The Islamic Society of San Diego

Tragedy struck the Muslim community of San Diego in a murderous attack by a pair of armed teenagers who killed three people, including a security guard, before shooting themselves at a mosque on 18 May 2026 in what the city police are investigating as a hate crime. At least one suspect who attacked the Islamic Center of San Diego is reported to have been suicidal, but the attackers also left a racist, anti-Islamic screed that strongly suggests an anti-Islamic motive.

Casualties and Tributes

Amin Abdullah

Hours before the shooting, the suspects, Cain Clark and Caleb Vasquez, were already on the police radar after a woman reported that her suicidal son had run away from home with weapons. He and his collaborator made for and attacked the Islamic Center, which includes a school in a part of the city with a strong Muslim presence. The police arrived four minutes after the shooting began, but by then five people had been killed.

Among them was a security guard, Amin Abdullah, who lost his life as he tried to intercept the assailants. After this father of eight was killed on the first day of Dhul-Hijjah 1447, Muslims widely shared his fitting last post on the social media outlet Facebook, which is worth reproducing:

“What is success? To many people success is financial stability, good reputation, beauty, etc. As for ME! Wallahi, thumma Wallahi. It is returning back to Allah OUR creator with the same pure soul he loaned me at birth. Having the Mala’ikah of Allahu Ta’ala saying “don’t fear and don’t grieve, but receive the glad tidings of Jannah which you were promised by the Most forgiving and the most merciful”. May Allahu ta’ala grant us Husnal Khatimah, AAAMEEEN”

Nadir Awad

“It is fair to say his actions were heroic,” said San Diego police chief Scott Wahl of Abdullah’s last moments. “Undoubtedly he saved lives today.”

Preacher Uthman Farooq, who knows the family, said that Abdullah “wanted to defend the innocent so he decided to become a security guard.”

The Islamic Center hailed Abdullah as “a courageous man who put himself on the line of the safety of others, who even in his last moments did not stop protecting our community.”

The other casualties, Nadir Awad and Mansoor Kaziha, were also saluted for their courage by members of the community. Asim Billoo described Kaziha, also known as Abul-Ez, as “the caretaker of our community” in a public salute: “When danger arrived at our school, he did not hesitate. He shielded our children from the shooters, placing his life between them and harm. He lived his life serving us, and he left this world protecting our future.”

Mansour Kaziha (Abu’l Izz)

Of Awad, Billoo added, “Uncle Nadir lived his life as a devoted neighbor to the house of Allah, and today, he proved the depth of that devotion. Hearing the danger, he ran from the safety of his own home toward the masjid, rushing to apprehend the murderers and save the children. We pray Allah grants him the highest rank as a neighbor of Allah ﷻ in Jannah.”

The efforts of these martyrs saved the lives of other worshippers, many of whom were children. Witnesses testified to the terror of the encounter, where Awad’s wife and the husband of the kindergarten teacher also rushed to protect the children. Teacher Iman Khatib-Villarreal paid tribute to the “real men” who sacrificed their lives to protect others, and saluted “the best start to every morning…Brother Amin Abdullah, the truthful servant of Allah as his name translates.”

Costs of Islamophobia

“We are considering this a hate crime until it’s not,” said Wahl. This was based at least in part on the incendiary rhetoric found in the killers’ car, which mentioned “racial pride”, dealt in anti-Islamic rhetoric, and glorified Brendan Tarrant, the Australian mass murderer who massacred 51 Muslims at a New Zealand mosque in 2019: a particularly savage reminder of the consequences of Islamophobic rhetoric that has only spiralled in the mid-2010s.

Mosque director and imam Taha Hassane said, “It is extremely outrageous to target a place of worship. Our Islamic centre is a place of worship.”

There has been a surge in anti-Muslim rhetoric in recent years, much of it driven by pro-Israel agitators such as Laura Loomer, a far-right propagandist who has the ear of Donald Trump. In the aftermath of the attack, Loomer shared a 2023 social media post by Hassane’s wife, which condemned Israel’s genocide of Palestinians, casting doubt on both the very real murders at San Diego and vilifying the congregation with what came dangerously close to incitement:

For his part Trump, who has not hesitated to join in anti-Muslim rhetoric when it suits him, particularly against such communities as Somali-Americans, feebly described the attack as “a terrible situation”.

While San Diego mayor Todd Gloria condemned the attack and expressed sympathy with the city’s Muslim community, an unnamed protester was unconvinced. “Our Muslim brothers and sisters have been talking to you for how long?” she demanded, accusing him of emboldening “Zionist propaganda” and would “keep doing it as long as it lines your ****ing pockets, won’t it. Do something!” It is worth noting that much of the anti-Muslim rhetoric in the United States, as in Europe, has been systematically pushed by pro-Israel networks as well as by organs of the Israeli state.

Tazheen Nizam, the San Diego head for advocacy group Council of American-Islamic Relations, sent condolences to the community, saying, “No one should ever fear for their safety while attending prayers or studying at an elementary school.”

Politicians and elected officials condemned the attack. San Diego congresswoman Sara Jacobs wrote, “I’m devastated for those students, worshippers, and the Clairemont community. Everyone should be able to pray, worship, and learn in peace.”

California governor Gavin Newsom also sent condolences: “California sends our deepest condolences to the families and communities impacted by today’s shooting. Worshippers anywhere should not have to fear for their lives…To the San Diego Muslim community: California stands with you.”

Reactions have come from beyond California: Maryland governor Wes Moore wrote, “Islamophobia has no home in Maryland and we stand with our communities in their time of uncertainty and concern.”

New York City mayor Zohran Mamdani, perhaps the most visible Muslim American politician of recent years, promised to beef up reinforce security for mosques in his city, adding, “Islamophobia endangers Muslim communities across this country. We must confront it directly and stand together against the politics of fear and division.” Mamdani’s successful election campaign in 2025 had withstood a barrage of particularly pointed, vitriolic anti-Muslim rhetoric that has yet to entirely ebb.

Like other episodes of anti-Muslim violence that have spiralled in recent years, the attack in San Diego demonstrated the extreme endpoint of such rhetoric.

The post Deadly Attack at San Diego Mosque Sends Shockwaves appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Then Gaza happened, and Dr. Malik turned his scholarly attention to a question the profession was not ready for: what happens to the people who watch? The clinicians, the observers, the professionals in institutions that issue statements about human rights, while looking away from the largest assault on a healthcare system in modern memory. He started writing about moral injury, the guilt and shame that come from witnessing atrocities your institution refuses to name, and about what he describes as moral invalidation: the mechanism by which institutions deny suffering not by disputing its existence but by deciding that naming it is more dangerous than the suffering itself.

He did not keep this work quiet. In December 2024, he co-authored a piece in Mondoweiss with two other psychiatrists, Dr. Ravi Chandra and Dr. Gary Belkin, arguing that major U.S. medical organizations had failed their ethical obligations on Gaza. That despite overwhelming documentation of medical war crimes and findings of plausible genocide from the ICJ and Amnesty International, the profession had chosen silence. In a 2025 follow-up, he went further and named the institution directly: “The silence of the APA over the Gaza genocide is unacceptable.”

The APA, the American Psychiatric Association, read all of this. A body that publishes the DSM and sets the professional standard for every psychiatrist in America. They read all of it, and it did not come as a surprise.

They had expended considerable effort in blocking his work. He and his co-authors described it themselves in the December 2024 Mondoweiss piece: their efforts to establish a peace caucus within the APA were shut down by leadership. Proposals to include seminars about Islamophobia, the Gaza genocide, or even interfaith peace promotion at the APA Annual Meeting were rejected. Any attempt to highlight civilian suffering in Gaza, they wrote, was labeled “pro-Hamas” or “supporting terror.” The door was closed, repeatedly.

And then, a door seemed to open. About a year and a half after the publication of that article, the APA awarded him their Chester Pierce Human Rights Award.

The Chester Pierce Award is an endowed lectureship named after the Black Harvard psychiatrist who coined the term microaggressions, the idea that small, repeated acts of psychological hostility accumulate into measurable harm. The award was established in 1990 to honor individuals who bring attention to human rights abuses affecting populations with mental health needs. It was renamed for Pierce in 2017 and endowed in 2021. It comes with a lectureship at the APA Annual Meeting, a travel stipend, and a plaque. It is not a casual recognition.

The APA gave this award to a man who had publicly called their silence on Gaza unacceptable. Whatever internal calculus led to the decision, the result was that an organization that had blocked Dr. Malik’s Gaza advocacy for years chose to honor him with an award named after the psychiatrist who built his career confronting institutional racism.

Dr. Malik titled his lecture “From Microaggression to Mass Violence: Psychological Autopsy of the Gaza Genocide.” The word genocide was in the title from the beginning. When the APA approved the lecture, when they scheduled it, when they published the abstract, when they listed it on the conference app, the word was right there, in the title they signed off on.

He planned to take Chester Pierce’s original insight and extend it to the institutional scale. Not just individual microaggressions, the macro version. The institutional denial of suffering. The systems-level refusal to name what is happening. The question his lecture asked was: what happens when a profession built to recognize psychological damage learns to look away from the largest concentration of psychological damage on earth?

Incoming APA President-Elect Rahn Bailey endorsed Dr. Malik’s nomination in writing, stating that his work “perfectly embodies the spirit of Dr. Chester Pierce’s legacy.”

The APA knew what Dr. Malik was going to say. They knew because he had been saying it publicly for over a year. They gave him the award anyway. And then they published his words on their own website. In December, his column. In April, their profile of him.

In December 2025, Psychiatric News, the APA’s online publication, ran a full Viewpoints column by Dr. Malik titled “Should Moral Injury Become a New Psychiatric Diagnosis?” It was not a cautious piece. He wrote about Gaza in terms no reader could misunderstand:

“Physicians amputating without anesthesia, aid workers blocked from delivering food, and soldiers confessing feelings of guilt of being complicit in the murder of children.”

The APA published the phrase “murder of children” on its own website, under Dr. Malik’s byline, with editorial review, and distributed it to 38,000 members.

He went further. He argued that psychiatry has a moral obligation not just to treat the wounded but to confront the structures that wound them. “Silence in the face of atrocities and injustice compounds the injury,” he wrote, “for both victims and clinicians.”

The APA published that sentence on their own website, under their own masthead.

