Why Do People Have to Leave Each Other? Part I | Part II

When I was 17 years old, I had a dream. I dreamt that I was sitting inside a masjid and a little girl walked up to ask me a question. She asked me: “Why do people have to leave each other?” The question was a personal one, but it seemed clear to me why the question was chosen for me.

I was one to get attached.

Ever since I was a child, this temperament was clear. While other children in preschool could easily recover once their parents left, I could not. My tears, once set in motion, did not stop easily. As I grew up, I learned to become attached to everything around me. From the time I was in first grade, I needed a best friend. As I got older, any fall-out with a friend shattered me. I couldn’t let go of anything. People, places, events, photographs, moments—even outcomes became objects of strong attachment. If things didn’t work out the way I wanted or imagined they should, I was devastated. And disappointment for me wasn’t an ordinary emotion. It was catastrophic. Once let down, I never fully recovered. I could never forget, and the break never mended. Like a glass vase that you place on the edge of a table, once broken, the pieces never quite fit again.

But the problem wasn’t with the vase. Or even that the vases kept breaking. The problem was that I kept putting them on the edge of tables. Through my attachments, I was dependent on my relationships to fulfill my needs. I allowed those relationships to define my happiness or my sadness, my fulfillment or my emptiness, my security, and even my self-worth. And so, like the vase placed where it will inevitably fall, through those dependencies I set myself up for disappointment. I set myself up to be broken. And that’s exactly what I found: one disappointment, one break after another.

But the people who broke me were not to blame any more than gravity can be blamed for breaking the vase. We can’t blame the laws of physics when a twig snaps because we leaned on it for support. The twig was never created to carry us.

Our weight was only meant to be carried by God. We are told in the Quran: “…whoever rejects evil and believes in God hath grasped the most trustworthy hand-hold, that never breaks. And God hears and knows all things.” (Qur’an 2: 256)

There is a crucial lesson in this verse: that there is only one handhold that never breaks. There is only one place where we can lay our dependencies. There is only one relationship that should define our self-worth and only one source from which to seek our ultimate happiness, fulfillment, and security. That place is God.

But this world is all about seeking those things everywhere else. Some of us seek it in our careers, some seek it in wealth, some in status. Some, like me, seek it in our relationships. In her book, Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert describes her own quest for happiness. She describes moving in and out of relationships, and even traveling the globe in search of this fulfillment. She seeks that fulfillment—unsuccessfully—in her relationships, in meditation, even in food.

And that’s exactly where I spent much of my own life: seeking a way to fill my inner void. So it was no wonder that the little girl in my dream asked me this question. It was a question about loss, about disappointment. It was a question about being let down. A question about seeking something and coming back empty handed. It was about what happens when you try to dig in concrete with your bare hands: not only do you come back with nothing—you break your fingers in the process. And I learned this not by reading it, not by hearing it from a wise sage. I learned it by trying it again, and again, and again.

And so, the little girl’s question was essentially my own question…being asked to myself.

Ultimately, the question was about the nature of the dunya as a place of fleeting moments and temporary attachments. As a place where people are with you today, and leave or die tomorrow. But this reality hurts our very being because it goes against our nature. We, as humans, are made to seek, love, and strive for what is perfect and what is permanent. We are made to seek what’s eternal. We seek this because we were not made for this life. Our first and true home was Paradise: a land that is both perfect and eternal. So the yearning for that type of life is a part of our being. The problem is that we try to find that here. And so we create ageless creams and cosmetic surgery in a desperate attempt to hold on—in an attempt to mold this world into what it is not, and will never be.

And that’s why if we live in dunya with our hearts, it breaks us. That’s why this dunya hurts. It is because the definition of dunya, as something temporary and imperfect, goes against everything we are made to yearn for. Allah put a yearning in us that can only be fulfilled by what is eternal and perfect. By trying to find fulfillment in what is fleeting, we are running after a hologram…a mirage. We are digging into concrete with our bare hands. Seeking to turn what is by its very nature temporary into something eternal is like trying to extract from fire, water.  You just get burned. Only when we stop putting our hopes in dunya, only when we stop trying to make the dunya into what it is not—and was never meant to be (jannah)—will this life finally stop breaking our hearts.

We must also realize that nothing happens without a purpose. Nothing. Not even broken hearts. Not even pain. That broken heart and that pain are lessons and signs for us. They are warnings that something is wrong. They are warnings that we need to make a change. Just like the pain of being burned is what warns us to remove our hand from the fire, emotional pain warns us that we need to make an internal change. That we need to detach. Pain is a form of forced detachment. Like the loved one who hurts you again and again and again, the more dunya hurts us, the more we inevitably detach from it. The more we inevitably stop loving it.

And pain is a pointer to our attachments. That which makes us cry, that which causes us most pain is where our false attachments lie. And it is those things which we are attached to as we should only be attached to Allah which become barriers on our path to God. But the pain itself is what makes the false attachment evident. The pain creates a condition in our life that we seek to change, and if there is anything about our condition that we don’t like, there is a divine formula to change it. God says: “Verily never will God change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves.” (Qur’an, 13:11)

After years of falling into the same pattern of disappointments and heartbreak, I finally began to realize something profound. I had always thought that love of dunya meant being attached to material things. And I was not attached to material things. I was attached to people. I was attached to moments. I was attached to emotions. So I thought that the love of dunya just did not apply to me. What I didn’t realize was that people, moments, emotions are all a part of dunya. What I didn’t realize is that all the pain I had experienced in life was due to one thing, and one thing only: love of dunya.

