Gaza: CNN "Missing In Action"

A sister friend of mine in Saudi emailed me and mentioned the horrific media images that they were seeing over there.

Why are we not seeing them here? What do we see here in America?

We see CNN's Anderson Cooper and others standing on a hillside over Gaza ... telling us that they cannot show us what is going on within the Gaza Strip. They say that the Israelis will not permit international media to go inside the Gaza Strip. The reason, they say, is because the international media shows bias.

Do you believe it?

Jamal Dajani has written this article at the Huffington Post. According to Dajani's article, there are numerous Arab media organizations reporting from inside the Gaza Strip. He writes:

"There are more than a dozen television stations that still operate out of Gaza. For the past several years, Arab satellite networks have dispatched news reports out of Gaza almost on a daily basis. Leading Arab satellite networks all have offices and reporters in Gaza, such as, Al Jazeera (Arabic and English), Al Arabiya TV, Dubai TV, Nile TV, Abu Dhabi TV, to name a few. Then there is Hamas' Al Aqsa TV and independently owned Ramattan News Service. They have been beaming images of starving children living in desperate conditions during the Israeli siege on Gaza to millions in the Arab world and beyond. Despite these abundant news sources, CNN and other U.S. networks have elected to cover Paris Hilton and Anna Nicole Smith for days on end. Let's face the facts. Images of starving children do not sell advertisements. Trash does. Now, many of those children are dead!"

Why doesn't CNN and the non-Arab "international" media partner with any of these Arab organizations mentioned in Dajani's article? If they really wanted to bring us the truth, wouldn't they attempt to coordinate coverage with the Arab media?

What do you think?

Does it reinforce the so-called "conspiracy" theory that the Zionists control the media in America?

Your Word is "Peace"

You see life as precious, and you wish everyone was safe, happy, and taken care of. Social justice, human rights, and peace for all nations are all important to you. While you can't stop war, you try to be as calm and compassionate as possible in your everyday life. You promote harmony and cooperation. You're always willing to meet someone a little more than halfway.

What's Your Word?

Important ... Pass It Around (A Warning)

I received the following message in my email box. It is from one of our local Muslim email groups. The subject line read, "Important ... Pass It Around."

"Starbucks and McDonald's made a statement that all profits made from now until Saturday will be sent to the Israeli army to fight the Palestinian people. Enough of the blood shed. The women and children have been under siege for years, they have no water, food, medicine or electricity. They are prisoners in their own land. Please boycott Starbucks and McDonald's and pass this on to everyone you know. The link below just gives you a brief history of the Israelis and their so-called land. http://uk.youtube. com/watch? v=XUFLpP9Prxo "

Now, before you get all excited and start boycotting Starbucks and McDonalds, you must answer a simple question: Where is the proof that these companies made these statements?

Don't get me wrong. Perhaps these companies did make these statements in certain cities. But Alhamdulillah, where? What city?

A general check of the websites of these companies makes no such claims.

In this climate of high anxiety and emotion, it is easy to get swept up. Many Muslims and good citizens of the world feel powerless about the current situation in Gaza. They want to do something. And they should.

But I warn that we need to be careful!

To pass this email message around, forwarding it ad nauseum (like my group did) where it has the potential to reach hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, without proof has the potential to cause great damage to companies that may be innocent.

It is especially important for us Muslims to stop and think.

Let's say that we pass this information along anyhow, not caring whether or not there is proof or if it may be untrue.

We may be in danger of engaging in what is known in Islam as nameemah (slander).

In general, nameemah, usually refers to the act of carrying tales from one person to another. This disclosure can be by speaking, writing, nodding, intimating (hinting) or signalling. Nameemah is carrying discussions from one to another for the intention of mischief, disclosing secrets and exposing secret matters. If the party is innocent, it is a sin heavier than the weight of the skies. It was also said, "The acts of Nammaam are more harmful than the acts of Shaitan. Shaitan acts by imagination and whispering, while the Nammaam acts face-to-face and openly." Nameemah is an abomination. It is very widely spread amongst people and very few are safe from it. Nameemah is prohibited by Ijmaa (consensus of the Muslim scholars) and there are many clear references from the Qur'an and Sunnah against it. (from Slander by Abdul Malik Al-Qasim)

So, again I warn you all (and myself) to be careful. If these allegations are correct and can be proven, then these companies do deserve to be boycotted. But if they are not ...

There are other cures for our feelings of powerlessness and emotional pain.

Write a letter, make a blog post, sign a petition, participate in a peaceful demonstration, talk to others, write a poem, paint a picture, scream, pray ...

Muslim Matters has a 60 Minute Action Plan here.

Surf around the Muslim blogs. Many, like Organic Muslimah also have good ideas and provide excellent resources.

You get the idea: Make Yourself Heard!!! But in a halal (permissible) way!!!

(Oh! And the George Galloway video in the YouTube link is excellent!)

UPDATE: From Saudi and Scholars concerning this topic:

Boycotting American Products
Slih al-Fawzn

Boycotting Products Manufactured by Non-Muslims
Muhammad Ibn Slih al-'Uthaymn

Boycotting Products Manufactured by Non-Muslims
Saudi Arabia’s Permanent Council of Senior Scholars

Taken From: http://www.authentictranslations.com/tb-SocialDealings.aspx

ANOTHER UPDATE: (LINK INCLUDES A LETTER FROM STARBUCKS)

Re-posted with permission stated below from Brother Abu Khaliyl quranwasunnah@ yahoogroups. com:

As-salamu `alaykum wa rahmatullah:

Long ago we started getting a message that the Starbucks company was sending this or that amount of money from its purchases to the IDF. After reading the message fabricated and attributed to the chairman Howard Schultz, I recognized the falsehood of it, as I am a native English speaker (phrases of it were not American English, but it has British expressions that give it away, as well as mistakes, for both British and American English, making it clear that it was not stated by someone who is a native of NY city) and I looked into the matter, so this is what Starbucks had to say about it:

"You may have heard a rumor about Howard Schultz, Starbucks and the Israeli army. The rumor is false. Neither chairman Howard Schultz nor Starbucks fund or support the Israeli Army. Starbucks is a non-political organization and does not support individual political causes."