Then, in April 2026, one month before the conference, Psychiatric News ran a second piece, a feature interview announcing Dr. Malik as the Chester Pierce Award recipient. He told the reporter exactly what he planned to say in his lecture, naming Palestinians explicitly.

Two published pieces on the APA’s own website. Six months apart. Both explicitly about Gaza, moral injury, and the psychiatric profession’s obligation to name suffering rather than look away. Both editorially reviewed, approved, and distributed to the entire membership.

And then.

***

Fifteen minutes before the session. Fifteen. APA staff started deleting. The abstract: gone. The co-presenters, Austina Cho and Ravi Chandra: erased from the program, their names removed without notification. The slide deck: access stripped. The session title: changed. Where the conference app had read “Chester Pierce Human Rights Award: From Microaggression to Mass Violence: Psychological Autopsy of the Gaza Genocide,” it now read only “Chester Pierce Human Rights Award.” The content scooped out. The shell left standing.

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took the largest psychiatric organization in America to gut its own award lecture. Fifteen minutes to undo months of vetting, approval, publication, and promotion.

An APA board member walked into Room 314 at the Moscone Convention Center in San Francisco and told the audience the lecture was being “postponed” for “safety concerns.”

The room was packed. Standing room only. Psychiatrists who had flown in from across the country and around the world to be there. They did not leave.

Dr. Malik did not leave.

The APA said he would still receive the award. But that he could not deliver the lecture the award was supposed to honor.

He refused to step down. The audience refused to disperse. So the APA cut the microphones.

The American Psychiatric Association, at its own annual conference, cut the microphone of its own human rights award recipient, in a room full of its own members, because he was going to talk about Gaza. The same Gaza that appeared in his column on their website in December. The same Gaza that they quoted him discussing in their own profile of him in April.

What happened next was not the lecture (it couldn’t be, without amplification or slides) but an open mic session where audience members stood up, one after another, and spoke. A former APA president described the backlash she faced when she invited Desmond Tutu to address the organization in 2011. Dr. Malik’s own supervisor from Johns Hopkins described being threatened with the loss of his research funding in the early 2000s for using the phrase “occupied territory.” Multiple psychiatrists, of all religions and backgrounds, stood up and called for APA board resignations. One attendee wrote in the conference app’s comment section: “This was by far the best session I’ve been to all week and the speaker didn’t even get to speak.”

***

Psychiatrists who wrote to APA leadership about what happened in Room 314 discovered the censorship had a second layer.

Their emails were blocked.

Not bounced. Not sent to spam. Blocked at the server level. The APA’s email system rejected the messages before they reached anyone.

Psychiatrists tried from multiple email addresses. Blocked. They compared notes. The pattern became clear: any email containing Dr. Malik’s name or the lecture title was being filtered out. The APA had configured its own email infrastructure to reject communications about its own award recipient.

The APA censored a lecture about Gaza. Then, when psychiatrists tried to write to the APA about the censorship, the APA censored the complaints about the censorship. Two layers of silencing. The lecture, and then the response to the lecture.

Some resorted to character substitutions. M@ns00r Mal1k. Ch3ster Pi3rce. Palest1nians. Board-certified psychiatrists deliberately misspelling a colleague’s name like teenagers dodging a content filter on a gaming platform, because the largest professional organization in their field had decided that his name was a keyword to be blocked.

When the character substitutions proved unreliable, at least one psychiatrist faxed the letter. In 2026. Faxed it. Because the American Psychiatric Association had made it impossible to email them about their own human rights award.

This is not an isolated incident. Springer published a chapter by Palestinian psychiatrist Samah Jabr in an Islamophobia textbook, a chapter the editors called “a rare but needed Palestinian perspective,” then retracted it.

The pattern is the same every time. The content clears the institution’s own review process. It gets approved. And then the pressure arrives. Not before the review, when it might be mistaken for legitimate peer critique, but after, when the only purpose it can serve is suppression. The content is never engaged on its merits. The goal is to make the institutional cost of keeping it higher than the cost of pulling it.

The APA decided, fifteen minutes before Dr. Malik’s lecture, that the cost of pulling it was lower. That calculation only works if no one responds. If the suppression is quiet, the institution pays nothing. If it is loud, the equation changes.

Dr. Malik’s work, the recent work, the work that earned him this award, centers on a single observation: that institutions do not deny suffering by saying suffering does not exist. They deny it by deciding that naming it is more dangerous than the suffering itself. They do not say “we disagree with your findings.” They say, “your findings cannot be spoken here.” The suffering becomes unspeakable not because it is contested but because it is inconvenient.

Dr. Malik didn’t need the microphone. The APA made his argument for him.

***

Dr. Malik is delivering the lecture that the APA suppressed. On Sunday, May 25, he will present “From Microaggression to Mass Violence: Psychological Autopsy of the Gaza Genocide” at a webinar hosted by Doctors Against Genocide. No APA approval required. No microphone to cut. No email filter to hide behind.

If you are a psychiatrist, a physician, a mental health professional, a Muslim who has ever watched an institution smile at you while it erased you: attend. Share the link. Send it to every colleague who still believes that following the rules protects you.

Dr. Malik followed every rule. He earned the endorsement of the APA’s own incoming president. He published his plans on the APA’s own website, not once, but twice. He told the APA directly, in public, that their silence on Gaza was unacceptable. They gave him an award for it. And fifteen minutes before he could speak, they deleted his words from their website, removed his colleagues from the program, and cut his microphone.

The rules were never meant to protect him. They were meant to make the silencing look procedural.

Register here: https://doctorsagainstgenocide.org/events

The post The APA Gave Him A Human Rights Award. Then They Cut His Microphone For Talking About Gaza. appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The full meaning of that experience only unfolded over time, as I grew in knowledge and matured into adulthood. Yet one of its most intense moments came near the end of the journey, during the stoning of the Jamarāt. These are pillars representing Satan, at which pilgrims cast pebbles in remembrance of Ibrahim’s ﷺ triumph over the devil.

As a zealous new Muslim, I was determined to follow the Sunnah as closely as possible. The majority of scholars hold that the optimal time for the stoning is after zawāl, when the sun begins its descent just past noon. My Shaykh had advised me to delay it due to the crowds—a responsible concession, grounded in well-known legal opinions. But a group of us, stubborn in our youth, went ahead anyway, carried by a sense of invincibility. I did not even know that a stampede had occurred the previous year at that exact time, killing nearly 400 pilgrims.

The scene was chaotic—far more dangerous than we had anticipated. Masses surged forward as people hurled large rocks and even their shoes at the pillars. We became trapped in a sea of bodies, jostled as if tossed by ocean waves. At one point, a caravan from one of the countries forced its way into the crowd with reckless abandon, showing little regard for the safety of others. I nearly fell and would have been trampled had I not seized the shoulders of an unknown brother—himself from an unknown land—who steadied me. I cast my pebbles (not rocks) at the pillars and fled through a sudden opening, as if Allah had parted the sea just long enough for my escape.

On the other side, I found myself alone. I had lost my shoes and my favorite hat, and I had lost sight of the friends who had been with me. I walked back to our tent by myself. My Shaykh was relieved to see me, but one of our companions was still missing. We remained on edge for hours until we finally found him in another tent. A group of French Muslims had taken him in and fed him lunch—truly among the kindest people I have ever met.

This was not how it was meant to be. One of the Companions, Qudamah ibn ‘Abdillah, said, “I saw the Prophet ﷺ stoning the Jamarāt at Ḥajj while he was on his camel. There was no hitting, nor crowding, nor anyone shouting for people to move.”¹ The stoning itself is a deliberate act of moderation and restraint, with small pebbles, not rocks, shoes, or anything else. Ibn ‘Abbas had picked up seven pebbles, small like those used for flicking. The Prophet ﷺ took them, saying, “Like these, so throw them,” then he announced, “O people, beware of excessiveness in religion, for those who came before you were only destroyed by excessiveness in religion.”² The Prophet ﷺ had explicitly cautioned against the very excess I witnessed centuries later, in that same place—as if he knew it would come to pass.

We lamented the experience as we struggled to make sense of what had happened. Was it ignorance, misplaced zeal, or perhaps selfishness? We could not fully understand what we had witnessed, but something the Shaykh said stayed with us: “Hajj is a barometer of the state of the Ummah. The problems you see here are the problems you will find everywhere.”

Submission in Stoning

More than two decades later, I have had the opportunity to reflect more deeply on the meaning of the stoning of the Jamarāt. What does this ritual signify? What are we meant to learn from it? Is it merely symbolic, or are we, in some sense, literally stoning Satan? Can it be understood rationally, or does it ultimately belong to the realm of divine mystery?

Imām al-Ghazālī, one of the greatest minds produced by the Ummah, explains the inner meanings (asrār) of stoning the Jamarāt:

“As for stoning the pillars, intend by it submission to the command of Allah —manifesting servitude and slavery—and rising to pure compliance, without any share for the intellect or the ego in it.

Then intend by it to imitate Ibrahim, peace be upon him, when Iblis—may Allah curse him—appeared to him at that place, seeking to cast doubt into his pilgrimage or tempt him into disobedience. So Allah Almighty commanded him to stone him, driving him away and cutting off his hope.

If it occurs to you, ‘Satan appeared to him, and he saw him, so he stoned him—but as for me, Satan does not appear to me,’ then know that this very thought is from Satan. It is he who casts it into your heart to weaken your resolve in the stoning, and to make you imagine that it is an act without benefit, resembling mere play, so that you neglect it. So repel him from yourself with seriousness and resolve in the stoning, in spite of Satan.

And know that outwardly you are throwing pebbles at the pillar, but in reality, you are striking the face of Satan and breaking his back. For nothing humiliates him except your compliance with the command of Allah , glorifying Him purely for His command—without any share in it for the ego or the intellect.”³

Stoning the pillars is an act of submission to the command of Allah , in opposition to lower desires and whims—even when its wisdom resists purely rational explanation. Satan is the committed enemy of all people, as Allah said,

“Tell My servants to say only what is best. Satan certainly seeks to sow discord among them. Satan is indeed a sworn enemy to humankind.” [Surah Al-‘Isra’; 17:53]

Identifying Our Unyielding Enemy

Yet unlike external enemies, Satan’s battlefield lies within the hearts and minds of people, manifesting as evil thoughts and the impulse to act upon them.

