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

Introduction

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

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

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

A Gathering Rooted in Humility

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

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

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

Anchored in the Teachings of the Prophet ﷺ

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

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

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

Listening Before Speaking

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

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

Advising with Wisdom and Respect

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

Scholarship Lived Through Moral Courage

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

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

Civil Debate as an Act of Worship

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

A Model for Today’s Muslim Community

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

Related:

The Rise of the Scholarly Gig Economy and Fall of Community Development

Common Mistakes When Dealing With Crisis in the Ummah

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

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

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

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

The Exception vs. The Baseline

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

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

A Climate of Manufactured Enmity

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

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

The Human Cost of Asymmetry

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

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

Faith Without Validation

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

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

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

Related:

– [Podcast] How to Fight Islamophobia | Monia Mazigh

– Islamophobia In American Public Schools

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

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

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

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

The Construction of the ‘Progressive Muslim’

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

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

Liberalism, Marxism, and the Regulation of Religious Identity

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

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

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

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

Education, Culture, and Ideological Intervention in Kerala

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

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

Defanging Islam: Secular Anxiety and its Consequences

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

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

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

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

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

Related:

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

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

The post Communist Anxiety And The Liberal Defanging Of Islam In Kerala appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eggs?” Her mother always wanted eggs.

“What?”

“Eggs.”

“No. Toilet paper.”

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

“I want toilet paper and eggs.”

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

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

“About the eggs.”

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

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

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

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

A key turned in the lock. The door opened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The what?”

“Toilet paper. Just… say something else.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“You’re late,” their mother said.

“I came as soon as I could.”

“Are you pregnant yet?”

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

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

“Good to see you, Zuzu,” Heba said.

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

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

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

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

“They smell delicious.”

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

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

Heba sighed. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I said I was going to do it.”

Her sister nodded, but continued.

“Why do you do that?” Zaynab asked.

“Do what?”

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

“I’m not acting.”

“You are.”

Her sister rinsed another plate.

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heba nodded. “That’s surprisingly profound.”

“It’s the Rolling Stones.”

“The what?”

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

“Is that a band? I don’t know music.”

“What do you listen to in the car?”

“The Quran.”

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

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

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

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

“Someone had to.”

“I know.”

“And it wasn’t you.”

“I know.”

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

“My life isn’t -”

“What? Perfect? Yeah, right.”

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

“What?”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know!”

“I will do it,” Heba insisted.

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

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

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

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

So instead she quoted:

Dostoevsky

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

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

Zaynab chuckled. “It’s Dostoevsky.”

“You read Russian literature?”

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

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

“Sorry. Habit.”

“Wanna know what the Quran says?”

“Sure.”

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

“So it’s that easy?”

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

“Then why aren’t all Muslims happy?”

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

“Like thousand-dollar Versace purses?”

Heba nodded slowly. “Yes. Like that.”

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

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

“I know. I’m the best.”

“And humble too,” Heba added.

Zaynab gave a snort of laughter.

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

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

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

THE END

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

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

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

Related:

A Wish And A Cosmic Bird: A Play

Searching for Signs of Spring: A Short Story

The post The Daughter Who Stayed – A Short Story appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

***

The chamber opened into silence.

But it was not the silence of peace.

It was the silence of desperation.

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

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

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

I looked away.

“Why are you showing me this?”

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

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

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

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

He turned to me.

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

I hesitated.

“They hated his message. That’s all.”

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

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

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

He waved his hand again.

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

Just blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The alien tilted his head.

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

He pulled another thread of the simulation.

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

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

“But the children…”

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

The hologram faded.

I was trembling.

“This is cruelty,” I said.

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

He looked at me.

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

“Which is?”

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

He turned back to the valley.

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

We heard a scream.

A mother had fainted.

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

The siege lifted.

But the scars remained.

The simulation dimmed.

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

He looked at me.

“Still think Islam was just a private belief?”