As soon as I began to have that realization, a veil was lifted from my eyes. I started to see what my problem was. I was expecting this life to be what it is not, and was never meant to be: perfect. And being the idealist that I am, I was struggling with every cell in my body to make it so. It had to be perfect. And I would not stop until it was. I gave my blood, sweat, and tears to this endeavor: making the dunya into jannah. This meant expecting people around me to be perfect. Expecting my relationships to be perfect. Expecting so much from those around me and from this life. Expectations. Expectations. Expectations. And if there is one recipe for unhappiness it is that: expectations. But herein lay my fatal mistake. My mistake was not in having expectations; as humans, we should never lose hope. The problem was in *where* I was placing those expectations and that hope. At the end of the day, my hope and expectations were not being placed in God. My hope and expectations were in people, relationships, means. Ultimately, my hope was in this dunya rather than Allah.

And so I came to realize a very deep Truth. An ayah began to cross my mind. It was an ayah I had heard before, but for the first time I realized that it was actually describing me:  “Those who rest not their hope on their meeting with Us, but are pleased and satisfied with the life of the present, and those who heed not Our Signs.” (Qur’an, 10:7)

By thinking that I can have everything here, my hope was not in my meeting with God. My hope was in dunya. But what does it mean to place your hope in dunya? How can this be avoided? It means when you have friends, don’t expect your friends to fill your emptiness. When you get married, don’t expect your spouse to fulfill your every need. When you’re an activist, don’t put your hope in the results. When you’re in trouble don’t depend on yourself. Don’t depend on people. Depend on God.

Seek the help of people—but realize that it is not the people (or even your own self) that can save you. Only Allah can do these things. The people are only tools, a means used by God. But they are not the source of help, aid, or salvation of any kind. Only God is. The people cannot even create the wing of a fly (22:73).  And so, even while you interact with people externally, turn your heart towards God. Face Him alone, as Prophet Ibrahim (as) said so beautifully: “For me, I have set my face, firmly and truly, towards Him Who created the heavens and the earth, and never shall I give partners to Allah.” (Qur’an, 6:79)

But how does Prophet Ibrahim (as) describe his journey to that point? He studies the moon, the sun and the stars and realizes that they are not perfect. They set.

They let us down.

So Prophet Ibrahim (as) was thereby led to face Allah alone. Like him, we need to put our full hope, trust, and dependency on God. And God alone. And if we do that, we will learn what it means to finally find peace and stability of heart. Only then will the roller coaster that once defined our lives finally come to an end. That is because if our inner state is dependent on something that is by definition inconstant, that inner state will also be inconstant. If our inner state is dependent on something changing and temporary, that inner state will be in a constant state of instability, agitation, and unrest. This means that one moment we’re happy, but as soon as that which our happiness depended upon changes, our happiness also changes. And we become sad. We remain always swinging from one extreme to another and not realizing why.

We experience this emotional roller coaster because we can never find stability and lasting peace until our attachment and dependency is on what is stable and lasting. How can we hope to find constancy if what we hold on to is inconstant and perishing? In the statement of Abu Bakr is a deep illustration of this truth. After the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ died, the people went into shock and could not handle the news. But although no one loved the Prophet ﷺ like Abu Bakr, Abu Bakr understood well the only place where one’s dependency should lie. He said: “If you worshipped Muhammad, know that Muhammad is dead. But if you worshipped Allah, know that Allah never dies.”

To attain that state, don’t let your source of fulfillment be anything other than your relationship with God. Don’t let your definition of success, failure, or self-worth be anything other than your position with Him (Qur’an, 49:13). And if you do this, you become unbreakable, because your handhold is unbreakable. You become unconquerable, because your supporter can never be conquered. And you will never become empty, because your source of fulfillment is unending and never diminishes.

Looking back at the dream I had when I was 17, I wonder if that little girl was me. I wonder this because the answer I gave her was a lesson I would need to spend the next painful years of my life learning. My answer to her question of why people have to leave each other was: “because this life isn’t perfect; for if it was, what would the next be called?”

Originally published in September 2012

By Anonymous

I had begun to think of this room as the ‘Yellow room’. Subconsciously we give things names. It had become a second home to us in a move nobody wanted to make. We would arrive early in the morning and find a vacant spot by the window seats and sit down, contemplating why we were here, staring at the walls painted a cheerful, buttercup yellow, offset by the white wooden fittings; the empty bookshelf, the windowsills beneath the large sash windows, the seats—single, twos and threes.

Within a few moments we ventured down the corridor to my father’s room. We’d place our bags quietly beside his bed, arrange the chairs and settle ourselves to stay close to him for the rest of the day. Most of the time he was asleep, just like the other patients in this ward. But this was unlike any other ward in the hospital—it was a departure lounge; a place of surrender, the end of the battle with terminal illness. Each patient was quietly slipping away. Visitors were, for the most part, quiet too. What does one say when they witness the process of dying? Room after room was silent.

Every few hours I returned to the yellow room—the plaque on the door read ‘Family Room’—a cruel irony for families about to lose a member.  For the past three days, the silence was broken; there were raised voices, and the room was filled with conversations that sounded like questions, regrets, anger, and desperation. In the morning, around four members of a new family arrived, which grew to an average of ten by the afternoon. Sometimes they all spoke at once, then they’d fall silent for a few moments and begin their discussions again.

One young girl, probably in her late teens, sobbed aloud and spoke in bitter, short inflections. She cradled a baby girl in her arms, and set her gaze on her as her tears fell on the baby’s hair. Often, one of the older ladies, who sat with her husband, would take the baby from her and feed her a bottle or bob her up and down the yellow room. I didn’t recognise their language and guessed it was Greek, or from an Eastern European country, perhaps. What did it matter—anguish is a common language—everyone around could understand their pain. Over those three days, elderly relatives came in too; we smiled at each other, but there was no other communication.  The rest of the family never made any eye contact, we never spoke.

Then, on the fourth day, as I was about to enter the yellow room for a cup of tea, the lady who walked the baby approached me. She told me it was her sister who was here with a recurring brain tumour. It was this sister’s baby they were all looking after. Their youngest sister, the teenager, she continued to tell me, was finding it the hardest. Then she hesitated and said:

‘My sister’s about to go. We’re Muslim…We’re Turkish. If you don’t mind, can you stand by the door and say some prayers. I want someone to say some prayers…She’s going. Please.’