As we stone the pillars, we acknowledge the presence of this cosmic evil and name the enemy for what he truly is. The Prophet ﷺ said, “Verily, Satan flows through the human being like the flowing of blood.”⁴ The devil operates within us, exploiting our ignorance and furnishing excuses for our worst inclinations. The Prophet ﷺ warned us about catastrophic consequences, “Verily, Satan has given up that those who pray will ever worship him, so rather he incites discord between them.”⁵ Imam al-Nawawi commented, “Rather, Satan strives to incite discord between them with conflicts, hostility, wars, tribulations, and so on.”⁶ And so it has come to pass—across time and space, again and again, to this very day.

The righteous predecessors had a clear understanding of the true enemy: it was not the unbelievers, the idolaters, or the heretics. They did not fear advancing armies as much as they feared an evil reckoning with Allah , brought about by their own sins, orchestrated by malevolence from the Unseen realm. The righteous Caliph, ‘Umar ibn ‘Abdul ‘Azīz, would take pledges from his military leaders, saying:

“There is nothing of the hostility of your enemies that deserves more caution than your own selves and those with you who are sinfully disobedient to Allah. For I fear the sins of our people more than the plots of their enemies. Verily, we were only transgressed by our enemy and given divine support over them due to their sinful disobedience. Were it not for that, we would have no power over them.”⁷

Satan is the only enduring enemy whose hostility toward humanity never ceases. People, nations, and states, by contrast, can change, reconcile, or even embrace Islam. Some of the Prophet’s ﷺ fiercest enemies later became among his most devoted Companions, or at the very least ended their violent opposition to him. The true conflict, then, is waged within the realm of human hearts and thoughts, only spilling into the physical world at certain times.

Ḥātim al-Aṣamm, one of the great sages of the Ummah, teaches us to identify our true enemy:

“I saw that everyone has an enemy, so I said I would find out who mine is. As for one who backbites me, he is not my enemy, nor one who takes something from me; he is not my enemy. Rather, my enemy is one who commands me to disobey Allah when I am obeying Allah . Thus, I saw that in Satan and his soldiers, so I took them as my enemy, and I waged war between us. I darted my bow, drew my arrow, and never let him come near me.”⁸

Thus, the enemy is named—his war against us declared before we were even born, his intransigence everlasting until the Day of Judgment. Our weapons are not swords, bullets, or bombs, which mean nothing to him; rather, they are among his favored instruments. No, our weapons more closely resemble shields than spears. The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said, “Take up your shields.” They said, “O Messenger of Allah, is the enemy present?” The Prophet ﷺ said, “No, rather your shields from the Hellfire are to declare the glory of Allah, the praise of Allah, there is no God but Allah, and Allah is the greatest. Verily, they will come on the Day of Resurrection as saviors and guardian angels, and they are ‘righteous deeds everlasting.’”⁹

The Shield of Rememberance

Satan’s arrows are the evil thoughts and base impulses he provokes, leading people into disobedience to their Creator. Greed, envy, malice, lust, vanity, arrogance, pride, and rage are among his machinations. Allah has named him “the lurking whisperer” in the final chapter of the Qur’an—repelled by hearts that turn to Him in remembrance.¹⁰ A man came to the Prophet ﷺ saying, “O Messenger of Allah, one of us has thoughts within himself, suggesting something that would make him love to be reduced to charcoal rather than to speak of it.” The Prophet ﷺ said, “Allah is the greatest! Allah is the greatest! Allah is the greatest! All praise is due to Allah, who has turned back the plot of the whisperer.”¹¹ Mujahid explained, “The lurking whisperer is Satan over the heart of a human. When one remembers Allah, he withdraws.”¹²

The remembrance of Allah in the heart pushes back Satan, not merely the uttered words. Allah said,

“Indeed, when Satan whispers to those mindful of Allah, they remember their Lord, then they start to see clearly.” [Surah Al-‘Araf: 7;201]

“But the devils persistently plunge their associates deeper into wickedness, sparing no effort.” [Surah Al-‘Araf: 7;202]

Prayers, supplications, and acts of remembrance redirect our attention to Allah , rather than to Satan’s insinuations; the key to overcoming him, then, is to disengage from his whispering. Shaykh al-Islam Ibn Taymīyah writes, “If the shepherd’s dog troubles you, do not busy yourself warring and defending against it. You must appeal to the shepherd, who will direct the dog away from you and suffice you.”¹³ When the mind turns to Allah and away from an evil thought, the satanic whisper dissolves into nothingness.

The Companions were equipped with knowledge of Allah’s Names and Attributes, His commands, and the moral compass of His Messenger ﷺ, prioritizing these above all else before any external strategy of warfare was devised. The Prophet ﷺ told them, “Shall I not tell you of the best of your deeds, which is the purest to your King, which raises you among your ranks, which is better for you than spending gold and money in charity, and which is better for you than meeting your enemy and striking the necks of each other?” They said, “Of course!” The Prophet ﷺ said, “It is the remembrance of Allah Almighty.”¹⁴

Know, then, that stoning the Jamarāt is your recognition of the true enemy, one who flows within you, waiting patiently for any opportunity to lead you astray. The pebbles you cast at the pillars do not harm him; rather, every declaration of Allah’s Greatness—Allāhu Akbar—strikes him with frustration and defeat. When you internalize this reality upon completing the ritual and your Ḥajj as a whole, you have come to understand the nature of evil and the means to overcome it. Victory begins with saving yourself from the devil’s plots, then teaching the path of purification to those around you—one heart at a time.

Success comes from Allah , and Allah knows best.

Related:

– Experiences, Lessons, And Reality Checks From Hajj 2024

– [Podcast] Dropping the Spiritual Baggage: Overcoming Malice Before Ramadan | Ustadh Justin Parrott

The post Stoning The Jamarat: Naming The True Enemy appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Unfortunately, there are serious safety concerns that parents must be hypervigilant about, particularly in the online class setting. Hearing about more and more children becoming victims of sexual abuse from “talented Quran teachers” is a wake-up call to all parents. 

As a nitpicky Quran teacher since 2011, my convictions in finding the best Quran teacher for your children have now changed – prioritizing your child’s safety is of the utmost importance. 

Rules for Online Quran Lessons

These rules are especially important if families are working with a Quran teacher online.

Only the parents’ contact information should be shared with the Quran teacher. Whether it’s text messages, emails, phone calls, or anything else, the Quran teacher should never be able to directly and privately contact the student. Make sure your child is joining video calls from a device that has the parent’s login information displayed in the call. If sending voice messages for review homework, ensure your child is either using your phone to do so, or forwarding messages to you that they have sent to their teacher. 

Personal information about the child and family should not be shared. Where the child goes to school, the family’s home address, the child’s schedule of weekly activities, and other information that can help the Quran teacher find your child in person are dangerous to share. Although this may be difficult to avoid or seem obstructive to the child developing a positive relationship with their teacher, it is important to protect the safety of your child. 

All video lessons should be conducted in a communal area and with parent supervision. The parent should be able to see the screen and overhear the entirety of the lessons. This measure is to hold the Quran teacher accountable for their speech and actions during each and every lesson. It might be very challenging to arrange a productive environment for Quran lessons with other noisy children and activity in the home. It may also seem like a waste of time not to take care of other things, such as making dinner or exercising, while the child is occupied. Having your child in an adjacent room and being on a three-way video call with the teacher, child, and parent present may be a good workaround for this. Some teachers will not allow parents to be in the room or watch lessons. If the teacher will not concede after you’ve explained your concerns for your child’s safety, find another teacher. 

No photos or videos should be exchanged. Lessons should not be recorded by the teacher. You and your child should not be sending photos or videos to their teacher. This will be more complicated with social media in the mix, particularly if the teacher can access you or your child’s social media profiles. There may be instances where the teacher would like your child to listen to audio or watch videos for homework. In that case, these should be sent directly to you, the parent. The teacher should never record lessons with your child because you can’t ensure how those videos will be used.   

Establish body safety and boundaries with your children. Teach your child about the importance of keeping their private areas covered at all times and to not discuss their private areas with others. In the context of video Quran classes, your child should understand that only faces and hands should be shown during the video lessons. If the Quran teacher makes a request to see more of them, the child should firmly say “no” and promptly alert the parent. If the Quran teacher ever shows more of themselves than their face and hands, the child should also promptly alert the parent. Tell your child they can also hang up the video call or leave the room immediately if they feel uncomfortable or scared.

Discuss the online safety plan with your child. Your child should be aware of all the safety measures you are taking so they can comply with them. This includes ensuring they will not accidentally share their personal contact information with their teacher.  Transparency with your children is key to ensuring your plan works.

Communicating Your Rules with Your Kids’ Quran Teacher

The rules that you have come up with for your child’s safety don’t need to be kept secret. Go ahead and clearly communicate what your expectations are to your children’s Quran teacher. You can use the message template below to send as a text or email (You’re welcome!):

Dear xx,

As we begin our Quran learning journey with you, we want to ensure our child’s safety. We have some rules in place that we want to inform you of so you can respect the boundaries we’d like you to uphold. They are:

• You should only contact me outside of Quran classes. You will not have my child’s contact information. 

• Please do not ask about personal information about my child and family, such as which school or masjid we attend.  

• All video lessons are conducted in a communal area in our home and with adult supervision. We apologize for any background noise or distractions in advance, and please let us know if we need to make changes to have smoother lessons.

• Do not exchange photos or videos with my child during or outside of class.
• Our family has discussed this online safety plan and body safety. My child is aware that you know the safety rules as well and will report any concerns they have directly to me.

With transparency and straightforward communication with their Quran teacher, your plan should be successful, inshaAllah! Hopefully, such a clear outline of what is acceptable for your family will deter any potential predators from preying on your child and family.

Conclusion

As Muslims, we take pride in learning how to read and memorize our Sacred Scripture in its original form–a gift hardly any other religious communities enjoy. Teaching our children how to read the Quran is an important goal for many Muslim parents and a lifeline to their faith once they become adults. However, ensuring child safety while undergoing online Quran study is of the utmost importance, arguably much more important than teaching your children how to read Quran.

