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Salah is My Real Life

The Muslim who has been given true hikmah (wisdom) is the one who rushes his life to get back to his salah, instead of rushing his salah to get back to his 'life'.

If you want to live a truly fulfilling and mature life, expand your real life, expand your real world; the moments you spend inside salah. This dunya (worldly life) is a useless dream world, and the moments we spend inside salah are our only waking moments, the only ones that are real, that remain, that matter. So what kind of insane person ignores reality and gives priority to empty and futile moments of sleep?


These thoughts were inspired by these beautiful and eye-opening quotes by two beloved teachers:

If you ever find yourself rushing through salat to make it to another engagement, it’s time to reorganize your priorities. [Yasir Qadhi]
If you don’t try to wake up for Fajr, there is really no benefit in you waking up at all. [Yasir Qadhi]
Strive for the Hereafter according to how long you shall remain there, and strive for this world according to how long you shall remain here. [Yasir Qadhi]
On that Day, we will see the true reality. On that Day, we will realize that two rak`at (units) of prayer were greater than everything in the heavens and the earth. We will realize the priceless check that was left on our doorstep every night as we slept. There will come a day when we would give up everything under the sky just to come back and pray those two rak`at. [Yasmin Mogahed]
Salah is something we squeeze into our day, when we find time—if that. Our ‘lives’ don’t revolve around salah. Salah revolves around our ‘lives.’ If we’re in class, salah is an afterthought. If we’re at the mall, the Macy’s sale is more urgent. Something is seriously wrong when we put aside the very purpose of our existence in order to watch a basketball game. [Yasmin Mogahed]
Reflecting upon this incident scholars have explained that the process of going from fifty to five was a deliberate one, intended to teach us the true place salah should hold in our lives. Imagine for a moment actually praying fifty times a day. Would we be able to do anything else but pray? No. And that’s the point. What greater way than that to illustrate our life’s true purpose? As if to say, salah is our real life; all the rest that we fill our day with…just motions. [Yasmin Mogahed]

Fast Fear

“Mama, it’s not bad, please,” reassures Abdurrahman. He’s come early from office, and is sitting on the living room carpet. Ibrahim and Amna are busy building with two large stacks of legos on either side of him.

I scarcely hear my mother-in-law’s voice, but Abdurrahman has been trying to reassure her for at least 10 minutes. I meanwhile am sitting at the kitchen table, desperately trying to catch up on my own work. Time is fleeting, especially during Ramadan, and I have fallen far behind. Also, the children’s long summer holiday, while wonderfully ‘free’, leaves little time for anything else.

What follows is an excerpt from the 10th chapter in the sequel to ‘A Qur’aanic Odyssey: Towards Juz Amma’, published by Greenbird Books in April 2012. The sequel, 'Ya-Sin' narrates the family’s ongoing journey through the Qur’aan with a focus on Surah Ya Sin, the surah they set out to learn following completion of Juz Amma. Although each of the chapters are connected, each one may be read as a stand-alone text.

“Mama, it was his decision. We didn’t force him,” I hear Abdurrahman say, his own voice rising slightly. Ibrahim picks up his head, sensing that he is the subject of conversation.

“May I speak to Nonna, again?” asks Ibrahim, sticking out his hand toward his father, as if to take the phone.

“No,” says Abdurrahman, more sternly than one would have expected. Ibrahim in turn shoots a look of hurt and confusion at his father, who is visibly struggling.

“Mama, I think we should speak later, per favore,” says Abdurrahman, obviously trying to exit now and avoid any further conflict, with either mother or son.

“Papa, I really want to speak to Nonna. I need to explain to her that I wanted to fast and that you didn’t force me, and that Sabir was doing it, and that Yaseen was doing it and I thought…” Ibrahim rambles on.

“Ok, bambino, here she is,” says Abdurrahman, finally relenting, and passing the phone to his son.

“Nonna, Nonna, did you hear me?” asks Ibrahim to his grandmother.

I have dropped my work, and also am listening, keenly.

“Nonna, I’m ok, really, I’m ok. It’s actually been pretty fun. I wish you were going to be here when I break my fast tonight. I think you might even be proud of me,” says Ibrahim, smiling, and looking back at his father and then over at me, in the kitchen.

There is a long pause. Nonna appears to be speaking, but is inaudible. Ibrahim changes his expression several times, listening intently.

“Well, I may take a break tomorrow,” he finally says to his grandmother. “But honestly, I feel like I could fast for the rest of Ramadan.”