I was overwhelmed by what she told me and didn’t quite understand: ‘You mean prayers from the Qur’an—recite Qur’an?’

‘Yes, yes—we’re Muslim. Not now, come in 5 minutes—it’s that room,’ and she pointed to a door ajar. Inside I caught a glimpse of the patient’s husband, sitting on a chair beside the bed, wringing a small towel as he fought his tears.

Five minutes later I stood outside the door. I started to recite in the quietest whisper. I sensed the lady didn’t want other members of the family to see me there. In the intensity of the moment, and the fear of any of her family members coming out and getting upset, I wasn’t sure which surah (chapter) I began with, but I recited. Then more conscious of what I was doing, I began again, and recited Surah Fatihah (The Opening, Qur’an 1) slowly. And then Ayatul Kursi (Qur’an 2:255), the last four surahs of the Qur’an (Qur’an 111, 112, 113, 114), the last verses of Surah Baqarah (Qur’an 2:285-286), then the few du`a’s (supplications) I knew, then back to Surah Fatihah. For a moment doubts raced through my mind: was this the right thing to do, should I be standing here, what difference was it going to make? But I didn’t dwell on these questions. The enormity of the angel of death being in that room dawned on me in those minutes of being truly awake to what life is, to what death is,  and for what our souls yearn.

I don’t know how long I spent outside her door, maybe four minutes. But, it was a time outside of time. Something between living and dying, an experience that hasn’t faded in the five years that have gone by, but only intensified. And the memory has intensified because society and culture for the masses does everything to make us forget. Contrasts sharpen our perception.

We are beguiled into believing this world will never end; the luxuries, the ‘fun’ that prefixes every product and action, the food, fashion and music will make this world eternal. Layer after layer comes between the soul and its true nature, depleting it, cheating it and most tragically detaching it. But there’s something about death that cuts through all the clamour of the world; where our souls are touched and want that sacred connection.

‘So where are you going?’ (81:26) we are asked in the Qur’an repeatedly, following vivid images of the Last Day and the hereafter. And in the very next surah, Al Infitar—we are awoken again:

‘When the sky breaks apart

And when the stars fall, scattering,

And when the seas are erupted

And when the [contents of] graves are scattered,

A soul will then know what it has put forth and kept back.

O mankind, what has deceived you concerning your Lord, the Generous,

Who created you, proportioned you, and balanced you?

In whatever form He willed He has assembled you.

No! But you deny the Recompense.’  (82: 1-9)

Surah after surah we are reminded, questioned, guided, but we forget—as we fall back on the maxim ‘We’re only human.’ Allah knows we’re human, and that’s why we are reminded. Before it’s too late.

Those few minutes outside the door passed and I found myself sitting on the window seat in the yellow room. I looked out on to London’s stylish South Kensington streets; cafés sprawled on to the pavements serving customers with their designer dogs and pushchairs, and coiffured silver-haired ladies spoke with animated expressions. Inside, for the rest of the evening the family were silent. The men folk sat outside on the steps of the hospital building, smoking. The voices, the intonation, the pain had melted away, somewhere beyond our perception. The yellow room was silent once more.

By A Kasim

Many Muslims play the lottery hoping to win the jackpot, in spite of the clear prohibition against gambling in the Qur’an. For many, it would be a dream come true. A life of luxury in which one does not have to get up early to go to work or plan ahead for rainy days, as everything is taken care of.  With a massive amount of wealth, one could pay mortgages, purchase the latest luxury automobiles, take a tour around the world and help the poor and the needy.

This is how it appears from the outside. Winning the lottery is all about happiness, joy and a blissful life – but is it a real happiness, or only a mirage from a distance?

One might ask: why does Islam deny its followers what appears to be a life of joy that never ends, and wealth which can be used for good causes? I struggled with this issue for some time. Then a thought came to my mind, a form of inspiration which gave me clarity and peace of mind about why gambling is not good for me: Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He) knows what is best for me. He (swt) does not forbid me from something just to punish me. It is all in my best interests, even though I might not see the benefits.

A believer puts his or her trust in Allah (swt). They know that whatever the Creator forbids them from doing is harmful to them, even if it appears otherwise. Which one would you choose: $100,000,000 that comes with nothing but miseries, or a reasonable amount of money accompanied by happiness and peace of mind? What good would $100M do if it also came with liver cancer? Would you not rather have a small amount of money and be at peace – peace with your Lord, with yourself, with your family, and with everyone around you?

While winning the jackpot appears to bring a life of joy and happiness, the reality is otherwise. People who have won the jackpot have gone on to live a life of hell. Business Insider, an online magazine, carried stories of jackpot winners who lost everything, some of them even facing death threats from their own family members.

Michael Carroll was at his peak when he won Britain’s £9.7 million ($15 million) jackpot in 2002, but a penchant for life in the fast lane — cocaine, parties, prostitutes and cars — put him back at square one in five years. The ex-garbage man ended up hoping to get his old job back.

In 2002, West Virginia building contractor Andrew Jackson Whittaker Jr. walked away with $114 million from a multi-state Powerball draw – that was just about his last stroke of good fortune. In two separate instances, thieves ran off with $745,000 Whittaker had stashed in his car. Later on, he was sued by Caesar’s Atlantic City for allegedly bouncing $1.5 million in checks. Within four years, his fortune was gone.

Further, the chances of winning the jackpot are almost nil. As indicated by the CBC, the chances of winning are the same as being killed in a terrorist attack while travelling, dying of a flesh-eating disease, or being killed by lightning. Playing the lottery is therefore a waste of money, and that money is a trust for which you will be held accountable on the Day of Judgment.

Know that Allah (swt), the Almighty and the All-knowing, would never order His slave to do something unless the action has benefits for him or her. He, the Most Merciful, also does not forbid His slaves from something unless there is harm in it, even though it might appear otherwise to them.