As a Quran teacher myself, I’d much rather children learn how to read/memorize Arabic suboptimally than expose them to harm from a teacher who can create the next Mishary al Afasi. If a parent decides to use an online Quran teacher, it is essential that they stay engaged with their children’s lessons to ensure abuse or exploitation is not taking place.

Related:

– Safeguarding Children In Today’s World: An Islamic Perspective On Child Sexual Abuse Prevention And Protection

– [Podcast] Raising Children As Huffadh | Sh Fatima Barkatullah

The post Protecting Our Children As They Learn Quran Online: A Guide For Parents appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Here, we at MuslimMatters have compiled for you yet another edition of ‘The MM Recap’ with this ultimate Dhul Hijjah and Hajj round-up of articles straight from the MuslimMatters archives. From the educational to the inspiring, from the helpful to the reflective, we hope to provide you with an updated one-stop resource that you can keep coming back to inshaAllah.

Dhul Hijjah

– Not Everyone Goes To Hajj…But Everyone Is Called: Gaza, Gratitude, And Dhul Hijjah

Not Everyone Goes To Hajj…But Everyone Is Called: Gaza, Gratitude, And Dhul Hijjah – MuslimMatters.org

– When Allah Chooses Something: The Blessings Of Dhul Hijjah

When Allah Chooses Something: The Blessings Of Dhul Hijjah – MuslimMatters.org

– Embracing the Sacred: A Heartfelt Journey Through the First 10 Days of Dhul-Hijjah

Embracing the Sacred: A Heartfelt Journey Through the First 10 Days of Dhul-Hijjah – MuslimMatters.org

– The Bigger Picture: Understanding Loss, Sacrifice, and Purpose in Dhul Hijjah

The Bigger Picture: Understanding Loss, Sacrifice, and Purpose in Dhul Hijjah – MuslimMatters.org

– Optimizing The First 10 Of Dhul Hijjah

Optimizing The First 10 Of Dhul Hijjah – MuslimMatters.org

Hajj

– What Is Your Role In The Story Of Islam? : On Hajj, Eid, And Surat Ibrahim

What Is Your Role In The Story Of Islam? : On Hajj, Eid, And Surat Ibrahim – MuslimMatters.org

– Experiences, Lessons, And Reality Checks From Hajj 2024

Experiences, Lessons, And Reality Checks From Hajj 2024 – MuslimMatters.org

– A Less Than Perfect Hajj: Hajj Reflections

A Less Than Perfect Hajj: Hajj Reflections – MuslimMatters.org

– Audio Article: Spiritual Prep For Hajj

Audio Article: Spiritual Prep For Hajj – MuslimMatters.org

– Reflections On Hajj I Sh. Furhan Zubairi

Reflections On Hajj I Sh. Furhan Zubairi – MuslimMatters.org

 Dhul Hijjah/Hajj & Parenting

– Dhul Hijjah With Kids In The Home And Palestine On Our Minds

Dhul Hijjah With Kids In The Home And Palestine On Our Minds – MuslimMatters.org

– 3 Fun And Educational Dhul Hijjah Activities For Children

3 Fun And Educational Dhul Hijjah Activities For Children – MuslimMatters.org

– Hajar, Motherhood, And Children: Reflections on Dhul Hijjah

Hajar, Motherhood, And Children: Reflections on Dhul Hijjah – MuslimMatters.org

– From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Hajj And Eid Al-Adha Reads

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Hajj And Eid Al-Adha Reads – MuslimMatters.org

MM Dhul Hijjah/Hajj Series & Resources

– The MM Recap: A Dhul-Hijjah And Hajj Resource [2022]

The MM Recap: A Dhul-Hijjah And Hajj Resource – MuslimMatters.org

– Reviving The Sacred Months: Dhul Hijjah (Part 1)

Reviving The Sacred Months: Dhul Hijjah (Part 1) – MuslimMatters.org

– [Dhul Hijjah Series] Calling Upon the Divine: The Art of Du’a (Part 1)

[Dhul Hijjah Series] Calling Upon the Divine: The Art of Du’a (Part 1) – MuslimMatters.org

– The Things He Would Say – [Part 1] – The Call to Hajj

The Things He Would Say – [Part 1] – The Call to Hajj – MuslimMatters.org

– 15 Things You Didn’t Know About Makkah and the Ka’bah [Part 1]

15 Things You Didn’t Know About Makkah and the Ka’bah [Part 1] – MuslimMatters.org

May Allah accept the Hajj of all the hujjaj, allow us all to make the most of Dhul Hijjah, and give us the privilege of fulfilling this pillar of our deen at least once in our lifetime inshaAllah.

The post The MM Recap: Our Most Popular Dhul Hijjah And Hajj Articles [2026 Edition] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

There are moments in the Islamic calendar that do more than remind us of worship. They return us to ourselves. Dhul Hijjah is one of those moments. It comes quietly, yet it carries immense spiritual weight. It asks the believer to pause, to look inward, and to confront questions that are often avoided in the busyness of life. What have I placed before Allah ? What am I unwilling to surrender? What does my worship reveal about the condition of my heart?

Dhul Hijjah is not merely a season of rituals. It is a season of exposure. It brings to the surface our attachments, distractions, ambitions, hopes, and fears. It reveals not only what we do, but what we love. In that sense, worship becomes a mirror. It reflects the hierarchy of our commitments, the direction of our desires, and the depth of our reliance.

The first ten days of Dhul Hijjah are among the most sacred days of the year:

“And [by] ten nights” [Surah Al-Fajr 89:2]

The Prophet taught that righteous deeds in these days are especially beloved to Allah :

He ﷺ said, “No good deeds done on other days are superior to those done on these (first ten days of Dhul Hijja).” Then some companions of the Prophet (ﷺ) said, “Not even Jihad?” He replied, “Not even Jihad, except that of a man who does it by putting himself and his property in danger (for Allah’s sake) and does not return with any of those things.” [Bukhari]

Yet their greatness is not found in quantity alone. It is found in the quality of return. These days invite us back with greater honesty, greater awareness, and a willingness to be changed.

Sacred Time and the Awakening of the Heart

Islam teaches that time is not empty. Certain moments carry weight. Ramadan, Laylat al Qadr, the Day of Arafah, and the days of Dhul Hijjah are not interchangeable with the rest of the year. They are openings.

These openings are not about Allah becoming nearer, but about the human being becoming more receptive. There are moments when the heart is more capable of returning, more ready to soften, more willing to listen.

Ibn Rajab al-Hanbali explained that the first ten days of Dhul Hijjah gather together the major forms of worship¹. This is not incidental. It is formative. The believer is engaged at multiple levels. The body is disciplined through fasting and prayer. Wealth is purified through charity. The tongue is refined through remembrance. The ego is confronted through sacrifice.

Sacred time does not impose pressure. It restores possibility. It interrupts the illusion that we are fixed. It reminds us that return remains open, that forgiveness remains accessible, and that the heart can be revived.

Al Nawawi and other scholars emphasized the importance of recognizing such moments². Not because Allah is distant outside of them, but because human beings often are.

Prophet Ibrahim and the Meaning of Surrender

At the center of Dhul Hijjah stands Prophet Ibrahim, peace be upon him. His life is not simply remembered. It is revisited as a model of surrender.

The Qur’an presents his response with clarity. When commanded to submit, he submits:

“When his Lord said to him, ‘Submit’, he said, ‘I have submitted [in Islam] to the Lord of the worlds.” [Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:131]

That submission is not abstract. It is lived through trials that reach into the core of human attachment. He leaves Hajar and Ismail in a barren valley (Surah Ibrahim; 14:37). He stands alone against the falsehood of his people. He prepares to sacrifice his son (Surah As-Saffat; 102–107).

Each moment confronts something fundamental. Security. Belonging. Love. Ibrahim is not tested through what is insignificant. He is tested through what is most difficult to release.

Al Tabari and Ibn Kathir emphasize that these trials were not punishments, but elevations³. Faith is not established by what we claim. It is revealed by what we are willing to surrender.

The question is not historical. It is immediate. Where is my point of surrender? What am I protecting at the expense of trust in Allah ? What am I holding onto that I have not placed beneath Him?

Sacrifice and the Reordering of Love

Eid al Adha is often understood through the act of sacrifice, yet the Qur’an redirects the focus inward. Neither the flesh nor the blood reaches Allah . What reaches Him is taqwa.

“Their meat will not reach Allah, nor will their blood, but what reaches Him is piety from you. Thus have We subjected them to you that you may glorify Allah for that [to] which He has guided you; and give good tidings to the doers of good.” [Surah Al-Hajj; 22:37]

This reframes everything. The act is not evaluated in isolation. It is understood through what it reveals.

Al Qurtubi explains that this verse dismantles the idea that worship can be reduced to form⁴. The outward act matters, but its meaning is determined by the state of the heart.

The Prophet said that no action on the Day of Sacrifice is more beloved to Allah than the shedding of blood (Ibn Majah, 3126). Yet even this act derives its value from what it represents.

At its core, sacrifice is the reordering of love. It places every attachment in its proper place. It affirms that nothing created can occupy what belongs to the Creator.

Imam al Ghazali’s reflections are instructive here⁵. Acts of worship are forms, but their reality lies in what they produce within the soul. If sacrifice does not affect the self, then something essential has been missed.

Hajj as Embodied Theology

Hajj is theology enacted. It is belief carried by the body. It is not only observed. It is lived.

“And proclaim to the people the Hajj [pilgrimage]; they will come to you on foot and on every lean camel; they will come from every distant pass – “ [Surah Al-Hajj; 22:27]

“That they may witness benefits for themselves and mention the name of Allah on known days over what He has provided for them of [sacrificial] animals. So eat of them and feed the miserable and poor.” [Surah Al-Hajj; 22:28]

Ibn al Qayyim described Hajj as a journey of the heart before it is a journey of the body⁶. This becomes clear only through experience.

In 2006, I arrived thinking I understood what Hajj required. I had studied the rituals. I knew the sequence. I believed I was prepared. What I encountered was not simply a series of acts. It was a dismantling.

Standing before the Kaabah, something shifted that I had not anticipated. There was no dramatic moment outwardly. Yet inwardly, there was a quiet collapse. The sense that I was in control of my life, that I was managing myself, began to loosen.