I cringe slightly at his last statement, hoping that my mother-in-law will not grow increasingly anxious. Abdurrahman and I exchange glances.

“But I won’t, not this year,” continues Ibrahim. “Maybe next year, I’ll try half, and maybe you could even…”

Nonna appears to cut him off, as again he is listening hard.

Bambino,” Abdurrahman finally says. “How about you pass the phone to your sister so she can greet her grandmother, and then I think we need to move toward iftar preparation?”

“But Nonna says she might do one fast with me next year, provided she gets to drink water,” responds Ibrahim, putting his hand over the receiver. “I said that I don’t make the rules, but if she wants to, she’s always welcome.”

MashaAllah, very encouraging,” Abdurrahman responds. “Now, how about it, Amna do you want to speak to your grandmother?”

“Yes, after I build tractor,” she responds, fixated on her legos.

“Well, how about before the tractor?” says Abdurrahman. “Your grandmother is heading out to the theater, and I think you’ve got a very limited window, Ms. Amna.”

“Window?” says Amna, picking up her head, finally.

“Yes, the window of opportunity, and the door, for that matter, are about to close. The tractor might even stop running, so quickly let’s talk to Nonna and then finish up,” encourages Abdurrahman.

“Nonna,” says Amna, taking the phone from Abdurrahman. “I miss you, but I’m making you Otis,” she adds.

Abdurrahman looks quizzically at his daughter.

“Remember, Oh-tis,” she then says, slowly, looking at her father, but still speaking into the receiver.

Again, a pause. Nonna’s voice is unintelligible.

“So I love my birthday Otis, and I love you, and so I make you Otis,” Amna finally concludes, passing the phone back to her father. [1]

“Mama, I didn’t quite follow that last bit, until the end, when Amna mentioned her birthday gift, but bottom line, you have a room full of people here who love you a lot, tractor or no tractor, fast or no fast, and wish they could all jump in your pocket and accompany you to see The Tempest tonight,” says Abdurrahman.[2]“ I really wish you weren’t so far away; per favore, consider another visit after Ramadan,” he adds, lowering his head and his voice, then finally, “addio.”[3]

I watch Abdurrahman. The children also have their gaze on him. I sometimes wonder about all the different worlds he juggles. I can’t quite imagine a conversation with my mother, trying to explain or justify my son’s fast, then segueing effortlessly into a Shakespearean comedy.

“Papa,” says Ibrahim, slowly to his father. “I’m sorry I mentioned my fast to Nonna at the beginning.”

Bambino, nothing to be sorry about. She was concerned about you. Most of my colleagues at work are concerned about me too, and do you know that your Uncle Geo nearly had a panic attack the first time I told him I was fasting. I think it’s hard for someone who doesn’t do Ramadan to fully understand. And remember what I told you about mothers on Sunday,” responds Abdurrahman.

“Mamas were made to worry,” says Ibrahim, quoting his father, exactly.

“Hey, I take issue with that,” I finally pipe in, putting my papers to rest, and walking over from the kitchen. “We were not made to worry. You all simply give us too much to worry about. I think that Nani and Nonna would both agree with me on this one….now, what time is it?” I ask Ibrahim.

“I’ve got two hours to go, Ammi,” says Ibrahim, looking down at the watch that Abdurrahman lent him today, and then stretching and leaning back against his father. “I’m starting to feel like I could use another nap, or a glass of water, or a…”

“A distraction, bambino, that’s all you need,” says Abdurrahman, standing up and pulling his son into his arms. “You and I have a tree to climb and one surah to review before we start preparing iftar and celebrate your first fast.”

“Papa, I don’t have the energy,” says Ibrahim, making his body go limp.

“You do, bambino, you really do. Your mother has kept you under such close watch today, from what I’ve heard, that you must have tons of energy in reserve, just waiting to climb trees.”

“Papa, I really don’t think I can,” responds Ibrahim.

Janu, please don’t force him; he’s never done anything like this before,” I say, looking at Ibrahim with concern. “Why don’t you simply let him rest here on the couch until iftar?” I propose to Abdurrahman.

“Because I know my son. Give us a minute and don’t worry, I won’t cause him any harm,” responds Abdurrahman, starting to walk towards the backdoor with Ibrahim now slung over his shoulder. His navy tie, twisted around, rests on top of Ibrahim’s back, and his office shirt has come un-tucked, but there is still a slight aura of formalism, which seems in stark contrast to the tree climbing activity.

Amna gets up, not wanting to be excluded. “I climb trees,” she says.