Instead of pouring your money down the drain by playing the lottery, it is better to invest it in charity, where it will benefit you on the Day of Reckoning. Lottery money has no baraka (blessing) in it. To have little with baraka is better than to have the entire world without baraka.

By Rubab Shahid

To some, happiness is parallel to success and achievement. The satisfaction you feel when completing a difficult task, or when you accomplish a goal you had been striving to attain for a long time. Others will equate happiness with love, emotions of care and affection. Yet others believe happiness is escaping a difficult situation. These are all occasions of joy, as they should be. However, there is another type of happiness that all of us yearn for: the happiness that comes with finality, an ultimate satisfaction.

All of the types of happiness and the search that precedes them are in fact the hunt for something deeper; when we say we wish to be happy, what we mean is that we wish to be content. Content with who we are, what we look like, with our ways of speaking, our friends and our reputation.

Often, in trying to attain these things, we run after things that soon lose their value or perform acts we later regret. When our goals and desires clash with whatever life has in store for us we get depressed, feeling like the happiness we yearn for is just an illusion, like everything we do ends up going wrong anyway. When everything looks like it is just going to be messed up and the current will always be against us, giving up looks like the easiest way out. When everyone’s expectations seem like too much, we often decide to let all of it go. It’s the reason people turn to drugs—to numb the pain they have suffered, whether self-inflicted or inflicted by others. More than marijuana or cocaine, self-pity is the most addicting of narcotics. Self-pity arises when we believe that our problems exist because we have some innate problem, that we are not good enough, or that there is something wrong with who we are. That nature and nurture together just made us messed up people. It is easy to believe that you were just destined to be a failure. It is definitely easier than taking responsibility and hundreds of times easier than being an instrument of change.

But the truth is that God does not create failures. The same hand that created you created the masterful system of the universe that is ever bound in scientific law, where nothing is random, where everything has a purpose. Maybe you are angry with Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He) because you believe that He made life hard for you and that He caused you to suffer so much. A lot of the time the painful things that occur are not immediately due to our own mistakes (or so we believe), so the first person we blame is Him.

Everyone has events happen in their life that hurt. Deaths, abuse, poverty, depression, to name but a few. And it is hard. It’s so hard to have hope sometimes, and we find ourselves fighting to stay positive. Sometimes, maybe most of the time, we feel abandoned, alone, and neglected. We feel like nobody cares or ever will. It exhausts us to be so angry and hateful, but the pain does not end, always threatening to drag us under. That black hole will always exist unless we find a way to drag ourselves out. But we can never do it alone.

I don’t know how you see predestination, but to me, it means that certain events have specifically been targeted to time periods in our life, whether difficult or joyful. All these events have been specially packaged for us for three reasons, all of which are intended for our benefit.

Firstly, they are manifestations of the truth that life is a test. In a test you must face problems and obstacles that you must overcome, and the bigger the reward the harder the test. The test separates the strong from the weak, and allows you to show what you are made of. Through the way we react to the tests He sends our way, Allah (swt) sorts us into successes and failures (like a Teacher, silently). Remember, Allah was the One who made the obstacle; but it is your choice whether you sit and cry and feel sorry for yourself, or stand up and take benefit from the situation. As the most Merciful, Allah (swt) has written your test because He knows you have the ability to pass it. Will you utilize your abilities or let them go to waste inside of you? Would you let down both God and yourself?

Secondly, bad things happen to us to save us from worse things. For example, a man wants to go visit his mother on Eid day, and she lives very far away. So he books a plane ticket and puts his ticket in his pants pocket, then goes to bed. The next morning he wakes up, puts on his pants and drives to the airport. When he arrives, extremely excited, he is told to take out his ticket. He reaches into his pocket and suddenly realizes his pocket is empty. It turns out that he wore the wrong pair of pants. If he goes back home now, he will miss his flight.

Now he could sit down and either start blaming himself or blaming God for his misfortune. He goes home thinking that God is unfair. He wanted to go help his mom; was that not a good deed? The next morning, he finds that the plane he would have been on crashed halfway to its destination.

Often it is not so obvious, but the principle is the same. Just because we fail to realize something does not mean that it is not the case. Allah (swt) sees everything with a bird’s eye view, while we only see the things that are directly in front of us. Try thinking back on things that happen to you and make a habit of being hopeful. Being positive does not change what is happening, but it makes you a stronger and happier person. Do not forget to be patient, too, because often things only reveal themselves at the end of the story.

The third reason bad things happen is sort of an extension of the first, but also my favorite, and the one that gives me most hope. Allah (swt) puts us in hard situations so that we turn back to Him; we are wandering around earth, trying to plunge ourselves headfirst into hellfire by our actions and open disobedience, and He takes pity on us. How is that pity manifested, you might ask?

It is human instinct to turn to a higher power when we are in distress, hence the saying, “There are no atheists in a foxhole.” We ignore God in our everyday lives, stubbornly believing everything we have is a result of our own intelligence. But then we blame all misfortunes on Allah (swt), which is quite unfair. The most tranquil way of life lies in the obedience of Allah (swt), and that is not a statement based on blind faith. The manufacturer of a product best knows how it should operate. We humans—ingenious creations with a system unparalleled by any technology just under the flesh of our skin—also have a manufacturer, who sent us an instructor, Rasul Allah [the Messenger of God] ﷺ (peace be upon him) with an instruction manual, the Noble Qur’an. The Qur’an is not just an instruction manual but letters from Allah to us with the solution to every problem, the cure for every disease, the light for every darkness. It is through hardship that Allah calls us back to what will benefit us the most.

True happiness comes from light—spiritual light that permeates our souls and lights the way through a forest of uncertainty and self-doubt. Perhaps a scripture might comment on the sudden shift from scientific method to abstract concept, and to that person who has paid such close attention, I ask: is happiness a scientific or psychological phenomenon? If you see happiness as nothing but the release of hormones into the bloodstream, see humans as machines playing a part in a gruesome play for no purpose, then it will be true that happiness is unattainable. But those who are willing to reach for hope and not just give up due to prejudice or laziness will find it with Allah, without a single shred of doubt.