As I moved in tawaf, repetition stripped away distraction. The mind quieted. The heart moved in a way that resisted analysis. I was no longer thinking about what I needed to say. I was becoming aware of what I had been carrying. There was a realization that I had been holding onto myself far too tightly, and that I was never meant to.

There were tears, but they were not forced. They emerged without effort. Not as an expression I initiated, but as a response that overtook me. It was not sadness. It was recognition. A recognition of dependence that had always been true, but not fully acknowledged.

Ihram and the Stripping Away of False Identity

Ihram removes distinction. It strips away the markers that define status, profession, and identity.

The Prophet said that all are from Adam, and Adam was from dust (Tirmidhi). This is not only a statement of origin. It is a reorientation of value.

Standing in ihram among thousands, dressed the same, the usual categories dissolved. There was no title. No recognition. No separation. Only the human being before Allah .

Al Ghazali interprets ihram as a reminder of death and resurrection⁷. The garments resemble the shroud. The state resembles exposure.

During that Hajj, this was no longer theoretical. The identity I had constructed, the one I carried into that space, felt fragile. Yet in that fragility, there was relief. The need to maintain it weakened. What remained was simpler, and more honest.

Hajar and the Courage to Keep Moving

The story of Hajar, peace be upon her, is one of trust joined with action. Left in a barren valley, her response was not passivity.

Her movement between Safa and Marwah is preserved because it captures a condition that extends beyond her moment. Effort continues even when the outcome is unknown.

Ibn Kathir notes that Zamzam emerged from where she did not expect⁸. Relief did not follow her assumptions.

Walking between Safa and Marwah, her story took on a different weight. It was no longer distant. It was embodied. The movement itself became a form of reflection. We act, but we do not control the outcome. We strive, but we do not determine where relief appears.

Arafah and the Honesty of Standing Before Allah

The day of Arafah is the heart of Hajj. The Prophet said that Hajj is Arafah (Tirmidhi, 889). It is defined not by movement, but by standing.

It was on this day that the completion of the religion was declared. For the individual, however, it is not a moment of completion. It is a moment of exposure.

Standing there in 2006, the structure I had carried began to fall away. There was no sense of performance left. The language of supplication was no longer formal. It was immediate.

I raised my hands, and what emerged was not composed. It was honest. There was no effort to appear as I thought I should. There was only the awareness of who I was before Allah .

The tears came again, but differently. Not from reflection, but from presence. It felt as though I had finally stopped holding myself together long enough to be seen as I was.

For those not performing Hajj, fasting on the Day of Arafah expiates the sins of the previous and coming year (Sahih Muslim, 1162). Yet its deeper meaning lies in what it represents. A standing that is unguarded. A return that is unfiltered.

Taqwa as the True Offering

The central offering of Dhul Hijjah is taqwa. It is an awareness that shapes how one sees and acts.

The Qur’an reminds us that the best provision is taqwa.

“Hajj is [during] well-known months, so whoever has made Hajj obligatory upon himself therein [by entering the state of ihram], there is [to be for him] no sexual relations and no disobedience and no disputing during Hajj. And whatever good you do – Allah knows it. And take provisions, but indeed, the best provision is fear of Allah . And fear Me, O you of understanding.” [Surah Al-Baqarah;2:197]

Ibn Taymiyyah defines it as acting in obedience with awareness and refraining from disobedience with awareness⁹.

This awareness is not theoretical. It is cultivated through practice, through repetition, through moments that require restraint and honesty.

Dhul Hijjah gathers these moments together. Each act addresses a different dimension of the self, gradually reorienting it.

Conclusion

Dhul Hijjah will pass, as all seasons do. The rituals will be completed. Life will resume.

What remains is the question of what has changed.

Hajj in 2006 did not leave me with perfection. It did not resolve every tension. What it left was clearer than that. A deeper awareness of my dependence on Allah . A recognition that I am not sustained by my own effort.

Dhul Hijjah returns each year with the same invitation. Not only to act, but to examine. Not only to complete, but to be transformed.

What must I surrender so that I may draw nearer to Allah ?

Related:

– What Is Your Role In The Story Of Islam? : On Hajj, Eid, And Surat Ibrahim

– The Things He Would Say – [Part 1] – The Call to Hajj

The post The Spiritual Weight Of Dhul Hijjah And The Sincerity Of Sacrifice appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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

* * *

Many Kinds of Scams

I stood staring at the two gold bracelets in my hand. Improbably, and even to my own surprise, a smile broke out on my face, and I laughed out loud. In retrospect, it was the worst thing I could have done.

“You find this funny?” my uncle demanded.

I turned to Zihan Ma, whose face was red with anger. “No, subhanAllah. It’s just ridiculous. I’ve never seen these before in my life. Someone put them in my pack.”

“Who would have done that?” Master Chen sneered. “You are the only thief here.” He turned to my aunt Jade. “This is your fault, for bringing this delinquent into your home, and then into mine. If anything else turns up missing, I hold you responsible.”

My eyes flicked from one person to another. Lee Ayi had gone pale. Haaris was frowning. The elderly servant stood behind his master, back erect, stock still. But Nai Nai’s eyes were on her husband, and there was a troubled, questioning look in her eyes.

I put it all together in an instant. My father was indeed a thief, and as I mentioned he had taught me the intricacies of many kinds of scams.

Lee Ayi was stammering an apology to her father-in-law. I stood up straight and interrupted. Inclining my head to the elderly servant, I said, “He did it.”

The servant did not respond, but his body stiffened. Master Chen’s chest puffed up and his eyes narrowed. “Just like a gutter rat,” he said, “To blame a poor, elderly servant who cannot defend himself.”

“Darius, be quiet!” Zihan Ma snapped.

“I will not be quiet. I recognize a scam when I see one. The elderly gentleman placed the bracelets in my bag when they were in his care, most likely at Master Chen’s command. Then, when we were about to leave, the gentleman whispered in Master Chen’s ear, remember? That was to tell him that the deed was done.”

Chen’s chest puffed up as his eyes narrowed. “How dare you,” he snarled. “You piece of street trash. I should have you arrested and flogged.” He turned to Zihan Ma. “You should probably unwrap those other items. Most likely he stole those as well.”

“What do you say to that?” Zihan Ma asked me.

The absurdity of this situation was no longer funny. My face and hands felt heavy, and my heart felt too large and filled with a reservoir of sadness.

“They are gifts,” I sighed. “For you, Lee Ayi and Haaris. I bought them in the marketplace.”

“A street rat buying gifts,” Chen sneered.

“I used the gold coins from my father’s enlistment and salary. I swear it in the name of Allah, and He is my witness.” I put the gold bracelets on a small table. “Whoever is telling the truth, may Allah support him and give him strength. And whoever is lying, may Allah expose him.” I put my belongings and the gifts back in my pack, and slipped the strap over my shoulders. As I did so, Zihan Ma bowed deeply to Master Chen, apologizing, and thanking him for not calling the constables.

Take Care of Far Away

I walked out. Outside the villa, in the street, I waited for my so-called family. I might have walked away, except that my dao was in the wagon, and I did not know the way back to the stable yard.

Walking back to the wagon, no one spoke. I felt as cold and rough inside as the great river that coursed uncaring through this city. Zihan Ma, the man I had almost come to think of as a second father – the man who was my rescuer and teacher – thought I was a lying thief. Or if he did not think so, he had doubts. I was fairly sure that Haaris believed me, and I had no idea what Lee Ayi thought. What a fool to think that a ruffian like myself could be accepted by respectable people. What had Chen called me? A street rat? Maybe that was what I was, and maybe that was what I should be.

When we reached the wagon, I was deeply relieved to find my dao where I had left it, wrapped and hidden beneath a blanket. I strapped it to my back. As the others mounted the wagon, I opened my pack and took the gifts out. Still wrapped, I handed Haaris his gift. “So you don’t have to whistle through leaves anymore,” I said.

As Zihan Ma took his wrapped gift, I said, “A fine needle for a fine healer.”

I handed Lee Ayi the beautiful little comb. “For your lovely hair, Auntie. Also, Lee Ayi, I have a request. Please take care of Far Away. Don’t let him wander off. Be kind to him. Promise me.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about? I always take good care of him. Who do you think feeds him when you are out in the fields?”

I nodded. “Yes, you’re right. It’s just… I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him.”

“Darius,” Zihan Ma said testily. “Don’t be dramatic. Get in the wagon so we can get home before midnight.”

I drew a shaky breath and shrugged. “I’m not coming. I will say goodbye now. I thank you all for everything you did for me. Allah give you barakah.” I turned and walked away.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see all three of them hurrying after me.

Haaris grabbed my sleeve. “Stop! What are you doing?” He began to cry. “You can’t leave, you’re my brother. Who will play games with me?”

His tears scalded my heart, making me feel deeply guilty; but my own hurt and anger were greater. “I can’t stay,” I explained. “Your father thinks I am a liar and a thief. How can I live in a house where people think of me that way?”

“No, he doesn’t!” Haaris protested. “Tell him, Baba.”

Everyone turned to Zihan Ma. “I don’t know what to think,” he said. “The situation is confusing.”

I took Lee Ayi’s hand and kissed it. “Remember your promise. Take care of Far Away.” Once again I turned and strode quickly away, and this time no one followed me. Haaris sobbed, and Lee Ayi called my name, but I did not stop, and soon I was gone, lost in the chaos, noise and crowds of late afternoon in Deep Harbor.

The Meaning of Brotherhood

The time passed in a blur.

I survived because Deep Harbor was a city that consumed labor endlessly. Barges arrived day and night carrying grain, timber, iron, salt fish and refugees. Crates had to be unloaded. Wagons had to be pushed through muddy streets. Messages had to be carried from warehouse to warehouse.

No one cared who I was as long as I worked hard and did not complain.

At dawn I joined laborers at the docks, standing among wiry old men, refugees and orphan boys waiting to be chosen for work. Some days I hauled crates from barges until my shoulders burned and my palms bled. Other days I carried sacks of rice through the market district or delivered bundles of cloth and letters for merchants.

The riverfront never slept.

Even late at night lanterns swung above the water as men shouted from boats and ropes creaked against wooden posts. The smell of Deep Harbor became familiar to me: mud, fish, smoke, wet wood, sewage and spices.