Contact Information: Starbucks Coffee Company (206) 318-7100 mailto:press@starbucks.%20com

http://www.starbuck%20s.com/aboutus/%20pressdesc.%20asp?id=668&

With current events, this false claim - that Starbucks supports the IDF - is gaining steam again, so please forward this to anyone that sends you such a message. Also, just to throw dirt in the face of those who spread such lies among the Muslims, see this:http://www.snopes.com/politics/israel/starbucks.asp and for those who still like to believe a lie because it was told to them by a Muslim (!?) then review the material here where the forger of the letter has admitted to forging it.http://www.snopes.%20com/politics/%20israel/schultz.%20asp

The Messenger of Allah (sall Allahu `alaihi wa sallam) spoke of these people who spread these rumours: "Sufficient that a man is a liar that he narrates everything he hears." Sahih Muslim, in the introduction. And consider the status of a people who make unlawful what Allah has made lawful, and whoever follows them in that, believes it, speaks according to it, and acts upon it....So perhaps you can save this email, and if you get an email from one of these liars about this lie, you can "reply all" with it, and may Allah reward you for countering falsehood with the truth.

was-salamu `alaykum

Abu Khaliyl

Peaceful Pro-Gaza Demonstration, Harrisburg, PA, 1/4/09

Genocide Language

I was half listening to CNN tonight while checking email.

Brig. General David Grange (Retired), CNN Military Analyst, was talking with host Don Lemon about Gaza. When I heard the following statement, my head snapped up:

"The military is only one stage of the final solution."

Now: where have we heard those words before? "Final Solution?"

FINAL SOLUTION


Image Credit

Israel: Have You Forgotten?

"Dead men will have indeed died in vain if live men refuse to look at them." (LIFE magazine, May 7, 1945)

Original images at this site.

DO THESE IMAGES DISTURB YOU?

To the Jews of the world:

If so: DO SOMETHING!

If not: SHAME ON YOU!

And to everyone else:

Why does the world remain silent? Time after time. Rwanda, Darfur, Bosnia ...

Write a letter, make a blog post, sign a petition, participate in a peaceful demonstration, talk to others, write a poem, paint a picture, scream, pray ...

You get the idea: Make Yourself Heard!!!

Trusting Allah (swt) - Remembering the 2006 Sago Mine Tragedy

(12 Black ribbons at Sago Mine - AP Photo)



On January 2, 2006, the new year started for the people of a small West Virginia town with an accident that occurred at the Sago coal mine in Tallmansville. After an explosion in the mine, 6 men made it out, but 13 were still trapped underground. Anxious families and friends maintained an agonizing vigil at the Sago Baptist Church for almost two days.

Then, through a series of miscommunications, family and friends were told that one trapped miner had died, but 12 were found alive. Reports started to fly that the miners would be brought to the church for reunification with their families after they were brought out of the trapped area. The elated crowd praised God and cited a miracle. In the church, hymns such as “How Great Thou Art” and “Amazing Grace” were sung. There were hugs, tears, laughter, and gratitude that God had answered prayers.

But after three hours, stunned and angry families were told that the information was false. Unconfirmed, conflicting information had been disseminated from the Command Center. Elation, relief, and joy turned to confusion, fury, anger, rage, blame, shock, anguish, and horror. Some, who had praised God just three hours earlier were lashing out to news reporters.

One woman cried, “We’re Christian people … we don’t even know if there’s a Lord anymore.”

One man reported that when the pastor tried to comfort families and encourage them to look to God, another man replied, “What in the hell has God done for us?”

We all watched on television as people expressed their despair.

As I watched the news on the television during this crisis, I thought to myself: Would a Muslim curse out Allah (swt) like this? Would a Muslim doubt Allah's (swt) very existence during a trial?

Abdullah Bin ash-Shikhkhir (ra) reported that the Prophet (saw) said “The example of the son of Adam is (as though) he has ninety-nine causes of death beside him. If all causes of death miss him, he will fall into old-age – until he finally dies.” (at-Tirmithi)

Muslim and non-Muslim alike suffer in this life; but, what direction do we Muslims have from Quran and Sunnah for dealing with tragedies and trials?

We read:“If a Muslim is priced by (as little as) a thorn in the worldly life and he anticipates Allah’s reward for it, he will be absolved of some of his sins on Judgment Day.” (al-Bukhari) In Arabic, this is "ihtisab," the expectation of Allah's rewards and forgiveness.

And, there is the story of Ayyub (as) (Job) who Allah tried with years of adversity. "And remember Ayyub, when he called to his Lord, “Verily, adversity has touched me, and You are the Most Merciful of the merciful.” So, We answered his call, and removed his affliction.” (21:83-84). Ayyub (as) exhibited "sabr," patience, knowing that Allah is merciful.

“Affliction continues to befall believing men and women in their body, family, and property, until they meet Allah, burdened with no sins.” (Ahmad)

“When Allah loves some people, He subjects them to affliction.” (at-Tirmithi)

“When Allah loves some people, He afflicts them. He who perseveres will receive the reward of perseverance. And he who despairs of Allah’s mercy will receive (the burden of) despair.” (Ahmad)

“A believer’s parable is like that of a fresh and moist plant; the wind tilts it this way and that way. So is a believer: he continues to be subjected to affliction, until he reaches his appointed term (of death). And a hypocrite’s (or kafir’s) parable is like that of a firm cedar tree; it does not shake – until it is uprooted all at once.” (combined narration, al-Bukhari, Muslim, and others)

“Do the people think that they will be left to say, “We believe,” without being tried? We have surely tried those before them. Indeed, Allah will make evident the truthful, and He will make evident the liars.” (29:1-3)

Although it sometimes is not easy, we must trust Allah and exhibit sabr, ihtisab, and acceptance when faced with adversity and trials. Like Ayyub (as), many people did reach out to Allah for help and comfort during the Sago mine disaster.

It was the few, who were overcome by grief, who lashed out and became angry with Allah.

I pray that He grant them His comfort and show them the Right Path/Ameen.

Hamas Tunnels?

I ran across this picture on Boston Globe's website. It is among a collection of Eid ul-Adha images.

The next time you hear on the news that these tunnels are for the sole use of Hamas to smuggle whatever through ... think of this Palestinian brother! He's merely trying to bring an animal home to slaughter for the Eid to please Allah (swt) and also to feed his family:

A Palestinian smuggles a sheep into the Gaza Strip through a tunnel under the Egypt-Gaza border at Rafah on December 5, 2008. The Muslim holiday of Eid al-Adha, or the Feast of the Sacrifice which commemorates Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son for God starts Dec. 8 during which sheep are traditionally slaughtered. The Rafah border post with Egypt is the only crossing into Gaza not controlled by Israel, which has enforced a blockade on the territory since Hamas, which Israel regards as a terrorist group, seized power there in 2007. (SAID KHATIB/AFP/Getty Images)

Fully a Muslim!

This is a picture of me sitting on Santa's lap, taken when I was 3 1/2 years old.

I used it when I wrote this article for IslamOnline.

The main gist of the article was about the grief process and the loneliness experienced by some reverts to Islam around the non-Muslim holidays such as Christmas. And how, for various reasons, our new brothers and sisters in Islam somehow do not replace the family and warmth many of us have lost by abandoning our faiths to become Muslims.