All you have to do to begin is Read.

By Raiiq Ridwan

About three years ago I was listening to a lecture on the Magnificence of Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He). The lecturer came upon this verse:

“If We had sent down this Qur’an upon a mountain, you would have seen it humbled and coming apart from fear of Allah. And these examples We present to the people that perhaps they will give thought.” (Quran 59:21)

The scholar, Mirza Yawar Baig, then stopped for a moment, and said, “If Allah had revealed the Qur’an onto a mountain, it would have crumbled out of the awe of the words of Allah. Then what mountain has crept up into our hearts that our hearts do not even tremble at the remembrance of Allah?”

Allah (swt) Himself asks a similar question in Surah Hadeed:

“Is it not time that those who believe, that their hearts be submissive at the remembrance of Allah and what has been revealed of the truth? And let them not be like those who were given the Scripture before, and a long period passed over them, so their hearts hardened; and many of them are defiantly disobedient.” (Qur’an 57:16)

Allah (swt) is asking a question that should tug at the heart of every believer. Is it not time that the believer is moved by the words of Allah? Is it not time that when the believer comes across the mention of paradise, the believer cries to Allah seeking it? Is it not right that when the believer hears of the mention of the hellfire, the believer humbly seeks protection from it? How is it that a movie can bring believers to tears (which is fine), but the mention of the heart-breaking story of Yusuf `alayhi as-salaam (peace be upon him) keeps us stone hearted? Allah (swt) then gives the example of the people who were given a book themselves earlier and mentions what happened to them. A long time passed and their hearts hardened. And a hardened heart leads to a defiantly disobedient soul.

It has been a long time since the last Ramadan. Sadly, for most of us, it has meant that the quality of our good deeds has gone down. We make du`a’ (supplication), but there is no longer that fervour, that neediness that we displayed in front of Allah (swt). We were so conscious of sinning back then. Now, we let so many of our sins slide. Heart-breaking it may be, but the truth is that for many of us, over the past year our hearts have indeed gone hard. A mountain has crept up that is not humbled anymore at the remembrance of Allah (swt). But we are believers after all. While the ayah (verse) above is reprimanding us, it is still calling us believers. And in that very word lies the hope. Allah (swt) continues in the next ayah:

“Know that Allah gives life to the earth after its lifelessness. We have made clear to you the signs; perhaps you will understand.” (Qur’an 57:17)

The nature of the words of Allah (swt) is such that after every warning there is hope. After every reprimand there is advice. Allah doesn’t tell us about His anger or about our weaknesses such that we feel a serious bout of low self-esteem and wallow in the ocean of self-pity. Rather Allah gives warnings, mentions His punishment and scolds the believers to only remind them of their purpose and bring them back to Him. After Allah reprimanded us for the hardening of our hearts, He gives a very clear coded message. Allah (swt) is the One who gives life to the dead earth. Similarly, He is the One who can give life to our dead hearts.

Both the land and the heart are revived by what Allah (swt) sends from the sky. For the land, Allah sends rain; “And who sends down rain from the sky in measured amounts, and We revive thereby a dead land – thus will you be brought forth,” (Qur’an 43:11). For the hearts, Allah sent down the Qur’an; “O mankind, there has to come to you advice from your Lord and healing for what is in the chests and guidance and mercy for the believers,” (Qur’an 10:57).

The Qur’an is to our heart what the rain is to the land. Just like the land is revived by the rain, so are our hearts revived by the Qur’an. And what is the only thing that can actually break through a mountain? Water.

Water breaks through a mountain not because of its power, but because of its persistence. In front of us lies Ramadan, the month in which was revealed the Qur’an. There is no better time than now to start hammering at the mountain that has crept into our hearts with the water that has been sent.

The best time of the year to revive our dead heart is now. This Ramadan, let us irrigate our hearts with the Qur’an. Wherever we are with the book, let us improve our relationship with it. Perhaps we struggle to read the Qur’an. Make time to read the Qur’an more this Ramadan. Perhaps we read fluently and want to start reading a good translation of the Qur’an. Perhaps we might enroll in an Arabic course to understand the Qur’an better.

Let us heed the advice of the narration of our beloved Prophet ﷺ (peace be unto him):

“O people of the Qur’an, do not go take the Qur’an lightly. Recite it during all hours of the night and day. And spread it, beautify it and reflect upon it so that you may be successful.” (Narrated by al-Bayhaqi in Shu’ab al-Iman)

Nepal Quake: Coincidence or Reminder?

By Sara Altaf

The world is shaken,

By the shaking of Nepal

The destruction of buildings

The collapsing of homes

The loss of lives therein.

Is there a lesson?

Or

Was this incidence just a coincidence?

But how could it be a coincidence,

For we witness the world

As it remains discomposed by the tragedy.

We wonder

How did this happen?

An earthquake of such a magnitude!

Then another question creeps in our minds

An indispensable question.

“Why?”

“Why did it happen?”

Could there be a lesson for humanity?

For, surely, this is not the first time in history

That the land beneath us has trembled

That man-made infrastructure has crumbled

That our loved ones have suffered

Or even passed away.

Is any-One controlling

All that has occurred?

For we know the earth is just too majestic

To be moved by man.

Was this occurrence an awakening alert for mankind?

A reminder

That this life we live

This earth we stand on

Is not eternal.

There is a bigger reality.

The HereAfter.

The AfterLife.

It is a moment to reflect.

To snap out of heedlessness

To get back on track

And to prepare for the final quake,

That marks the beginning of the HereAfter.

By Tasniya Sultana

Disclaimer: This is my vision and opinions about the current education system from my experiences and observations. I respect and admire all teachers and administrators who tirelessly work to provide the best form of education for their students. Having said that, I believe in a different approach to Islamic education and this article outlines my vision.