“Yes, bilcul baita, but maybe not now,” I caution.

“Bhai jaan climb trees,” Amna adds.

“Preferably not right now,” I repeat. Meanwhile, Abdurrahman and Ibrahim have exited. I follow suit, genuinely concerned about Ibrahim, and not fully trusting Abdurrahman’s judgment of his son at this point. By the time Amna and I reach them, they have already made their way to the third branch of our backyard tree, which is half the size of the one in the park, but still prodigious.

“So I can climb, but I can’t recite right now,” I hear Ibrahim say to his father.

“Why not?” responds Abdurrahman.

“Climbing is easy, reciting is hard, especially when you’re fasting,” says Ibrahim. “My brain wasn’t very clear today, but Ammi said I could take a break and just listen to all my surahs and draw pictures of the ayaat like I used to do in the old days.”[4]

“Nice mom, and soft teacher today,” says Abdurrahman, who sees me approach. Then switching gears into our characters, he says, “So, Lieutenant Laila, apparently Captain Kashif is taking a break from any serious work, today?”

“He’s doing just fine, mashaAllah,” I respond, not playing along, and taking a minute to readjust my dupatta around my neck. “But I would really like for him to come down Abdurrahman. I don’t think he’s up for this right now. You know he could faint up there.”

Amna meanwhile is trying to climb up on the lower branch.

“Ammi, I’m really ok, up here. Papa’s holding my hand. And we’re just going to hang out on this branch, but I think I’m going to park Ya Sin for another day, unless Papa just wants to recite to me.”

“You’ve got a pass on Ya Sin until tomorrow, but promise, no higher,” I say, looking up at both of them.[5]

“Promise, Lieutenant,” says Abdurrahman. “Now, why don’t you leave Amna with me and grab this moment to finish some of your own work. You’ve got a little too much on your plate right now, especially taking into consideration Bihar,” he adds.

“Ammi, we’re all ok,” says Ibrahim, gesturing at the small quorum of tree climbers.

“Ok, but only for 30 minutes,” I respond. “Then, I’m coming to get you all. I need your help in the kitchen if we’re really going to prepare an iftar party for our master faster.”

“Master faster,” repeats Amna enthusiastically, who hangs upside down now on the first branch.

“Yes, master faster,” I respond, looking at our son, who seems to have grown up a lot today.[6]

[1] Otis (Long 2009). See also Otis and the Tornado (2011). Both books tell a wonderful story of friendship and loyalty. Although only snippets of the conversation are audible, we may deduce that Nonna has given Amna Otis for her recent birthday.

[2] The Tempest by William Shakespeare c.1610.

[3] The Qur’aan is replete with references to respecting and honoring ones parents, including Surah Al Isra (17:23), “Thy Lord hath decreed that ye worship none but Him, and that ye be kind to parents. Whether one or both of them attain old age in thy life, say not to them a word of contempt, nor repel them, but address them in terms of honour,” (Abdullah Yusuf Ali 1989, p.680). In the case of Abdurrahman’s reversion to Islam, this ayah has particular significance, namely worshiping Allah and simultaneously honoring his non-Muslim mother. In the commentary, Abdullah Yusuf Ali goes on to write, “The kindness to parents is an individual act of piety [worship],” with no reference to the faith of the parents (n.2204, p.680).

[4] In Chapter 3, ‘Sirat al Mustaqeem’, as they are working on Surah Al Fatihah, Abdurrahman asked the children to draw how they envision ‘sirat al mustaqeem’; drawing is among the activities in which the children engage throughout A Qur’aanic Odyssey, Towards Juz Amma to enhance their hifdh experience (pp.7-9). In terms of Ibrahim’s specific comment about his ‘brain not being very clear today,’ this is often a normal sensation experienced on the first day of fasting as the body adjusts, however, most Muslims report a heightened awareness and sense of iman throughout the holy month of Ramadan.

[5] ‘Checklists and Saint Francis’, Chapter 20, narrates how Ibrahim took several weeks to complete the hifdh of Surah Al Bayyinah. Although at times, Khadija has exerted more pressure, the predominant theme and approach has been slow and steady, “Remember what Papa told you that night when we were working on Surah Al Fil: your hifdh is not for me, or him, it’s for Allah Subhanahu wa-ta‘ala and also for you; it’s like your own treasure map for this world, and inshaa Allah you will find lots of treasures as you make your way through it. Do you know that the Qur’aan was revealed to Prophet Muhemmed, Salla Allahu ‘alayhi wa sallam over 23 years…” (A Qur’aanic Odyssey, Towards Juz Amma, p.69).