In the article, I stated:

"The single most difficult part of the grief process was, and continues to be, non-Muslim holidays. Not only the Christian and Jewish holidays, but also the secular ones: New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Thanksgiving, anniversaries, birthdays, and my favorite of them all, April Fool's Day!"

I have crossed over a threshold since that article was written. I no longer miss the non-Muslim holidays. Alhamdulillah!

I'm not sure exactly when it happened. But it came together for me tonight while I was reading a blog post by a Jewish blogger friend of mine named Bar Kochba. He has a few blogs but the post that caught my eye tonight was at his The Truth About Moshiach blog. The post title is Not Afraid to Be Unique.

Bar Kochba references an article in the online edition of The Jerusalem Post by Matthew Wagner titled, "Santa Claus and Judah Macabee Join Forces in TA 'End of Year' Fair." There is an interesting observation noted in Wagner's article by the owner of the Israeli Marzipan Museum:

Tamir Peled, the owner of the Marzipan Museum, whose products are under the kashrut supervision of the Lower Galilee Rabbinate, said that this Christmas there has been a sharp rise in demand from Jewish Israelis for marzipan in Christmas shapes, such as Santa Claus.

"In the past all our requests were for Jewish symbols like Magen David, shofars, apples in honey and the tablets of the Ten Commandments," said Peled. "But recently Israelis who have lived abroad or who are influenced by American TV want to celebrate Christmas."

"So far we have not gotten any orders to make marzipan crosses. But maybe that will happen, too."

Peled said that Israelis want to celebrate Christmas because they do not want to feel culturally isolated from the rest of the world.

"Celebrating only Hanukka set us apart, makes us different. People don't want to feel that way. They want to be part of world," she said.

Somehow, this all reminded me of my childhood. My mother was Catholic and my father was Jewish. We celebrated the religious traditions of both faiths in our household. I guess my parents thought that they could maintain an interfaith home.

For my Jewish grandmother, it was different. I remember asking her why she didn't have a tree in her house at Christmas. She told me it was because she was Jewish and that Christmas trees were for Christians. "That's what they do," she told me. "We're different." It was that simple. Religiously, my grandmother didn't want to be "part of the world." She didn't want to fit in. She wanted only to be Jewish. She was unique.

Unfortunately, I didn't experience that personal acceptance at that time in my life. I truly feel it was due to being raised in a home where there was no true religious commitment to one faith. Maybe adults can get with the concept of tolerance and an interfaith atmosphere, but I believe that children need an identity. Children need to know who they are. As a child, I KNEW that my mother was Catholic. And I KNEW that my father was Jewish. But I didn't know who I was. Once my father started to take me to the synagogue, it got a little better. I started to identify as being Jewish. But there was always the "other side" of my family. Us and Them.

My parents divorced when I was 11 years old. We moved to another state where my mother's people lived. I was separated from my father and my Jewish family. My mother put me in a Catholic school and I was raised as a Catholic until I was an older teenager and of the age where I could embrace Judaism again. But when I was old enough to marry, I didn't marry Jewish man. Looking back, I always practiced my religion alone. Yes, with others in the synagogues and temples, but still alone. Everyone else had Jewish family. Except me.

I found Islam in 1998 and I am now a Muslim. I identify as being Jewish in ethnicity only. Like I said, I don't know exactly when it happened, but I feel that I have resolved my grief process. I feel fully Muslim! I have no desire to religiously or culturally be part of the non-Muslim world.

I am unique. Like my grandmother was.

I have a Muslim husband, Alhamdulillah, and am not alone in my faith.

I don't miss Christmas or any other non-Muslim holiday anymore. I now look forward to the Eid Al-Fitr and Eid Al-Adha holidays.

I know that new Muslims and even some not-so-new reverts to Islam still experience problems in this area. I say dua that they too will cross the treshhold as I have and become totally integrated into the Muslim ummah/Ameen!

Dale (Jamaluddin) Marcell - And Some Thoughts About Music in Islam

Sound Vision has announced the passing of our Muslim brother Dale (Jamaluddin) Marcell who was the leader of the Fletcher Valve Drummers.

Inna Lillahi wa Inna Ilayhi Rajioon.

The Sound Vision article states, "The layers of rhythm and energetic percussions of the Fletcher Valve Drummers brought a new dimension to the live Nasheed / Musical stage in the Muslim community. Dale and his group were the all-time favourites at MuslimFest in Canada and at several major events in the UK, as they shared the stage with renowned Muslim performers, including Dawud Wharnsby Ali, Native Deen, 786, and Ashiqe Rasul."

YouTube has two of his live performances here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3GKx-IDW6Q
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8KWexu1pKg

Apparently, Brother Jamaluddin publicly declared Shahada while live on stage with his drumming group and Dawud Wharnsby during MusicFest 2005!

Interesting to me is the mention in the article that Brother Jamaluddin was often disappointed that the Muslim community did not appreciate his art. However, he drummed on.

Being a drummer myself, I can relate to the Brother's disappointment. The Muslim community is split when it comes to music.

My main drum is the daf. In the purest sense of Islam, the playing of the daf is only permitted for specific occasions like Eids and weddings. It is only permitted to be played by women.



I do own a djembe (like the drum Brother Jamaluddin can be seen performing with in the videos, strapped around his waist). The djembe is a drum most commonly played in West Africa, however, many people around the world play it. I bought the djembe because I live in a very small town and a local teacher was offering lessons. I figured that once I learned to drum in a formal kind of way, through lessons, that I could then teach myself the rhythms of the daf.

And I have done this, Alhamdulillah.

But deep down, I always feel a little bit anxious. Why? Because I know that music and musical instruments (other than the daf) are a controversial topic in Islam. Some scholars say that it is all absolutely forbidden. Yet others say that, like anything, it is permissible if it doesn't distract a person from their Islamic duties and if the music doesn't promote the haraam.

I then read an essay on the Internet written by Brother Yusuf Islam (formerly "Cat Stevens") called Music: A Question of Faith or Da'wah. He did so in response to the criticism and controversy that occurred after he returned to the music industry after a long absence. These words stuck out for me:

"Different opinions about music indicate that it is not to be taken as a question of faith ('Aqidah), but is simply a matter of understanding (fiqh)."

I agree with Brother Yusuf. I have really thought about this, talked to Muslims, and most importantly, I have prayed about it. Some of my Muslim sisters think I "rock" because I play drums. Yet others think that I am an open sinner with no shame. Ya Allah. It is truly distressing.

(Me - Drumming With My Teacher For a Children's Class)

So I can understand the trepidations of Brother Jamaluddin.

Insha Allah, the Almighty (swt) will judge us all and forgive us all/Ameen.