Recently, I read an article on virtualmosque.com entitled “A Second Look at Islamic Schools” by Lobna Mulla. A lot of her points and thoughts resonated with me as I read through the article. It is sad that many people have a negative perception when it comes to Islamic Schools and Islamic Education. I must admit that I am one of those people as well.

Growing up in a strict Islamic household and having many poor experiences as a student and teacher at Sunday and Islamic schools, I had lost my faith in Islamic schools and Islamic education at one point. I vented to my husband and friends that when I have kids, I would rather send them to a public school than an Islamic school.

But I took a step back and I realized that running away from Islamic education and schools is not the solution. Seeing such low attendance and participation in mosques and Islamic schools concerns me. It shows that more and more youth and Muslim families are choosing to stay away from Islamic education. Instead, they are choosing to go to public schools, which are not the best alternative either, having been there myself.

Therefore, we need to change our perception of Islamic education. As Sister Mulla stated in her article, Islamic schools have taken steps to make themselves more appealing and competitive. One of the steps she listed in her article is that many Islamic schools are run by principals and teachers who have proper education degrees and certifications. They also have extensive evaluation processes so that the schools are accredited by the respective states. This shows us that Islamic schools are trying to raise the bar and they are striving to get proper accreditation and standards for their schools.

While I agree that there has been a shift in Islamic schools to hire teachers and administrators who are qualified, it is simply not enough. There needs to be a change in the way we approach and teach Islamic education to our children. Traditional education systems offer workbooks, textbooks, and worksheets to teach various concepts like math, science, history, and language. There is very minimal hands-on experience for the child. From my personal experience, I have also observed that Islamic schools adapted this methodology of teaching Islamic studies to children through the use of books and worksheets.

Sadly, I cannot agree with this system. I believe that there should be a more hands-on approach to education. We should provide concrete materials and experiences for the children in the classroom so that they are excited and passionate about learning both secular subjects and Islamic subjects.  And that is where my dream comes into play. Insha’Allah (God willing), I want to change the landscape of Islamic education. I want people to have positive associations with Islamic schools and education in general. And for that, I truly believe that Montessori Education will be a good synergy with Islamic Education.

To give some background about Montessori Education, it is a system that was founded by Maria Montessori. Her vision was to provide an education system that is set according to the child’s pace. She observed children for many years in different countries and through her observations, she had many revelations about education.

For one, a Montessori classroom looks very different from a traditional classroom. There are no grades in a Montessori school. Rather, the students are grouped according to age levels: The toddler classroom has children from 0 to 3 years of age, the primary classrooms have student from ages 3 to 6, and the elementary classrooms have children from 6 to 12.

In addition, the teacher gives lessons in small groups or individually rather than giving the lessons to a large group in front of the classroom. The children are allowed to choose their own work everyday, and the teacher does not give a lesson to a child until he or she is ready to have that lesson. To learn more about Montessori education and how it is different from traditional education, please visit the YouTube link below: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcgN0lEh5IA&feature=youtu.be

Currently, I am doing my masters in Elementary Montessori Education at Washington Montessori Institute at Loyola University, Maryland. The more I learn about the Montessori theories and principles, the more I am convinced that Montessori education is compatible with Islamic studies. Lessons such as wudu (ritual washing), wearing a hijab, prayers, and hifdh (memorization) can be incorporated using the Montessori principles. Thus, my goal and vision is to create an Islamic Montessori school from the toddler program to the elementary program that will incorporate Islamic studies using the Montessori methods.

To give an example of how that will work, I will lay out some of my ideas below. For example, in many Islamic schools and Sunday schools, the topic of wudu is taught in a very intellectual manner. Often times, we go over a book on wudu and use flashcards to teach the children about the process. Once in a while we allow them to go to the bathroom to practice wudu but the sinks are not accustomed to accommodating wudu for the children. They struggle to do wudu because they can’t reach the tap or the sink or they can’t put their feet up on the sink in order to wash.

Therefore, one of my goals is to have wudu stations in the classroom for the child. We will use buckets, pitchers, and basin to do wudu in the classroom. The best thing about a primary Montessori classroom is that there is a huge emphasis on doing activities that are practical to a child’s life. For example, in Montessori education, the teachers give lessons on how to wash the table, wash their hands, brush their teeth, clean the dishes, mop the floor, and many more practical life activities! The children enjoy these activities because they see their parents doing these activities at home and they have a need to imitate them. But do not freak out because the Montessori classroom also does math, science, and reading as well!

But the most beautiful thing is that Montessori classroom allows for the child to experience and practice the practical aspects of their lives. And for a Muslim child, doing wudu and learning prayers is a practical part of life. So why not incorporate that into the classroom as a lesson and an activity that the child will enjoy?

This is one of the many ideas I have for my Islamic Montessori School. As Sister Mulla reiterated in her article, there is a huge shift to set the bar high for Islamic education in America. And I believe that my goal and vision for my Islamic Montessori School can add to raising Islamic schools from sub-standard education to highly sought-out education by the Muslim ummah (community) Insha’Allah.

We have arrived at our 45th article on the Names of Allah, and our 58th Name. Do you feel closer to Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He)? Do you feel more able to turn to Him? Do you feel like you can see the manifestations of Allah’s attributes in your day-to-day? This series is not meant merely as an academic study on the Names of Allah; its aim is to know enough about each Name to be able to connect to Him, to be able to effect change; and to understand the purpose behind certain things.

I hope that we can all return to those Names again and reflect on them. And please, feel free to share how you feel you connected.

Previously, we talked about Allah (swt) being the Giver of Life and the Life-Taker, how these Names are manifested, and what we can learn from them. Absolute certainty in those Names brings us to this Name of Allah: Al-Bā`ith: the Resurrector, the Raiser of the Dead.