I still had four gold coins remaining from my father’s wages, but I kept them well hidden, always on my person, and did not spend them. With my earnings I bought a thick wool coat from a secondhand stall near the docks. It smelled faintly of mildew and another man’s sweat, but it was warm. I also bought a blanket stuffed with cheap cotton batting. During storms I rented a narrow room at the cheapest inn I could find, sleeping on a straw mat while drunk sailors argued downstairs, but most nights I stayed beneath one of the stone bridges spanning the river channels.

There were dozens of people living there already. Old beggars. Crippled veterans. Widows with children. Men who drank themselves insensible every evening. Some ignored me entirely. Others watched me with the cautious curiosity reserved for newcomers. Still others called the adhaan, formed ranks and prayed there beneath the bridges. When I saw that, I joined them, and for a few moments were not a ragtag group of discards and laborers, but a unified brotherhood, standing together under the most impoverished of circumstances. If a man needed a coat, a Muslim brother would give it. If a woman was hungry, another would share. I learned much about the meaning of brotherhood and sisterhood on those streets and beneath that bridge. It was not a concept. It was a reality that saved lives and warmed the heart on freezing nights.

Trouble

There were also those who wanted to exploit, hurt and steal.

The first trouble came only three nights after I began sleeping beneath the bridge. I was returning from the masjid after the evening halaqah when two older boys stepped out from behind a stack of wooden pallets near the river stairs. One was broad shouldered and missing several teeth. The other carried a brass pipe like a club.

“That’s a fine sword,” the taller one said, nodding toward the dao on my back. “Too fine for a little country boy.”

“It was my father’s,” I replied. “Leave it alone.”

The shorter boy smirked. “Maybe we’ll hold onto it for you.”

He reached for the hilt.

I caught his wrist and twisted sharply. He yelped and bent forward, and I struck the elbow hard with my forearm, shattering it. The boy screamed. Before the other boy could swing the pipe I kicked his knee sideways and drove my elbow into his jaw. He stumbled backward into the pallets, cursing.

The first boy was down and not getting up, but the second one untangled himself from the pallets and rushed me wildly. I sidestepped, seized the back of his coat and hurled him face first into the stone stairs.

As they rolled on the ground in pain, I walked away. I genuinely hoped they would be able to get medical care, the first one in particular, or he would lose that arm. But they would have to find someone else to help them.

The second attack was worse. One night three full-grown men cornered me in an alley beside the fish market. They smelled of wine and river mud. One grabbed my coat sleeve while another demanded my money.

I warned them once, but they only laughed.

The first man lunged for my pack. I drew my dao and cut him across the face so quickly that for a moment he did not understand he had been wounded. The second man came at me with a knife. I stepped aside and chopped downward instinctively.

His arm fell into the mud beside him.

The screaming that followed drew people from nearby alleys and doorways. By the time constables arrived the attackers had dragged the wounded man away themselves.

After that the stories spread, and people began giving me space in the streets. I heard whispers sometimes as I passed:

“The boy with the sword.”
“The farm boy.”
“The one who cut a man’s arm off.”
“The bridge boy.”
“The bridge killer.”

I hated hearing it. Yet at the same time another part of me felt grim satisfaction. Let them fear me. Fear kept people alive.

Figs and Halaqas

Every evening, no matter how tired I was, I went to the great masjid for Maghreb prayer. The warmth there steadied me.

Sometimes I helped sweep the floors afterward or carried water buckets for the old caretaker. Sometimes he gave me figs. After prayer I remained sitting among the worshippers for the Quran taleems and Islamic halaqahs. Scholars, merchants and travelers gathered in circles beneath the lantern light while teachers spoke of fiqh, hadith, tafsir and purification of the heart.

Often I did not fully understand what was being discussed, but I clung to it anyway. I no longer knew who I was supposed to become. Was I a healer? A fighter? A thief’s son? A farm apprentice? A wandering street worker and fighter? A refugee? I did not know. But I knew I was Muslim. No one could take that from me. When I bowed beside the other worshippers, shoulder to shoulder, rich and poor alike, I felt human again.

At night I lay wrapped in my blanket beneath the bridge listening to the river move through the darkness. Ships passed sometimes, their lanterns glowing faintly through the mist while water slapped softly against their hulls.

Those were the hardest hours, for that was when I thought of home. Not my father’s ruined farm. The other home.

I thought of Haaris laughing as we worked in the fields. Lee Ayi humming while she cooked. Zihan Ma bent over a patient with calm concentration. Bao Bao sprawled arrogantly in the sunlight. Far Away sleeping against my side.

More than once I rose before dawn with the idea of walking south to the farm. I imagined hiding in the darkness outside the house just to glimpse the warm lantern light through the shutters. Perhaps I would see Haaris reading. Or Lee Ayi preparing breakfast. Or Far Away sitting in the window. I wanted it so badly that my chest hurt.

But I never went. I knew what would happen if I did. Either they would welcome me back, and I would spend the rest of my life wondering whether Zihan Ma still doubted me, or worse, they would not welcome me at all.

A Familiar Face

Once, a few months since my parting from my family – for I still thought of the that way, I couldn’t help it – I was on my way to the grand masjid for Jum’ah prayer, and as I approached I saw Zihan Ma standing near the entrance to the masjid, watching as the people entered. I pulled back, and watched from behind a parked wagon. What was he doing here? A business trip maybe, selling safflowers? Buying goods for the farm? A visit to Nai Nai? Was he alone?

Tears came to my eyes and I wiped them away angrily. Stupid, Darius! I was not a little child who needed his daddy. Nor was he my father. I didn’t want to see him. There was nothing to say. He thought I was a thief; let him think as he pleased. I walked away and attended Jum’ah at one of the smaller masjids.

The months passed, and Deep Harbor slowly ceased to feel temporary.

The city did not soften, but I learned its rhythms. I learned which dock foremen cheated laborers and which paid honestly. I learned where to buy hot buns cheaply before dawn, and which alleys to avoid after dark. The tides of the river and the moods of the waterfront became familiar to me. Refugees continued to pour into the city. Soldiers marched through the streets regularly. Sometimes funeral processions passed with no mourners except exhausted wives and silent children.

I survived. Aside from my dao, I now also carried a dagger on my left hip, and in my pocket I kept a small cylinder of brass that I could use to strike someone in the face if I just wanted to hurt them without wounding them. I wore sturdy boots, and tied my long hair back – I had not cut it in ages – in a ponytail. Everyone on the street knew me, and no one bothered me.

The Tournament Notice

One afternoon, while delivering a crate of dried tea bricks to a warehouse near the eastern market, I noticed a crowd gathered around a large wooden platform draped in red banners. Musicians played flutes and drums while young men demonstrated spear forms and wrestling techniques before cheering spectators.

A notice hung beside the stage announcing a martial tournament to be held three days later.

Open sparring!
Archery!
Weapons demonstrations!

The competition was sponsored by the Five Stars Trading Company. The winners, the notice said, would be given prize money, and the opportunity to interview for jobs as caravan guards.

Five Stars Trading Company belonged to the Shah family. My mother’s family. I stood reading the notice for a long time. Finally I approached a man sitting at a table with a registry book. He was thin, and wore a shirt with a high white collar, and round spectacles with bamboo frames. His thin gray mustache looked painted on.

“I want to sign up,” I said. “Weapons demonstration.”

Without looking up, he said, “School and sifu?”

“What do you mean?”

Now he gave me an annoyed look. “What martial arts school do you attend? Who is your sifu?”

“I don’t attend any school. I work at the docks and other places.”

The man tut-tutted. “Get lost. This is a competition for real wushu artists, not ruffians.”

My shoulders stiffened. “Do you have a supervisor here?”

The man glared at me incredulously. His moustache somehow curled upward, looking like an odd smile, and this made me want to laugh.

“Boss!” the clerk called out.

A tall man in an expensive suit broke away from watching the demonstrations, and came to the table. He was in his late twenties perhaps, pampered and soft looking, but with a hardness to his eyes that reminded me of the thousand year old stones from which the bridges were made. Those bridges had survived war, famine and revolution.

“This dock worker punk,” the clerk said, “doesn’t have a school or sifu.”

“Hello,” the man said. “My name is Shah Suliman. I am sorry, but we have rules.”

I knew this man. Lee Ayi had told me about my relatives on my mother’s side. My uncle – my mother’s older brother – was Shah Amir. This man was his son. He was my cousin.

The thought of lying never entered my mind. Wasn’t that what Master Chen had accused me of? Wasn’t I a Muslim now? Whatever else I was, I must hold fast to that.

“I am Darius Lee,” I said firmly. “Son of Yong Lee and Shah Nur, daughter of Shah Zheng. I have no school, but I am trained in martial arts. My sifu was my father. Register my name, please. Either open sparring, weapons, or both.”

Shah Suliman’s face went white. He rocked back as if buffeted by an invisible wind. He swallowed, and his face registered shock, then wonder, then calculation.

“What do you want?” he said at last.

“I told you. To participate in the tournament.”

“That’s all?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, if I win, I want one of those caravan jobs.”

Suliman snorted. He looked me up and down, taking in my dao and dagger. Understanding dawned on his face. “Are you the one they call the bridge killer? The one who chopped off a man’s arm?”

“Yes. But I haven’t killed anyone. People exaggerate.”

“The Yong family had their own martial arts style. What is it?”

“Five Animals.”

He nodded slowly. “Sign him up.” Then he gave me a withering look. “Not that I believe a word you say. I’m giving you an opportunity to embarrass yourself.” With that, he turned his back and went back to watching the performers.

* * *

Come back next week for Part 13 – Five Star

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

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

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

Related:

Kill the Courier |Part 1 – Hiding in Plain Sight

Moonshot: A Novel of Marriage, Love and Cryptocurrency

The post Far Away [Part 13] – Brotherhood Under A Bridge appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Dhul Hijjah has felt different for my family and me since everything we went through. There was a time when the word sacrifice felt distant to me: a story we told our children before Eid, a lesson wrapped in history about Prophet Ibrahim, his obedience, his trust. We understood it. But we hadn’t lived it. Not in the way that changes you.

After living through the Gaza war, the meaning of words shifts. Sacrifice is no longer something symbolic. It is no longer a concept you reflect on from a safe distance. It becomes something you recognize in the quiet details of life—what was lost, what was taken, what had to be rebuilt from nothing.