Watching the Evening News: A Poem

Surfing

From

Channel

To

Channel

Resenting

The

Renegades

Of

Religion

Foraging

For

Remnants

Of

Feelings

Salvaging

What's

Left

Of

Sanity

Fumbling

To

Find

An

Explanation

Searching

The

Sources

For

Daleel

Seeking

Protection

And

Allah's

Mercy

Copyright © 2008

S. E. Jihad Levine

Reflections: The 3 Most Important Men From My Childhood

(Some reflections on the men of my childhood - part of a piece I recycled from my old blog. Excuse the formatting - Blogger is having a bad day:)

I was born in New York City, but when I was around four years old, my family moved to Chicago. For a short time, I was daddy’s little girl, the apple of his eye. But he only lived with us for a brief 11 years. And during those years, he was gone most of the time on “business” trips. We later learned that he had a secret life that included drugs, crime, and other women. But I was a little girl, and all I knew was that he was “My Daddy”! When he came home, he always had presents for everybody and things felt normal until he left again, and until eventually my mother divorced him.

(My Daddy and I - swimming)

What stands out in my mind about my dad from my childhood is that on at least one occasion he was the neighborhood hero. One hot summer afternoon, our whole family was outside togetherbehind my grandparent’s apartment building. The adults were talking, laughing, smoking cigarettes, and sipping cold drinks. The children were playing over at the building’s playground. The merriment was interrupted by the piercing scream of a woman, from somewhere high up in one of the top floor apartments. As everyone looked up in the direction of the scream, a young man could be seen running down the back steps of the building. Instinctively, my father knew that the man had something to do with the woman’s distress. To my mother’s dismay, my father got up and ran after him. The woman was yelling that she had been robbed by the young man. In broad daylight! Now my mother was really alarmed, afraid that my father would be hurt by the desperate burglar. Someone must have called the police, because they arrived a few minutes later. A search of the area began. They found my father around the corner of the building, holding the man on the ground until the police could come and take control of the situation. When it was all over, my father emerged a hero. Even though my mother continued to nag and scold him the rest of the evening for taking such a risk, she was proud of her husband and I was the envy of all the kids present that day.

His dad, my paternal grandfather also doted on me. I was the first grandchild born to that side of the family (no one minded that I was a girl). We used to visit my grandparents every weekend and it was the highlight of my week. As soon as my parents’ car came to a stop, I climbed out, and raced ahead of my parents, and flew up the few flights of steps to my grandparent’s apartment. Grandma would meet me at the kitchen door with a kiss and she would then turn to greeting my parents. I ran through the apartment searching for Grandpa.

(My Grandpa and I - in the park in New York City)

Sometimes I found him working in his home office. I loved Grandpa’s office, especially when he would let me work in there. As a child, I spent hours in his office, sitting like a grown up on his very own chair, pushing the keys of his adding machine and using up the entire roll of adding machine tape. He would appear in the doorway, looking at me with a stern look on his face, pretending like he was mad at me for using up the whole roll of paper. But I would only smile; I knew he was going to replace the roll and in no time I would happily banging away on the keys again. My Grandpa also had an endless supply of yellow, lined writing tablets. I filled many tablets while visiting at his house – with everything from school homework to practicing my penmanship. Filling up these tablets was my first introduction to writing.

Other times I found him in the bedroom reading. From my grandfather, I received the gift of a passion for reading. My grandparents had two double beds pushed together. They were the kind of beds that had shelves built into the headboards, and they were crammed with books and magazines. Grandpa and I spent entire Sunday afternoons reading together, laying on that giant bed, he on his side, and me on my grandma’s side. I “read” all his books and looked at the pictures in all of his magazines. I especially loved National Geographic. My Grandpa had books, magazines, and newspapers strewn all over the house - even in the bathroom. My favorite bathroom book was Jewish Jokes for the John!

After my parents got divorced, my mother, my brother, and I moved far away from my father and my grandparents to Pennsylvania where my mother’s family lived. There I got to know her father, Grandpaw. He didn’t have an adding machine or writing tablets. I never saw him read a book. In fact, he didn’t even know how to read in English. He didn’t have an office either. But, he did have a shop of sorts.

Located in the corner of the sun porch, nestled behind the table my Grandmaw used for setting the pig’s feet to gel, his shop consisted of a huge watchmaker’s desk. It was a wooden roll top desk, with dozens of little drawers, sections, and compartments. He had a wide array of tools, parts, and an assortment of bottles containing oil and polish. There was also a chair next to his desk so I could sit and keep him company. By day, he worked as a coal miner. At night and on the weekends, he repaired clocks and watches for everyone in the neighborhood. He also fixed cuckoo clocks and music boxes. He worked long hours at that desk, jeweler’s loop in one eye, cigar in one hand, fixing everyone’s time pieces. When he dismantled them, he placed the tiny intricate pieces and screws on the desk, fixed the piece, and then put it all back together again. Although he drank beer while he worked, he never messed up anybody’s watch or clock. I was amazed by all the clocks he had on the shelf. After he fixed a piece, he would put it on the shelf for a day or two, just to make sure it worked properly. It wasn’t unusual for him to have 20 clocks or more and a few music boxes on the shelf at one time. I would wait patiently for the top of the hour to arrive so I could witness the symphony of chimes, rings, and bells. Emerging from the cuckoo clocks was everything from birds and ballerinas, to ladies with brooms sweeping off the clock decks. When I got older, Grandpaw entrusted me with the job of pulling up the chain pulleys on the cuckoo clocks so the cycle could start all over again. How important I felt being Grandpaw’s assistant! When he was finally finished with someone’s repair job, he put it in an envelope or a paper bag. The people would come to the sun porch door to pick up their item. If Grandpaw answered the door, he usually gave them the package without charging them any money. That was how kind my sweet my Grandpaw was. Besides, he enjoyed being a watchmaker. It was his occupation when he lived in Poland. Because he was too kind, Grandmaw took to answering the door and collecting the money when the people came.

When he was finished working, or if he felt we needed a break, we would sneak off to the tavern where he would join his coal miner buddies and other friends from the “old country” for beers and shots. He would perch me next to him, high on a bar stool where I had to lean against the counter to keep from falling off. If we got there around dinner time, the bartender gave me a free fried fish sandwich and french fries. Whenever someone ordered a round for the entire bar, I received a soda. I drank Coca-Cola and ate potato chips until I thought I would bust. His friends also used to buy me Hershey Bars and Baby Ruth candies. Often, I also came away from those jaunts with a pocket full of quarters and dimes that the guys gave me. On a good night, I even got a paper dollar bill or two from one of the miners. Many times we stayed at the tavern well into the evening hours. If I got tired, Grandpaw moved me to a booth, where I watched the TV high up in the corner of the bar. Sometimes I fell asleep. I loved those trips to the tavern even though I knew we would be in trouble with Grandmaw when we got back home.