Resurrection and Accountability

Allah (swt) says in the Qur’an:

“And [that they may know] that the Hour is coming – no doubt about it – and that Allah will resurrect [yab`ath] those in the graves.” (Qur’an, 22:7)

Ba`th (from the root ب-ع-ث) literally means to awaken, to raise up or to send. So it would be said:

بعث الناقة أثارها، بعث فلاناً من نومه أيقظه، البعث بعث الجنود إلى الغزو

“Ba`th of a camel means to excite it/wake it, Ba`th of someone from his sleep means to wake him up, and ba`th of the armies means to send them forward to battle.”

For people who question whether we can really be raised up again, Allah (swt) asks in the Qur’an:

“Do they not see that Allah, who created the heavens and earth and did not fail in their creation, is able to give life to the dead? Yes. Indeed, He is over all things competent.” (Qur’an, 46:33)

Is it more difficult to create something from nothing, or to bring something already in existence back to life?

So what does this mean for us?

Two things: purpose and accountability.

It is easy to forget that we will be raised again, and we may wander aimlessly not knowing what to do with our lives. But knowing that we will be raised up should infuse new meaning into the things that we do. Allah (swt) tells us in the Qur’an:

“Then did you think that We created you uselessly and that to Us you would not be returned?” (Qur’an, 23:115)

So we can ask ourselves, what am I going to present to Allah (swt)? What is the thing—or things—that we will say to Allah (swt), “My Lord, I tried to do good, I did this, for you”? Let us take a lesson from the mother of Maryam `alayha as-salaam (peace be upon her) when she said to Allah (swt):

“My Lord, indeed I have pledged to You what is in my womb, consecrated [for Your service], so accept this from me. Indeed, You are the Hearing, the Knowing.” (Qur’an, 3:35)

But what if we do not know what to give for Allah?

Sheikh Ratib an-Nabulsi says that another meaning of ba`th is that Allah sends to or inspires His servants to do good. So when you are feeling the urge to do something good, act upon it; do not delay it. In our short series on “Seeing the World in a Different Way”, we gave tips on how to attach a sincere intention and meaning into the things that we do.

The second related point of feeling the effect of Allah (swt) being al-Bā`ith is that of accountability. There is a certain mantra going around of “this is who I am, accept it”. This might be a good attitude sometimes, for example, if you want people to accept your interests or certain qualities that you have. This shouldn’t be the attitude that we have with regards to blameworthy qualities, such as a bad temper. As Muslims, we must constantly be evolving for the better. This is what our beloved Prophet ﷺ (peace be upon him) taught his Companions. When they made a mistake, he taught them, and they pledged to change.

In the story in Surat al-Qalam, Allah (swt) tells us about the people of the garden who wanted to take all of the harvest for themselves and left nothing for the poor. So Allah (swt) caused the garden to burn down. The amazing thing is that they realized their mistake. They said:

‘They said, “Exalted is our Lord! Indeed, we were wrongdoers.”
Then they approached one another, blaming each other.
They said, “O woe to us; indeed we were transgressors. Perhaps our Lord will substitute for us [one] better than it. Indeed, we are toward our Lord desirous.”‘ (Qur’an, 68:28-32)

They realized their mistake, took responsibility and moved towards their Lord. They did not try to justify what they did; rather, they became better because they learned from their mistake, and never lost hope in Allah (swt).

Sending of a Messenger

Allah (swt) says in the Qur’an:

“And We certainly sent [ba`athnā] into every nation a messenger […]” (Qur’an, 16:36)

The beloved Prophet ﷺ was sent to us as a mercy and a teacher. And he was sent to all of us as the best example. Most importantly, he was sent from Allah (swt), the One who cares about us the most.

So when we speak of purpose, we need to look at the things that the Prophet ﷺ encouraged. He taught us that the seemingly small things matter, and the thing that matters most is your intention. He told us of the lofty station of the woman who used to clean the mosque, the high status of those who spent from their wealth in charity, the closeness to him of the person who supports an orphan, and the greatness of the deed of removing harmful things from people’s path. Being connected to the Prophet ﷺ and following his way no doubt connects us to al-Bā`ith.

How to Come to Life with this Name

1. Have purpose: Remember where you are going, and that indeed you are going somewhere. Make every moment count. Allah (swt) tells us in the Qur’an: “O you who have believed, fear Allah. And let every soul look to what it has put forth for tomorrow – and fear Allah. Indeed, Allah is Acquainted with what you do.” (Qur’an, 59:18)
2. Hold yourself to account: It is reported that Omar bin al-Khattab, the companion of the Prophet ﷺ, said: “Hold yourself to account before you are held to account, for that is better for your accounts. And weigh yourselves before you are weighed, and prepare yourselves for a day when ‘you will be exhibited [for judgement]; not hidden among you is anything concealed.'”
3. Study the life of the Prophet ﷺ: If you find that you are running low on inspiration, study the life of the Prophet ﷺ. His life and character provide the blueprint for our own lives.
4. Lift people up with knowledge: Al-Ghazāli counsels: “The truth of the resurrection refers to bringing the dead to life by creating them once more. Ignorance is the greatest death and knowledge the noblest life. God—may He be praised and exalted—mentioned knowledge and ignorance in His holy book, and called them life and death. Whoever lifts another out of ignorance to knowledge has already created him anew and revived him to a blessed life. And should a man have a way of conveying knowledge to people and calling them to the Most High that would be a kind of revivification, and such would be the level of prophets and the scholars who are their heirs.” (Al-Ghazāli, The Ninety-Nine Beautiful Names of God)

Have you ever felt so exhausted, so crushed and so in despair that you simply could not fathom your world being good again? One thing after another crashes against your weary, bruised existence and the color begins to drain from your life. I have been there, and however bizarre this may sound, I would not change it for the world.