We have seen what it means for homes to fall, for entire lives to unravel in moments. We have seen people lose parts of themselves and still hold onto Alhamdulillah. We have said goodbye to people we never imagined we would lose. And even now, after time has passed and we have moved forward, those moments do not really leave you. They settle somewhere deep, reshaping the way you see everything.

Sometimes Allah does not ask you to sacrifice one thing. Sometimes, He allows you to experience what it means to lose much more—and to still remain.

I remember sitting with my children—my daughters, 16 and 14, trying in their own way to make sense of things beyond their years, and my 8-year-old son, still holding onto a kind of softness that asks questions without hesitation. We were not speaking about Eid that day. We were speaking about loss.

“What does Allah want from us?” one of them asked.

It was not a theoretical question. It was not something you answer with memorized words. And I found myself pausing, not because I did not believe—but because some questions deserve to be held before they are answered.

Because when you have lived through something that changes you, you do not rush to simple explanations.

And yet, Dhul Hijjah still came. As it always does. Quietly. Gently. As if to remind us:

“Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear.”
[Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:286]

What you have lost is seen.
What you have endured is known.
And what you are still carrying…matters.

We found ourselves returning to the story of Ibrahim , but this time it did not feel like a distant story. It felt close. Personal. Real.

It was no longer just about a father who was asked to sacrifice his son. It was about trust when nothing makes sense. About surrender when your heart is heavy. About saying yes to Allah —not because it is easy, but because you believe there is meaning beyond what you can see.

“And when they had both submitted and he laid him down upon his forehead…”
[Surah As-Saffat, 37:103]

My son once asked me, “Did Ibrahim feel scared?”

And the answer came more honestly than before: yes. Of course he did.

Because faith is not the absence of fear.
It is choosing Allah even when fear exists.

This Eid, when we speak about Udhiyah, I no longer think about the act alone. I think about what has already been given—the comfort that once existed, the sense of safety that felt permanent, the life that was carefully built and then quietly taken apart.

And I remember Allah’s Words:

“Their meat will not reach Allah, nor will their blood, but what reaches Him is piety from you.”
[Surah Al-Hajj, 22:37]

It brings a different kind of understanding; that what matters is not the outward form of sacrifice, but the state of the heart within it.

Not everyone will go to Hajj. But everyone is called to something.

To patience:
                                               “Indeed, Allah is with the patient.”
                                                           [Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:153]

To trust.

To letting go of what we thought we needed.

To holding onto Allah when everything else feels uncertain.

The Prophet ﷺ said: “How amazing is the affair of the believer. Verily, all of his affairs are good for him…” [Muslim]

There was a time when this hadith felt comforting. Now, it feels grounding.

Because understanding it is different when you have lived through both ease and hardship and found that Allah was present in both. Not always through immediate relief, but through the strength to keep going, the people He placed in our path, the prayers that carried us, and the quiet mercy that appeared in moments we least expected it.

There were moments when my children asked me, “Is Allah still with us?” or “Why is this happening to us?” And each time, I would tell them that yes, Allah is always with us — in moments of ease and in moments of hardship. We may not always understand the wisdom behind what we go through, but we trust that Allah sees us, carries us through it, and teaches our hearts through these experiences in ways we may only understand later.

I realized then that faith is not only taught during times of comfort and stability. Sometimes it is taught in the way we hold onto one another during uncertainty, in the way we continue praying through fear, and also in the way we keep returning to Allah even when life feels unbearably heavy.

Our home is not perfect. There are still moments where memories return quietly. There are still traces of what was lived, even as life moves forward in a new place, a new routine, a new beginning.

But there is also something else now.

A kind of steadiness.
A kind of faith that is no longer theoretical.

My daughters do not just hear about sabr—they have experienced it.
My son does not just say Alhamdulillah—he is learning what it means.

And I no longer see Dhul Hijjah as just ten blessed days. I see it as a continuation—a reminder that what we go through is not separate from our faith, but part of how it is shaped.

Because maybe Hajj was never only about a place.

Maybe it was always about the heart.

About reaching a point where you can say:

Ya Allah… I may not understand everything. But I trust You.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“There are no days in which righteous deeds are more beloved to Allah than these ten days.” [Bukhari]

And perhaps the greatest of those deeds are not always visible.

Perhaps they are found in quiet endurance.
In rebuilding….In continuing.
In holding onto faith, even after everything.

And maybe… just maybe…this, too, is a form of answering the call.

Related:

– When Allah Chooses Something: The Blessings Of Dhul Hijjah

– The Bigger Picture: Understanding Loss, Sacrifice, and Purpose in Dhul Hijjah

The post Not Everyone Goes To Hajj…But Everyone Is Called: Gaza, Gratitude, And Dhul Hijjah appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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

* * *

Self-Controlled

The colorfully dressed doorman opened the gates before we even reached them.

The Chen residence did not resemble any home I had ever seen. Calling it a house seemed absurd. It was a walled compound of white stone and dark wood, with curved roofs layered one behind another like overlapping wings. Red lanterns hung beneath the eaves despite the daylight, and narrow streams of water crossed the inner courtyards beneath little carved bridges. Bamboo rustled softly in the winter breeze.

I slowed, taking it all in. It was like something I might have conjured in a dream.

Haaris, walking beside me, whispered proudly, “Big, right?”

Indeed. “What does Master Chen do for a living?”I whispered.

“He owns a foundry that makes weapons.” replied softly.

Servants moved everywhere, silent and efficient. One swept fallen leaves from the stone paths with a long reed broom. Another carried folded linens across the courtyard. Two men unloaded crates from a wagon near a side gate while a woman directed them sharply.

Something unsettled me immediately. After a few moments, I realized that no one here was comfortable. No one laughed or joked as Haaris and I did when we worked. Everyone was carefully self-controlled, as if they thought they were being watched at every moment.

I felt the absence of my dao acutely. Not that I thought I would need it here. But ever since I’d left it wrapped in cloth beneath the wagon seat in the stable yard, I’d been worried about it. What if someone stole it? It was a gift from my father – the only thing I had from him.

Before we entered the inner residence, an elderly servant approached and bowed stiffly, saying, “I will take your coats and travel packs, honored guests.”

We all handed over our bundles, including my travel pack containing the gifts I had bought in the marketplace. The old servant stacked everything carefully into a lacquered cart beside the entrance, then wheeled the cart away through a side doorway.

A servant girl in pale green robes then led us through a covered walkway into the main receiving hall.

The room was enormous. Dark beams crossed the high ceiling overhead. Silk wall hangings embroidered with Quranic calligraphy hung between painted landscape screens. One scroll depicted mountains rising above misty forests, with tiny travelers crossing a bridge far below. Another showed a river crowded with merchant barges beneath wheeling birds.

Tall porcelain vases stood in carved wooden alcoves, painted in deep blue with scenes of scholars, horses and flowering trees. A bronze incense burner shaped like a crane released thin trails of scented smoke into the air, giving the place a sweet and musky scent. Low tables of carved rosewood stood beside cushioned chairs lacquered black and gold.

Strangely, while I admired the beauty of this place, I was not intimidated. My clothes were new and clean. I had nothing to be ashamed of. And I had seen my father put wealthy merchants on their knees in the highway at the point of a sword before robbing them. They wore fine clothes, but they wept and begged like anyone else. A few wet themselves. I think my father had enjoyed humiliating them. As for me, I had merely felt embarrassed for them.

Furthermore, Zihan Ma had taught me that one of the meanings of laa ilaha il-Allah was that all men were equal before Allah, regardless of caste, color or clothing. Only their – what was the word? Taqwa. Only their taqwa differentiated them.

As a result, I never thought that the wealthy were better than me. Nor was I better than them. People were people. They were either honest or dishonest, kind or cruel. They were street thugs like the men who had tried to rob me – or indeed like my father, who I had no illusions about – or honorable men like Zihan Ma. I had never met the emperor of our land, nor would I, but I knew he was either a good man or a bad one, no matter what trappings of wealth surrounded him, and I knew he could not be a better man than my uncle.

Come Closer

At the far end of the hall sat an elderly woman in layered robes of soft blue silk. A pale gray scarf covered her hair. Beside her sat a thin older man with narrow shoulders and sharp features. His beard was trimmed short and precise. He wore a white robe of fine linen with silver embroidery, and jade rings gleamed on his fingers as he sipped from a porcelain tea cup.

Zihan Ma bowed respectfully toward the older man. “Master Chen.”

“Ma.” The man inclined his head slightly.

His eyes shifted toward me.

“This,” Lee Ayi said carefully, “is Darius Lee.”

I bowed deeply. “As-salamu alaykum Nai Nai and Master Chen.”

His eyes narrowed. “Were you taught to greet the women first?”

Before I could answer, Nai Nai smiled gently and said, “Come closer so I may see you.”

Haaris and I both went to her. Haaris hugged her, then I did. Her hands were warm and soft as she touched my face lightly, studying me with moist eyes. “You have your father’s eyes,” she murmured.

Master Chen snorted quietly into his tea. “An unfortunate inheritance.”

The room fell silent.

Lee Ayi crossed the room quickly and knelt beside her mother, taking both her hands. The warmth between them was immediate and genuine.

“We brought gifts for your birthday,” Lee Ayi said. She opened her bundle and carefully removed a folded silk shawl embroidered with tiny silver flowers. I had seen her making it over the last few weeks, but had not known it was for her mother.

Nai Nai touched the fabric reverently. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Haaris eagerly produced a folded note written in his uneven handwriting. “Mine too!”

Nai Nai laughed softly and accepted it at once. “A letter?”

“A birthday note,” Haaris said proudly. “Baba helped me shape some characters.”

She opened it immediately, smiling as she read.

Then everyone looked at me.

I suddenly felt awkward. My own letter, though heartfelt, seemed childish now compared to the grandeur of this house. Still, I handed it to her. Nai Nai unfolded it slowly and read it in silence. I had written:

I am very happy to meet you, Nai Nai. My father had good qualities and bad, but I am sure that whatever good he possessed came from you. Whatever has befallen me in life, it brought me here to meet you. That is a barakah. I wish you a happy birthday and many to come.

When she finished, she pressed the paper briefly against her chest. “Thank you, Darius,” she said softly. “I will treasure it.” Her sincerity was real, and it moved me.

“Could you not even buy a gift for your grandmother?” Chen sneered. “A paltry letter? That’s fine for Haaris, but you are a young man.”