On one of his trips back from the tavern, when I wasn’t with him, he got hit by a train. He was drunk, but he had the sense to leave his car at the tavern. We figure that he was blinded by the headlight of the oncoming train as he tried to walk across the tracks to come home. Grandmaw and her friends found him in the ditch next to the tracks when they returned from playing bingo. Grandmaw was real mad because she figured that he gotten drunk and passed out there. She and her friends carried him home where they dropped him on the living room floor.

The next day my uncle came over and told Grandmaw that we should take him to the hospital. There he died. I never saw my Grandpaw again until he was lying in a casket at the funeral home. Because the house was full with family staying over during the days before the funeral, I had to sleep in Grandpaw’s single bed. I laid there and cried all night, feeling guilty for not being with him at the tavern the night he got killed.

When Grandpaw wasn’t working or drinking, he liked to garden. I have a picture of him standing near his garden, holding a kitten in his arms. It’s my favorite picture of him.

(My Grandpaw and Grandmaw in their garden in Pennsylvania)

Harry was my mother’s second husband, my step-father. Harry came into our lives, stepped up to the plate, and assumed the role that my own father had willingly thrown away. My mother never had to work outside of the home after she married him. When my father stopped supporting us, it was Harry who took care of us.

(My step-dad, Harry)

It was him who took us out of the housing project bought us our very own house to live in. He was there for me during the most important time of my life – adolescence. He taught me how to drive. He had a few extra beers when I practiced the clarinet. He came to the high school football game to watch me perform in the marching band. He took a photograph of my boyfriend and me the night of our prom. He came to my high school graduation. He taught me that being a father is more than writing a child support check. More than a weekly collect telephone call I received from my own dad. More than the occasional letter or card he sent. More than the two-week summer vacation I spent with my own dad. He taught me that fatherhood is steady, consistent, and persistent. He acted as a role model for manhood that my brother chose to ignore. He was there for us until death took him. He had a heart attack on his way to work. After his death, his personal items from the car were given to us. He had a picture of me in his wallet.

It was Father's Day in 2006 when I originally wrote this piece on my old blog. I was thinking, that day, about how wonderful it is that Islam doesn't need to set aside a special day to honor fathers and grandfathers. My father and grandfathers are constantly on my mind. They each, in their own way, enriched my life and gave me numerous gifts that contribute to the person that I am.

Today seemed like a good day to recycle this piece!

Samir and Hawa

These are my cats, Samir and Hawa. They are littermates. The long one, spread out in the foreground is Samir; behind him is his sister.

They were born in Masjid Ikhwa in Brooklyn, New York, and lived in the masjid until they were given to me as a gift. Their mother lives in Masjid Ikhwa. I've had the honor to have had numerous cats as companions in my life, but these guys are special. They're Muslims!

From living in the masjid, they're used to hearing the Adhan. They come running whenever it is called. They wait for the prayer rugs to be spread out and they, too, take their place. When they hear Qu'ran being recited, they curl up contently to listen.

Cats enjoy a special place in Islam. It is well known that the Prophet (saw) was fond of cats. His companion, Abdur-Rahman (ra) was known by the people as Abu Hurayrah, which translates as "father of the kitten" because he, too, often enjoyed and played with cats since his childhood.

There are numerous hadiths about cats:

"Yahya related to me from Malik from Ishaq ibn Abdullah ibn Abi Talha from Humayda bint Abi Ubayda ibn Farwa that her maternal aunt Kabsha bint Kab ibn Malik, who was the wife of the son of Abu Qatada al-Ansari, told her that once Abu Qatada was visiting her and she poured out some water for him to do wudu with. Just then a cat came to drink from it so he tilted the vessel towards it to let it drink. Kabsha continued, "He saw me looking at him and said, 'Are you surprised, daughter of my brother?' I said, 'Yes.' He repled that the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, cats are not impure. They intermingle with you.'" Yahya said that Malik said, "There is no harm in that unless one sees impurities on the cat's mouth." (Malik's Muwatta)

Narrated Asma' bint Abi Bakr: The Prophet once offered the eclipse prayer ... On completion of the prayer, he said, "Paradise became so near to me that if I had dared, I would have plucked one of its bunches for you and Hell became so near to me that I said, 'O my Lord will I be among those people?' Then suddenly I saw a woman and a cat was lacerating her with its claws On inquiring, it was said that the woman had imprisoned the cat till it died of starvation and she neither fed it nor freed it so that it could feed itself." (Sahih Bukhari)

Narrated Jabir ibn Abdullah: "Abu Zubayr quoted the authority of Jabir ibn Abdullah for the statement that the Prophet forbade payment for a dog. Ibn Abdul Malik said: to eat a cat and to enjoy its price." (Sunan Abu Dawud)

I also found some internet references about cats and Islam on some cat websites. One of them quotes a story of a cat who saved the Prophet (saw) from being bitten by a deadly snake. In another tale, the Prophet (saw) had a cat named Muezza. When the Prophet (saw) was called for prayer, the story goes, he saw that Muezza was asleep on the sleeve of his robe. Rather than disturb the cat, the Prophet (saw) cut off the sleeve. When he returned, the cat awoke and bowed gracefully to thank the Prophet (saw) for his consideration. The Prophet (saw) stroked the cat three times. However, I cannot find any valid Islamic references for these tales. If anyone knows of any, please leave a comment with the source!

An Eid Story

(The following is a short story, not a true event - but it fictionalizes a problem so common in many of our Muslims communities, may Allah (swt) forgive us!)

It happened during the Blessed 10 days of Zul-Hijjah. Actually, it was a few days before the Eid ul-Adha when the news of Umm Hafsa’s murder stunned our small Muslim community. There was no question about who did it. She died at the hands of her husband. He admitted it.

Once the details of the murder became known, no one in our little masjid could believe what had occurred. The imam himself went to the city lockup so he could hear it directly from the lips of the jailed husband. But to a group of us sisters who called ourselves close friends of Umm Hafsa, the only surprise was that we hadn’t admitted to each other that Umm Hafsa was being abused and that she needed our help before it was too late. In hindsight, all the signs were there.

On the morning of the janaaza, we agreed to gather early in the women’s area of the masjid. We needed the comfort of each other. A tearful Umm Nadia was sitting alone saying dua when I entered the prayer area.

“Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi rajioon,” she sobbed after rising to greet me. “I feel like I can’t wake up from a nightmare! I heard on the news … that he shot …” The unfinished sentence trailed off as she dug in her purse for a tissue. “And the precious children saw everything … Ya Rabb!” she wailed.

“I know, shhhh,” I murmured as she collapsed into my outstretched arms. Looking over Umm Nadia’s shoulder, I saw Sisters Halima and Amina come in. There was a chorus of as salaamu alaikums as we all embraced each other and cried. After we sat down, we silently supplicated together for Allah to forgive the sins of Umm Hafsa and for Him to prepare her a spacious grave.