I stared at the fading valley, haunted.

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

The chamber went black.

I didn’t speak.

Not because I agreed.

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

***

Related:

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

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

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

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

A Subtle Shift in How We Understand Islam

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

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

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

What Do We Mean by Modernity?

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

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

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

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

From the Reformation to the Modern World

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

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

Nation-states, Capitalism, and the Logic of Growth

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

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

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

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

Muslims, Technology, and the Illusion of Easy Solutions

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

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

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

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

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

Startup Culture and the Problem of Endless Scaling

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

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

When Technology is Useful—and When it is Not

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rethinking Progress: Beyond the ‘Golden Age’ Narrative

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

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

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

Policy Solutions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

Related:

Digital Intimacy: AI Companionship And The Erosion Of Authentic Suhba

BQO: Muhammad Was Right About Debt

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

Part 1  | Part 2  | Part 3

11. The Haram Has Underground Levels

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not only that, the cloth is changed every year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That trust has endured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

15. Within the Haram, All Life Is Sacred

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

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

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

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said:

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

(Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim)

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

Related:

You Are Perfectly Created

If Not You, Then Who?

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

The Gradual Fade

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

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

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

Allah calls us in the Qur’an to reflect:

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

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

Reconnecting to Allah Through His Names

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

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

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

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

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

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

Allah reassures us in the Qur’an:

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

The Prophet ﷺ reminded us:

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

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

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

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

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

Al-Qarīb — The One Who Is Near

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

Allah says:

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

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

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

Allah’s Nearness in Times of Hardship

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

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

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

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

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

Al-Hādī — The One Who Guides

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

The Prophet ﷺ would frequently supplicate:

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

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

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

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

Turning to Allah Through Duʿā

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

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

Call Upon Allah In Every State

As we come to know Allah through His Beautiful and Majestic Names, turning to Him in duʿā’ becomes a natural expression of our relationship with Him. The believer calls upon Allah in every state — in hope, in need, in gratitude, and in moments of quiet reflection — recognising that the heart is always in need of its Lord.

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

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

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

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

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

Āmīn, Allāhumma Āmīn.

Related:

What Shaykh Muhammad Al Shareef Taught Us About Making Dua

Du’a: The Weapon of the Believer

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

Part 1  | Part 2  | Part 3

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

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

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

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

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

That is not what happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

7. Makkah Produces Almost No Food

Makkah has never been a place of agriculture.

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

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

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

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

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

In this, very little has changed.

A cold storage food warehouse in Saudi Arabia.

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

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

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

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

8. Makkah Is Overwhelmingly a City of Outsiders

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

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

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

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

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

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

Migrant laborers in Saudi Arabia

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

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

9. The Expansion of the Haram Has Erased Entire Neighborhoods

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That spring became Zamzam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every cup of Zamzam carries that history.

Read Part 3

* * *

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

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

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

Related:

You Are Perfectly Created

If Not You, Then Who?

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

By Ibrahim Moiz for MuslimMatters

Israel Broadens Its Murderous Assaults

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

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

Deadly Deja Vu in Lebanon

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

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

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

Lebanon’s Fragile Political Balance

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

Echoes of the 2006 War

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

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

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

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

Ships in the Strait of Hormuz

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

Washington’s Scramble

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

Shattered Illusions in the Gulf

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

An Iranian Stalwart

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

Ali Ardeshir-Larijani

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

Defiance and Death

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

Dead or Alive?

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

Ground Zero in Palestine

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

Collapse of the Ceasefire

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

Dr. Alaa Talks About Life Under Siege

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

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

Dr. Alaa’s orphans

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

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

“The People in Gaza Feel More Suffering Now”

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

Some of the Gaza orphans that Dr. Alaa helps.

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

If you want to help Dr. Alaa in his mission to care for the Gaza orphans, you can donate here.

Related:

Genocidal Israel Escalates With Assault On Iran

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

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