It was during this difficult time that I reached what felt like an epiphany. I came across a plant called ‘The Rose of Jericho,’ originating from the same family as Lichen. They are known commonly as Resurrection plants, and as suggested by the name, are capable of some extraordinary feats. These incredible entities can survive months and even years of extreme dehydration and desiccation, during which they shrivel up and appear entirely dead. But add a few drops of water and within hours, leaves unfurl and color shifts from brown to green, life appears to return. A phenomenon that baffled scientists for years, because, to put it simply, according to basic accepted laws of biology, this should not happen. In the face of such adversity, lack of sustenance and ruthless battering of the elements, they should die and be gone for good. But they do not. They defy all odds, all that is expected and logical, and they spring back into beautiful form.

God constantly places signs for us in His creation, but He requires us to see them. For me, this almost surreal encounter was a wake up call and a restoration of spirit during my time of adversity, when sustenance seemed scarce and the elements ruthless. We are not in control of our circumstances, but we are in control of ourselves, and that is what defines us. I decided not to fall victim and fail the tests I was presented with, I would fight, defy the odds, and survive. Sometimes it takes months, sometimes years, and everyone’s fight is different, but while we have faith, we have hope.

Prophet Ayoub (Job) `alayhi as salaam (peace be upon him) lost his livelihood, his wealth, his family and then his health. Picture this for a minute, one by one, everything you consider important and essential, gone. Through the loss, the devastating and infuriating pain he must have felt, he kept his sights on His Lord. He saw that God brought him to this position on the physical plane in order to elevate him on the spiritual one. And after years of steadfastness in faith and utmost patience despite a broken heart, difficult conditions and an agonizing disease, God gave back to Ayoub (as) everything that had been taken, along with much, much more.

Nothing good comes easy. Know that the best of humanity were tested almost to breaking point, and Your Lord is the Most Compassionate and Most Wise. Step up your worship, focus your sights on He who is able to do all things, He who gives life and takes it, He in whose hand is the entire world. No matter how many pieces your heart has broken into, how disenchanted and disheartened you feel, if you have become even a tiny bit closer to Allah, subhanahu wa ta`la (exalted is He), it was worth it. Hang in there, and no matter how hopeless your situation may seem, things will get better insha’Allah (God willing).

There is a Japanese tradition called kintsukuroi, in which cracked pottery is repaired using gold or silver. Just as the pottery is even more stunning and precious for having been broken, so will you be. Now etched with the beautiful tracks of survival, the piece takes on an even more valuable lease of life, as will you.

Turn to Allah (swt), and through Him, make up your mind to survive. Like the Prophets and the plants, repair your existence with the metaphorical gold that is faith, and be all the more beautiful for it.

Photo: xalamay

By Hamza Nabi

Bismilah. Alhamdulillah. Was salatu was salamu ‘ala Rasoolillah. Amma ba’d.

(In the name of God. All praise be to God. And peace and blessings on the Messenger of God.)

There are things we are supposed to learn in life. Balancing our fear of God’s Punishment and our hope in God’s Mercy. Figuring out a way to earn a livelihood. Embodying character traits such as honesty, altruism, patience and loyalty. Dealing with people justly, doing our best not to tread upon the rights of others and forgiving when our rights are not duly respected. Of course, the list goes on and on.

There is something about this list that is different than other lists. The average to-do list has boxes beside each point to indicate whether the task has been completed or still needs to get done. The list of things we are supposed to learn in life isn’t that simple. This list has levels and stages. This list does not have an exam at the end, nor a completion date. The contents of this list are all a work in progress. Everyone has a level and a stage but there are very few who will get straight A’s on this report card. And that is important. It is important to recognize because this recognition breeds humility. It is important to recognize because this recognition renders arrogance an impossibility. There will be tests along the way and we might get indications as to how well we are doing, but we will not really find out until it’s all over. Until it is too late.

So. As people who wish to be successful in every facet of our lives, how do we improve ourselves? How do we attain the ranks which give our hearts peace? How do we know whether or not it is “too late”? Allah, subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He), has given us the clear answer to this. As long as we are alive, it’s never too late. No matter how much we wrong ourselves, there is always a path to redemption. The road to sincerity is never too far away. The thief has forgiveness. The adulterer has forgiveness. The one who commits shirk (belief in more than one God) knowingly is clearly not a Muslim, yet her/his acceptance of Islam wipes this away.

Some say it sounds too easy, it’s too good to be true, things don’t just work that way. What they fail to realize is that it’s not that easy. It’s really not. To be real. To be honest. To be sincere. To be truthful. All of this takes a lot of strength. Rectifying oneself after a lifetime of misconduct is not as easy as it sounds. Even after knowing what is right, look at how many people fall short.

There is no running away from Allah, except to Allah (swt). The sooner we recognize that, the better. The sooner we understand that and act according to its implications, the sooner our lives will be much happier and far more peaceful.

Our mistakes give us two things. They present a greater challenge to do better. Textbook recidivism. Yes, it’s a liability. Yes, we need to put more barriers up to keep us from falling. Yes, our mistakes can change our mindset and we can either adopt a lax attitude, or fall into excessive cynicism about ourselves and others. These mistakes, however, have also been given the ability to add to our sincerity. To strengthen our resolve. To understand that we don’t want to be disgraced when we stand before our Lord. Some honest reflection allows us to understand that we cannot change the past. It is up to us to use our past constructively, or let it affect us destructively. This goes along with another benefit that we need to actively identify and seek. Our increased ability to learn from the mistakes of others that stems from the learning process we underwent is priceless. The goal is to minimize our mistakes and continuously improve ourselves. Aim high. There are people whose choices are between good and a greater good—bad leaves the equation after a certain point.

Where we will end up depends on a lot of factors. Our best bet is to truly give it our all. Again, easier said than done. Sometimes we will slip where we least expect it. Many times we will find ourselves exceeding our own expectations. If our general direction is up, then we are on the right track. If we are falling, then we better catch ourselves quick. The sooner the better. Do not let it be “too late.”

Thanks for reading.