“I feel so guilty, may Allah forgive me,” Umm Nadia confessed. “I should have heeded my gut feelings. Her husband seemed so controlling and dominating. I had a bad sense about him from the start. When I saw her with that discolored eye, I believed her when she claimed that the baby had poked her. Then there was the broken arm that she explained away by saying that she tripped over her son’s toy fire truck. Ya Allah … all the excuses.”

“The miscarriage!” Sister Halima exclaimed. “Do you think …?”

Sister Amina related that she had attempted to reach Umm Hafsa by phone for weeks on end to no avail. “I knew she was home. Where else would she be?” she sniffled. “Her husband wouldn’t teach her how to drive or let her go anywhere without him. He was the one who would chauffer her when it was absolutely necessary for her to go out of the house.”

“She used to come to our halaqas once in awhile,” I reminded them. “But he eventually put an end to that. What kind of husband doesn’t want his wife to get together with her sisters to learn about the deen?” I said as I twisted in my seat.

“He was isolating her,” Sister Halima explained. “He wouldn’t even buy a computer for the house so she could use email and instant message. You all know how much she missed her mom and her family overseas. He tried to keep her from everyone as much as he could. But he sure enough had his own Blackberry though.”

“I remember inviting her out to lunch and an afternoon of shopping,” I added. “But she told me that she didn’t have her own money.”

I hung my head and remembered the frustration I felt in trying to nurture my friendship with Umm Hafsa over the last few months. I developed a connection with her the first time I met her at the Eid prayer a year ago. She and her husband had just moved to our community. We had children who were the same ages and she reminded me of my own sister. I drifted off remembering my gentle friend and Muslim sister. Umm Hafsa was a slim woman with warm, kind eyes. She recited surahs with a voice so sweet that it brought tears to my eyes. My lips turned up in a smile as I remember how we used to get together a few days a week with the kids, taking them to the park, going to each other’s homes so the kids could play together, visiting, chatting, and laughing. Then her husband lost his job and he was home most of the time. I did go over to her house once when he was there. I chewed my bottom lip remembering how I could sense that he didn’t want me in his home. So I didn’t stay long that day, and it got more difficult for us to get together after that.

“What?” I said as I awoke from my daydream and realized that Umm Nadia was speaking to me.

“You were talking about money, and I was saying that he wouldn’t allow her to work. I thought it was a shame because she had a university education and really wanted to work as an English teacher. And they could have used the money.”

Sister Halima confided to us that Umm Hafsa had once acknowledged feelings of depression and anxiety. She worried about her husband’s humiliation over being unemployed. “He was always stressed out and spent most of his day barking orders at Umm Hafsa as if he was a drill sergeant. Umm Hafsa was crushed.”

“That’s no excuse,” I replied. “A lot of men lose their jobs and don’t abuse their wives. There was probably a lot going on that we didn’t know about. My point is that his abuse didn’t just happen overnight.”

“You’re right,” Sister Halima admitted. “I think the job loss intensified what was always there. Umm Hafsa was horrified that her husband spanked their son one day just because he dropped juice on the carpet. He had never laid a hand on the boy before that,” she said.

Sister Amina recounted a conversation she had with her own husband. She told him she had suspicions that her friend was being abused and she asked her husband to speak with Umm Hafsa’s husband. Sadly, Sister Amina’s husband said that he didn’t want to interfere with a brother and his family problems.

“A lot of help those brothers are,” Sister Amina complained. Umm Hafsa even resorted to consulting the imam about the situation. She said that she knew a sister who was being abused by her husband, and the sister was seeking naseehah. But the imam’s only counsel to her was to say dua and be patient with her husband. He advised her to trust Allah and assured her that He would soon grant her relief.”

Little did he know …, I mused.

“I think Umm Hafsa’s situation is similar to a problem that is common in many Muslim households,” I said. “But old attitudes and stigmas prevent families from getting help. Most of all, silence destroys Muslim families. Take us, for example. We didn’t acknowledge to each other what we all knew to be true. We resisted the temptation to feed our suspicions. We absolved ourselves by claiming that we were busy with our own homes and jobs. When we didn’t see her or hear from her we told ourselves we would check in with her “tomorrow” but the day never came.”

“What could we have done to help Umm Hafsa?” Umm Nadia asked.

“We should have tried harder to let Umm Hafsa know that she wasn’t alone. We should have found a way to let her know that we knew what was going on. We didn’t encourage her to seek the help that is out there,” I said.

Sister Amina shared with the others that there are domestic violence hotlines that are staffed with professionals and volunteers who know exactly how to help and protect women and children at risk. She told us that the help is free and confidential. Using the hotline presents a woman with choices.

Sister Halima reminded us that domestic violence does not come from the religion of Islam. After all, our dear Prophet, peace upon him, never abused any of his wives, children or grandchildren.

Umm Nadia and I acknowledged that domestic violence is a crime. Silence about domestic violence endangers our Muslim communities.

We sat and reflected on everything that had been said as the women’s section began to fill with other sisters and their children. Each of us promised ourselves that we would never again remain silent when one of our sisters was at risk. We vowed that we would help before another one of our families ended up in tragedy.

Shortly thereafter, the speakers revealed the adjusting of the microphones from upstairs in the men’s area. Umm Nadia, Sister Amina, Sister Halima and I rose and prepared to join the congregation.

The Salat ul Janaaza for Umm Hafsa was about to start.


By S. E. Jihad Levine
© 2008

When in the Masjid

I've been tagged by a wonderful blogger who I just recently have begun to read: Sister Hijabee over at A Hijabee in DC. Although I'm not usually crazy about tags, I am honored to participate in this one:

The Rules:

Link back to the person who tagged you. List 3 ahadith you’d like to pin up in your masjid and why. Tag some of your fellow bloggers by linking to them in your post and don’t forget to post a comment on their blog to let them know they’ve been tagged.

Here goes - the ones I would like to post in the "women's section" of the masjid:

1. Aisha (ra) reported that Asmaa (ra), the daughter of Abu Bakr (ra), entered into the presence of the Messenger of Allaah (saw) wearing thin transparent clothing. So the Messenger of Allaah (saw) turned away from her saying: 'O Asmaa, when a woman reaches the age of menstruation, it is not allowed that any of her should be seen except this' (and he pointed to his face and two hands. (Authentic, reportedby Al-Bayhaqee)

Update: After writing the "why" to this hadith, I decided to come back to my blog and delete the "why". My explanation was too judgmental and had the power to hurt my Muslim sisters, may Allah (swt) forgive me. If you have read it in your feeder, you will understand why. Suffice it to say, that this hadith speaks for itself.


