water extinguishes fire.’ (Ibn Majah) And if charity extinguishes sins, then these are the days to pour the most water because sins in sacred seasons carry heavier weight, and they deprive the heart of the very forgiveness it came here to receive.

The Day of Arafah

The day the entire season builds toward is the Day of Arafah. It was the day Allah bestowed upon this Ummah its greatest gift: He perfected the religion of Islam and completed His favour upon us.

When the verse ‘This day I have perfected your religion for you” (Surah Ma’idah, verse 3) was revealed, a Jewish man said to Umar ibn al-Khattab: ‘If this verse had been revealed to us, we would have taken that day as a festival.’ Umar responded, ‘We know exactly which day it was revealed, and we honour it every year. It was Arafah and for those standing before Allah on that plain, it already carries the joy of Eid.’

The Prophet ﷺ said: There is no day in which Allah sets free more slaves from the Hellfire than the Day of Arafah (Muslim). The Prophet ﷺ told us the best supplication is the supplication of Arafah. And the best thing ever said on that day by him ﷺ and all the Prophets before him (Tirmidhi):

ا إِلَهَ إِلَّا اللهُ ، وَحْدَهُ لَا شَرِيكَ لَهُ ، لَهُ الْمُلْكُ وَلَهُ الْحَمْدُ ، وهُوَ عَلَى كُلِّ شَيْءٍ قَدِيرٌ

Abdullah ibn al-Mubarak came to Sufyan al-Thawri on the eve of Arafah and found him weeping on his knees. He asked: ‘Who is in the worst condition among this gathering?’ Sufyan replied ‘The one who thinks Allah will not forgive him’. That is the only barrier. Allah already knows your sins. He already promised forgiveness. ‘O My servants who have transgressed against their own souls, do not despair of the mercy of Allah. Indeed, Allah forgives all sins. Truly, He is the All-Forgiving, the Most Merciful.’

The Day That Makes the Year

The year is almost over. The days you were given, the ones spent well and the ones that slipped through your fingers and the ones you would rather forget are drawing close. And in His mercy, Allah did not end your year in silence. He ended it with Arafah. With a day on which He draws near, boasts of His servants to the angels, and forgives before they finish asking. You may have entered this year with intentions that never became actions, with sins that became habits, with a heart that drifted further than you meant it to. Bring all of it to this day. The repentance, the gratitude, the grief over what was lost, and the hope of what can still be written. Arafah is not a reward for those who had a good year rather It is a mercy for everyone. Do not let it pass while you are distracted. Stand before Allah wherever you are, with your hands raised and your heart honest. He is already listening. He was always listening. And today, of all the days of the year, He is closest.

Related:

Hajj Reflections: In Arafah with Allah

Yaser Birjas | The Days of Hajj Series | The 9th of Dhul Hijjah

The post Arafah: The Door That Opens Once a Year appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

An “M” for Muslim

At most army induction stations during World War II, soldiers could choose one of three religious identifications for their dog tags: Catholic, Protestant, or Jew. For Muslims entering military service, there was often no place for their faith at all.

One member of the small Muslim community in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Hassein Sheronick, reportedly spent half a day persuading army officials to stamp a single letter on his identification tag: “M” for Muslim. Another veteran from the same congregation, Abdullah Igram, never succeeded. Years later, the *Des Moines Register* quoted him recalling what he told an officer who denied the request that: “in fighting for democracy it would seem a soldier should have the right to die identified with his own faith.”

The men making those arguments were part of a small but well-established Muslim community in Cedar Rapids whose members often operated neighborhood grocery stores across the city. In 1950, the *Des Moines Register* described how the community gathered every Friday for prayer in what it called a “small building.” The mosque, founded by immigrants and their families, still stands today.

Mother Mosque of America, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The first purpose-built masjid in America.

Among those worshippers was Sgt. Edward Sheronick.

Edward Sheronick’s father, Sam Sheronick, immigrated from Joub Jannine, Lebanon, and came to the United States in 1907. While it is not known exactly when he moved to Cedar Rapids, the family is remembered as among the first Muslim families to live in the city, and they were certainly established by 1930. Sam and his wife Sada Sheronick lived at 325 E Avenue NW.

Their son Edward Sheronick was born in Fayette, Iowa, on July 23, 1917, and grew up in Cedar Rapids as part of that Muslim community. Like many members of the congregation, the family was involved in the grocery business. Edward worked at Sheronick and Sons grocery on Ellis Boulevard, a neighborhood store that served local residents in the years before the Second World War.

The surviving newspaper records preserve only fragments of his life, but they offer glimpses of an ordinary young man building a future for himself in Iowa. In August 1938, local papers reported that Edward had received a Class C beer permit connected to the family grocery business. At some point he met a woman named Mary, and the two married. One imagines that, like countless young couples of the era, they expected a long life together: children, grandchildren, years spent in the same community where both families were already rooted.

History intervened.

Edward enlisted in Cedar Rapids in July 1941, months before the attack on Pearl Harbor brought the United States formally into the war. He trained at Fort Eustis, Virginia, where he rose through the ranks. In May 1942, the *Cedar Rapids Gazette* reported that he had been promoted from technical corporal to technical sergeant. The paper noted that word of the promotion had been received by his parents back home in Cedar Rapids.

In the summer of 1944, Edward was sent overseas to Europe.

The Telegram from Germany

A few months later, in December 1944, a telegram arrived at 803 Ellis Boulevard NW. Mary Sheronick was informed by the War Department that her husband, Technician Fourth Grade Edward Sheronick, had been reported missing in action in Germany since Nov. 16.

Across the United States, thousands of families received similar telegrams during the war years. Many names faded from public memory as decades passed. Edward Sheronick’s story survives today only in scattered newspaper reports, military notices, and the memories preserved by his community.

Eventually the truth became known. Edward Sheronick had been killed in Germany during the brutal fighting surrounding the Battle of the Bulge. He never returned home to Cedar Rapids.

Nearly five years later, in May 1949, his body was returned from Europe alongside the remains of 104 other Iowans killed during the war.

Funeral services for Technician Fourth Grade Edward Sheronick were held at the “Moslem temple” in Cedar Rapids. The service was conducted by Imam Hussein Karoub of Detroit, and burial followed at Cedar Memorial Cemetery.

His obituary listed the organizations to which he belonged: the Veterans of Foreign Wars, the Moslem temple, and the Rose of Fraternity lodge. It named the surviving members of his family. But like most wartime obituaries, it left many things unsaid. We do not know what Edward hoped to do after the war. We do not know what dreams he shared with Mary, or what his family endured during the years between the missing-in-action telegram and the return of his body.

Still, enough remains to remember him.

The surviving records show a Muslim family running a grocery store in Cedar Rapids before World War II. They show a local Muslim congregation sending 18 young men into military service during the war years. They show Muslim soldiers insisting that their faith be recognized even on their identification tags. And they show a funeral held in an Iowa mosque for a man killed fighting Nazi Germany.

On Memorial Day, we remember Edward Sheronick, a Muslim American from Cedar Rapids who prayed in Iowa, served overseas, fought Nazi Germany, and never came home. His story reminds us that Muslims have long been part of the American story, including its sacrifices in war.

Related:

When Azara Long Found Islam In A San Francisco Linen Shop : A Story From America’s Muslim History

The post The Muslim Soldier From Ellis Boulevard Who Never Came Home appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.