Nai Nai lowered her hands slowly. “Husband…”

“I merely speak the truth.” His gaze remained fixed on me. “Yong Lee was a troublesome boy long before drink rotted what remained of his judgment. No doubt this child is the same.”

I lifted my chin and met his gaze. I spoke calmly. “My father was more than that.”

Chen set down his tea cup abruptly, the tea spilling onto the porcelain dish beneath it.

Lee Ayi spoke softly. “Master Chen, Darius has traveled far. Let us welcome him peacefully.”

“Peacefully?” Master Chen replied. “Was Yong peaceful? I seem to recall gambling, fighting, drinking and theft following him from one province to the next like stray dogs.”

Haaris shifted uncomfortably beside me.

Zihan Ma’s expression remained calm, but I noticed his jaw tighten slightly.

Lee Ayi had told me to remain silent, but I would not keep my mouth shut while my father was reviled. I would never forget him coming home from prison, finding me half-starved, and weeping as he embraced me. That moment was engraved on my heart.

“My father,” I said, perhaps a little too loudly, “joined the army to fight the invaders. He died in defense of his country. What could be more honorable?”

Servants entered carrying tea for the rest of us, along with trays of candied fruits and little sesame pastries arranged in perfect rows.

Master Chen took a pastry, and Haaris followed suit. I thought Chen might insult or berate me, but instead he spoke softly: “There is a saying. When the roots are crooked, the branches grow twisted.”

Nai Nai touched her husband’s hand with one finger. “I beg you. Let us have no more of this.” It was the voice of someone pleading for a small mercy she was not certain would be granted.

Master Chen finally looked away from me and sipped his tea.

The Accusation

“We must pray Asr,” Zihan Ma said. “It is getting late.”

One by one we performed wudu’ in a large bathing room with a skylight and a live bamboo tree in a pot. Master Chen then led us to a dedicated prayer room. There he led us in salat. He could not kneel, so he sat in a chair as he prayed. When lifting his head from ruku’, he said, “Sami Allah lamaw zhamidu.” The salam at the end was similarly garbled.  No one corrected him, of course.

After prayer we returned to the sitting room. Now Haaris and I did indeed remain silent as the adults spoke of the war, refugees, the farm, and other things. Master Chen’s armaments business was booming. There was no warmth in these conversations. In the time that it took to drink a single cup of tea, Zihan Ma rose.

“It was wonderful to see you both,” he said. “We must leave. We have a long trip ahead and we do not want to be on the road late at night. It’s not safe.”

“You must stay,” Nai Nai protested. “We have plenty of room. Please, for my sake.”

“We cannot,” Zihan Ma replied firmly. “The cows must be milked in the morning, and the gate opened for the farm hands.”

I knew this was not strictly true. The foreman had the key to the gate, and the men could milk the cows, feed the chickens and let the donkeys out. But I too wanted to be away from this oppressive place, and I was worried about Far Away. I wanted to hear his protesting meow when I picked him up and nuzzled him. I even missed Bao Bao, for her kindness toward Far Away had warmed me to her.

Master Chen gave a derisive laugh. “Cows.”

I wanted to say, “Didn’t you put milk in your tea?” But I held my tongue. I did not like this man at all.

The elderly servant wheeled the cart back in, and we picked up our packs and bags. Good byes were said, and final embraces given. Nai Nai hugged me with her thin arms, and I gave her a half-hearted embrace in return. She was my grandmother, and I would like to say that I loved her, but I did not know her.

A female servant opened the door for us and bowed. As we were about to leave, the elderly male servant leaned in toward Master Chen and whispered something in his ear.

“Wait,” Master Chen said. “I am told that certain items have gone missing. A pair of gold bracelets.”

Zihan Ma frowned. “That’s unfortunate. May Allah return them to you. As I said, we must be going.”

“You misunderstand,” Master Chen said sharply. He pointed at me with one rigid arm. “The boy has stolen them. He was seen taking them.”

For a moment I thought I had misheard him.

Zihan Ma said, “That is impossible. He was with us the entire time.”

“He was gone a long time when he went to make wudu. Let him open his pack.”

Zihan Ma’s jaw tightened. “This is unacceptable. Darius is my apprentice, and works hard on the farm. He’s a good boy. You have no cause to suspect him.”

“His father was a thief,” Chen said flatly. He turned to me. “Isn’t that true?” His eyes held a cunning gleam, and I felt the first stirrings of unease in my stomach. Something strange was going on here.

“Yes,” I said honestly. “Though he changed in the last year of his life.”

“And you?” Chen asked, a thin smile on his lips. “Did you steal?”

I considered. I would not dishonor Zihan Ma by lying. My reply was truthful: “When my father was in prison, and I was alone on the farm, I stole food from neighboring farms to survive. A few potatoes here, a cabbage there. Only that.”

At that, Zihan Ma shot me a troubled glance. He had not known that about me.

“You see?” Chen declared triumphantly. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

Zihan Ma began to protest, but I waved him off. “It’s okay, Uncle,” I said. “I have no objection to opening my pack.”

I set the pack down on the floor, untied the strings, and opened the top flap. Inside were the few items I had brought from home: a towel, a spare shirt, and the sabha Zihan Ma had given me. On top sat the three cloth-wrapped gifts I had bought in the marketplace.

Chen’s eyes narrowed. “Take everything out.”

The room had gone utterly silent.

I frowned slightly but obeyed. First I removed the wrapped gifts and set them carefully beside the pack. Then the towel. Then the shirt and the sabha.

Something metallic glimmered at the very bottom of the pack.

For a moment my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.

Then I reached down slowly and picked them up.

Two gold bracelets rested in my palm.

* * *

Come back next week for Part 13 – The Long, Dark Road

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:

As Light As Birdsong: A Ramadan Story

Kill The Courier – Hiding In Plain Sight

The post Far Away [Part 12] – Accused appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

“Auntie Aisha Answers: The Tween Muslim’s Ultimate Guide to Growing Up” by Shaykha Aisha Hussain Rasheed is an absolutely fantastic resource unlike any other books out there on the Muslim market. 

This book is for tweens and teens, written in a genuinely age-appropriate way, and covers a wide range of topics that are so necessary for young Muslims to be exposed to (that they often aren’t). From information about puberty (the physical and emotional bits), to understanding diversity and disabilities, to a spiritual understanding of healthy boundaries and what that looks like both religiously and in friendships/ relationships, to big emotions like anxiety and grief… Auntie Aisha really does give amazing answers! 

This book is also not just for girls; the content applies equally to both genders, and also covers male issues with regards to puberty and more.

Shaykha Aisha’s expertise as both a scholar and someone who understands the right way to bring up sensitive issues with kids really shines through this book. 

Buy your copy here: https://bookshop.rabata.org/products/auntie-aisha-answers-the-muslim-tween-s-ultimate-guide-to-growing-up 

Muslimah Mukallaf: A Muslimah’s Guide to Puberty, Faith, & Personal Care by Jenna bint Hakeem

I’m always on the lookout for solid resources for kids that discuss puberty and related matters from an Islamic perspective, in an age-appropriate way. When the author Jenna bint Hakeem offered me a copy of her book “Muslimah Mukallaf: A Muslimah’s Guide to Puberty, Faith, & Personal Care,” I was intrigued… but also skeptical at first (I feel a type of way about most self-published books!). 

I’m happy to say that this book far exceeded my expectations. The author does a fantastic job doing everything from discussing the biological and Islamic aspects of puberty, how to properly take care of one’s hygiene (down to a detailed shower routine!), understanding emotional changes and managing them, and even tackling heavy topics like sexual abuse, porn, mental health, and more. There’s even an entire section on skincare and haircare!

I really appreciated that she also spent time talking about spirituality in an age-appropriate way, connecting it to the journey of growing up as a young Muslimah. I was impressed that she mentioned the fiqhi opinion of touching the mus’haf while menstruating (albeit this is a minority opinion) and also reminds readers to be respectful of elders who have the other opinion.

A couple of caveats: I wish she’d clarified in an intro about what fiqhi approach she is using. There were also a couple tiny things that could have been included or elaborated on. I would like to see a proper publisher reprint this with necessary improvements around typesetting and an editor.

As always, parents should read before giving to their kids, and be open to discussing differences of opinion and sensitive topics.

Buy yours here: https://bookshop.org/p/books/muslimah-mukallaf-jenna-bint-hakeem 

“The Muslim Girl’s Pocket Guide to Growing Up” by Yasmin El-Husari

This book is exactly what it says it is: a pocket-sized booklet that reassures Muslim girls that everything they’re going through is totally normal! From acne to greasy hair (and hijabs!), periods and vaginal discharge, a brief primer on how and when to do ghusl, and even how to do a bra fitting, this little book packs in a lot of information. 

It is quite concise, so there’s not tons of detail in terms of fiqh, and unfortunately no sourcing provided or mention of which madhab/ fiqh opinions the author is sharing regarding maximum/ minimum days of menses. 

However, this book really is fantastic and laid out in a simple, easy-to-understand, age-appropriate way for girls 9 and up.

Buy yours here: https://www.amazon.ca/Muslim-Girls-Pocket-Guide-Growing 

My First Period by Nur Khairunnisa Iskandar

My mom and I teach a girls puberty workshop, but we’re always on the lookout for good books on the subject – and we finally stumbled on one of the best ones so far! 

This book does make it clear that it’s based on the Shafi’i madh’hab, so fiqh details are oriented accordingly. There are also random bits that are more culturally contextual e.g. a page on how common abandoning babies is in Malaysia (which I did NOT expect).

I’m very impressed with how much content this book covers, from the process of puberty to self-care to how babies are made to the (basic) fiqh of haydh. I’d say this book covers about 85-90% of what we cover in our workshop. I did have a couple mild quibbles (like calling female ejaculation ‘semen’) but by and large this is really well written, age appropriate, and visually great to navigate for younger readers.

I have no idea where international readers can purchase this from, but it is available for sale in Malaysia! Buy here: https://mphonline.com/products/my-first-period

What books do you recommend on this topic? And more importantly, what books on puberty are there for Muslim boys?

Related:

Muslimah’s Guide to Puberty: How to talk to your daughter about Adolescence

My Dear Muslim Son

The post From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Puberty Books For Girls appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.