2. 'Abdullah b. Amr b. al-As reported Allah's Messenger (may peace be upon him) as saying: When you hear the Mu'adhdhin, repeat what he says, then invoke a blessing on me, for everyone who invokes a blessing on me will receive ten blessings from Allah; then beg from Allah al-Wasila for me, which is a rank in Paradise fitting for only one of Allah's servants, and I hope that I may be that one. If anyone who asks that I be given the Wasila, he will be assured of my intercession. (Muslim)

You have probably experienced it: a bunch of us happy, laughing, chatting sisters in the "women's section" when the Adhan comes over the loudspeakers from upstairs. Maybe someone says "shh". Some may get up to make wudu. But for the most part, everyone keeps talking and laughing. We are supposed to be repeating the words of the Adhan and then be making dua after.

3. Abu Hurairah states that the Messenger of Allah (saw) said, "It is unbecoming for a Muslim to desert his brother for over three days. Whoever remains seperated for more than three days and dies, shall enter Hell." (Ahmad and Abu Dawood)

This applies to all Muslims. Some sisters act like teenage girls. What fitnah! If you think that a sister has offended you, talk to the sister about it. We are adults. Then, Insha Allah, you can resolve the matter, ask her for forgiveness, and then move on ...

I tag:

American Muslima Writer

Sabiwabi

And anyone else who wants to participate :)

Brenden Foster - Can Muslim Children Learn From Him?

Little Brenden Foster, the boy with leukemia who inspired the world, lost his battle to the disease on Friday, November 21, 2008.

Brenden gained the attention of the entire world when his dying wish was publicized: Brenden wanted to feed the homeless. He was worried that homeless people were going hungry and didn't have enough to eat.

Many people responded to Brenden's dying wish. People mobilized food drives, made sandwiches and took them to the homeless people in the streets, donated money and supplies, etc. Others prayed for the success of Brenden's dying wish. People that heard about Brenden's dying wish did whatever they could to make it come true. And come true it did! Better yet, Brenden lived long enough to see his dream come true.

Oh! And Brenden had another wish! He heard that the bees were dying. He wanted to see wildflowers planted all over the world so that the bees could survive. Brenden knew of the benefits that bees provide to mankind. Brenden earned the nickname of "B-Man" because he was so concerned about the fate of bees!

Again, people responded and one pilot even flew a plane that scattered wildflower seeds over the earth.

The legacy of 11-year old Brenden got me thinking: are there any Muslim Brendens in America? Do you know of any, or have you heard any stories about Muslim boys (or girls!) like Brenden?

What if teachers in Islamic Sunday Schools would encourage their students to start beneficial projects like the ones that Brenden inspired?

What if a special children's sadaqa box was put in every masjid to help to fund the dreams of the children? What if all the parents in the masjid encouraged each of their children to donate just a fraction of their allowance to the special box?

What if parents of Muslim children, for example, would motivate their children to donate some of their toys to children in America who didn't have toys?

A project by Muslim children to benefit ALL children in America. Not just Muslim children. Not just projects "overseas". Think of the goodwill! Think of the dawah! Alhamdulillah!

Better yet: what if we Muslim parents raised our children to be selfless like Brenden was? What if our kids would have a "dream" like Brenden had without us adults having to encourage them or motivate them? Wouldn't it be beautiful if our Muslim children thought up these things all by themselves? Alhamdulillah!

Brenden's mom told news reporters that she felt blessed and humbled to have had Brenden as her child.

Maybe tonight each one of us reading this will sit their kids down and share Brenden's story with them. Who knows? Maybe one of our Muslim kids will be inspired to dream!

Kaafir? Mushrik? Atheist? Polytheist?

Disclaimer: I am not a scholar or a student of knowledge. I am only expressing my thoughts about a topic that has been bothering me for quite some time!

I just hate it when I hear Muslims use the word "kaafir".

Why? Because I think that most Muslims who use the word do not actually know what it really means.

Most Muslims I know use the word to describe a non-Muslim, specifically a Christian or Jewish person. In the prison where I work, I hear this from Muslims all the time: "that kaafir who is my cellie" or "that kaafir guard" etc.

But I ran across something interesting while surfing the Muslim websites recently. It is posted over at Abdur-Rahman's site. It appears to be a question that was answered by Shaykh Saalih al-Fawzaan. The question is: "What is the difference between al-Kaafireen and al-Mushrikeen (i.e., between a Musrik and a Kaafir)." You can read the question/answer in its entirety, but I perked up at the following statement the shaykh made:

"...as for the Kaafir, then he rejects the existence of Allaah the Mighty and Exalted and does not acknowledge Allaah the Mighty and Majestic, and nor does he acknowledge a religion from amongst the religions. This is the rejecting Kaafir."

Hmm ... I am not a scholar or a student of knowledge, but this appears pretty clear to me: the kaafir is an atheist! He does not believe in Allah. Period.

The kaafir, it appears, knowingly rejects the truth. If he has doubts about the truth and the doubts are removed and he still rejects the truth, it appears that he is a kaafir. No doubt about it. He may even tell you so himself!

Do we Muslims KNOW what other people believe or what is in their hearts? Unless they have declared unbelief out of their own mouths, do we have the right to label or call someone a kaafir without having intimate knowledge of this person, how he/she thinks, what he/she believes, what is in their hearts? I would think that only Allah (swt) can judge this person - or any of us for that matter! Especially on the Day of Judgment.

How do we attract people to Allah's (swt) beautiful and perfect religion if we show contempt for them? For the same people who may be our Muslim brother or sister in the future?

Would Allah (swt) permit a Muslim man to marry a kaafir? Astaghfirallah!

"Oh, but Safiyyah," you might say, "it says in the Qur'an that the Jews and Christians are kaafirs." We know, however, that those particular Jews and Christians WERE kaafir because of the very fact that Allah (swt) has told us so in the Qur'an! He has told us! BUT! He has not told us anything about the people of today. He has not let us in on the scoop! Only HE knows. We are not privy. Allahu Alim! The knowledge is with Him. Not us!

2,000-year-old gold earring found in Jerusalem

As a lover of jewelry - especially, gold, pearls, and emeralds, this find really struck at my heart (sigh!).

JERUSALEM – Israeli archaeologists have discovered a 2,000-year-old gold earring beneath a parking lot next to the walls of Jerusalem's old city, the Israel Antiquities Authority said Monday.

Read the full article here.

Should You Be Allowed to Vote?

You Should Be Allowed to Vote
You got 14/15 questions correct.Generally speaking, you're very well informed.If you vote this election, you'll know exactly who (and what) you'll be voting for.You're likely to have strong opinions, and you have the facts to back them up.

The above were my results! How about you? Find out at http://www.blogthings.com/shouldyoubeallowedtovotequiz/:

Letters to a Bullied Girl

I just bought this book the other day. Letters to a Bullied Girl - Messages of Healing and Hope is written by Olivia Gardner, a little girl who was the target of vicious bullying in school. It all started in middle school after Olivia, who has epilepsy, had a seizure in front of the other children at school. The bullying started with name calling, and progressed to Olivia being tormented online by some kids at school who started a website called "Olivia's Haters." Some of the kids even wore "I Hate Olivia" bracelets!

Imagine how poor Olivia must have felt?! She became depressed and withdrawn. She isolated. Olivia even considered taking her own life! Then something unbelievable happened to make Olivia change her mind, and even hope for happiness again. In March of 2007, the local newspaper wrote a story about Olivia's suffering. Two girls who read the story felt Olivia's pain and began a letter-writing campaign called "Olivia's Letters." These letters let Olivia know that she was not alone. They gave her hope and little by little, one day at a time, one letter at a time, Olivia began to heal. Word spread about "Olivia's Letters" and people from all over began to write to Olivia! Some letters were from children and adults who had been bullied, but the bullies themselves also wrote letters to Olivia. Letters to a Bullied Girl - Messages of Healing and Hope contains a selection from over 4,000 letters that Olivia received. Will "Olivia's Letters" become a worldwide movement? The authors of the book and those who support putting an end to bullying hope so! And I agree. So, I'd like to make a contribution to the "movement". I'd like to contribute my letter. Yes. I was a bully when I was a young girl. My bullying also started with name calling. But, it escalated to bullying of the worst kind: violence.

Dear Janet:

Remember me? Sharon, who used to live next door to you when we were children? I think you do remember me, Janet. I don't see how you could ever forget me. Because I was one of the kids who made your life miserable when you were younger.

I know that you were hurt and confused about me being one of the kids in the group who tormented you. After all, we were friendly, and we did play together. That is, until we both went to high school. That's when I started hanging around with a different crowd, a bad crowd, one that included kids who your mother wouldn't let you or your brother hang around. Your mom also wouldn't let you hang around with me.

I remember how we both used to leave our houses at the same time and walk down the same street to wait for the same bus. But we never walked together.

I remember how we used to wait for the bus, me standing with the "crowd" and you standing by yourself.

I remember joining the chorus when they taunted you with, "Janet Hess. You're a mess. Janet Hess. You're a mess. Janet Hess. You're a mess."

But you ignored us. And that made some of us mad. And we decided that we were going to "get" you. We made a plan to jump you the next morning before we all boarded the bus. We decided that one of us would grab you and knock you to the ground right as the bus door opened. We all laughed and patted each other on the back, satisfied with our plan. I was elected to be the one who would grab you when the bus door opened. Then the others would pull you to the ground.

The fateful morning came. It was a very foggy morning and my naturally curly hair frizzed up in the humidity despite my best efforts in the bathroom to tame my curls with a heating iron and hair spray. I was feeling particuarly evil as I walked to the bus with my friends, bragging and talking trash all the way down the road, turning every few steps so I could see you when you left your house. Then I saw you. It was on!

As usual, my friends and I got to the bus stop first. When you arrived about five minutes later, I decided that I wasn't going to wait for the bus to come as originally planned. To the total surprise of my friends, I grabbed you by your coat and smacked you in your face. I then pushed you down and jumped on top of you, pulling your hair, scratching your face, kicking you, and punching you. I remember the feeling of triumph that I felt. My friends were yelling and encouraging me.

When I stopped you were all dirty and you had started to bleed. As you cried and tried to get yourself together, me and my friends were laughing and jumping around, singing, "Janet Hess. She's a mess. Janet Hess. What a mess." ha ha ha ha ha

You ran home.

Janet. I am soooooooo sorry! You didn't deserve any of the abuse I heaped on you when we were kids.

How could I have done such things?

You see, Janet, I had so much anger in me. But that wasn't your fault. I had no right to take it out on you.

I was jealous of you, Janet. Your life seemed so perfect compared to mine. You didn't have a rageful alcoholic mother. I did.

Was it because I thought that you were a witness? I know that your heard all the yelling and screaming coming from my house all those summer evenings through your open bedroom window.

I felt ashamed every time I saw you.

Is that why your mother wouldn't let you come over to our house? Did she think that I wasn't good enough to be friends with you?

I know I'm babbling, Janet, and I know that you probably aren't interested in any apologies from me. But I just had to write this letter. And I hope that you will forgive me.

Peace,


Sharon

Who knows? Maybe Janet will see this blog. One never knows. But the book made me realize that it is never too late to heal or to resolve my memories of bullying. How about you? Were you bullied? Did you bully?

May Allah (swt) forgive me for what I did/Ameen.

Islam's Legacy in Yankee Stadium

(Book Cover From Author Sctt Pitoniak's Book)

As we prepare to witness the demolition of one of New York City's greatest landmarks, the Yankee Stadium, I am reminded of the interfaith service held there after the attacks on 9/11 at the World Trade Center, Washington, and Pennsylvania.

This CNN article mentions the following contribution by Muslims planned by the event organizers:

"The Adhan Call to Prayer will be made by the Muezzin, Brother Abdul Wali Y. Shaheed, translated by Sister Zaimah Sabree and Masjid Malcolm Shabazz of Harlem.

Muslim prayer and reflection then will be offered: a prayer by Imam Fajri Ansari, a prayer by Imam Muhammad Shamsi-Ali and a reflection by Imam Izak-EL M. Pasha, a chaplain of the New York Police Department, with Lt. Sharif Nasef and Officer Adil Almonpaser."

My dear readers: as a Muslim and as a New Yorker in the diaspora, I remember the lump in my throat, the tears in my eyes, and the goose bumps on my arms when I heard the Adhan called in Yankee Stadium. It absolutely blew me away and pride and hope. I knew then that I was witnessing something incredible. Something I would never witness again on such a large scale.

Yankee Stadium seats approximately 57,000 people with room for more if needed. Additionally, the entire global community was able to hear this incredible event as it was broadcasted.

"Verily, from Allah we come and unto Him we shall return."

Thank you, Allah (swt), for ALL of your creation, including the Yankee Stadium/Ameen.

Article: Time To Take Zakat As Seriously As Ramadhan

Here is an excellent article, Masha Allah, about Zakat.

I felt joy to know that it is the fiqh of Zakat that it be distributed LOCALLY first! Too much zakat goes overseas or back home at the expense of needly local Muslims and organizations.

Yes, I know that those overseas or back home are in need, too. But people: can't we spread it around a bit?! I think it is sinful that many local Muslims have been forced to go to non-Muslim agencies for help because they have been turned away or turned down by local Muslims and local masjids in America.

May Allah (swt) help us all and return us to the ways of our pious predecessors/Ameen.

7th Anniversary of 9/11

May Allah (swt), As-Salaam, Source of all Peace, have mercy on our country and on victims of violence everywhere it exists/Ameen.