[6] Children are not required to complete the fasts of Ramadan until adolescence, however, most children opt to fast earlier due to the communal experience. Parents are also encouraged to introduce fasts gradually, including half-day fasts with younger children, so they may experience the sawm. See also footnote 7 from Chapter 1, ‘The End’, which emphasizes the spiritual nature of the fast, which is also reinforced throughout Chapter 2 of Ya Sin Odyssey. Among other resources, the author recommends the Ramadan Memory Book by Umm Ibrahim (Talibidden Jr) as a wonderful outlet for recording and animating fasts (and Ramadan in general) for young children. Also recommended is Fatimah’s First Fast Day available via Mini Mu’min Publications.

Allahu Akbar

The most ignored part of salah is probably the allahu akbar we say after every motion. It has become a word that we keep repeating over and over again, more than a hundred times a day during salah, and yet we have no idea what it means or what it signifies. It comes from our tongues and never from our hearts.

Next time you make salah focus on putting meaning into these beautiful words. Allahu akbar, God is the Greatest! Allahu akbar and Allah is the most important thing in my life. Allahu akbar and nothing else matters compared to Him. Allahu akbar and to Him I belong and to Him I will return.

These words, said with feeling, with heart, with meaning, can put a new life into your prayers.

A Du`a for Lailatul Qadr

Ya Allah please teach me, teach me the ways of getting closer to You, and block me from everything that would distance me from You.

Heart-Touching Recitation of Surat at-Tin

At The Masjid

“It’s my turn,” says Amna, dropping herself into my lap, then adding, “bhai jaan, move.”

“It’s still my turn,” counters Ibrahim, who is sitting cross-legged in front of me, on the light brown carpet.

“Amna, how about we share the time? Let bhai jaan finish up his work and then you can start, ok?” I ask her gently, not wanting to lose the momentum with Ibrahim, who is working on Yā Sīn and longer surahs from Juz Amma this afternoon.

What follows is an excerpt from the 9th chapter in the sequel to ‘A Qur’aanic Odyssey: Towards Juz Amma’, published by Greenbird Books in April 2012. The sequel, 'Ya-Sin' narrates the family’s ongoing journey through the Qur’aan with a focus on Surah Ya Sin, the surah they set out to learn following completion of Juz Amma. Although each of the chapters are connected, each one may be read as a stand-alone text.

“I’m first,” says Amna, pointing at herself for emphasis, and starting to raise her voice. Her pink hijab rests loosely around her head, albeit upside down so the seam is on the top rather than at the nape of the neck. She insisted on fitting it herself. Meanwhile her coloring books are strewn around us together with countless crayons—a diversion which did not last long.

“No, I’m first,” responds Ibrahim, “and I’m also older and stronger, and I could…”

Before he says or does anything more, I say, “freeze, everyone.” There is an older woman who is sitting in the far right corner of the mosque reciting quietly who looks up. She appears to be wearing a long blue abaya and blue and white patterned scarf. It is not clear that she understands my discipline technique, but she seems relatively unfazed and carries on with her recitation.

“Amna is not being fair,” says Ibrahim, gritting his teeth, but trying to whisper.

“Bhai jaan is not being fairer,” is Amna’s rebuttal.

“I said ‘freeze’,” I repeat, quietly. “Now Amna, please let your brother continue. Look here, you still need to color the giraffe’s neck,” I add picking up one coloring book. “Otherwise he is going to be very sad, and you don’t want a sad, half-green giraffe do you?”

“Yes,” responds Amna. “My turn,” she repeats.

“Fine,” says Ibrahim, turning abruptly, and pulling away from us. “I won’t review then, and it’s all your fault.” He is speaking to his sister, but I also feel as though he’s directing his comment to me since I am not able to divert her.

Baita, give me a minute to settle her and then we’ll continue, ok?” I say looking tenderly at Ibrahim, who now looks like he is pouting. Meanwhile, he has placed his Qur’aan back on the small wooden stand that he took down earlier from the mosque’s bookshelf and has started twiddling his thumbs.

“My turn,” says Amna, triumphantly.

“Briefly,” I say. “Ok, where’s your qaida?”

Amna looks around. Other than the coloring books, I have placed all the other books we brought on a second Qur’aan stand, at my side.

“Here,” she says, picking up the blue covered book, which, while somewhat tattered, has lasted us over two years.[1]

“That is actually mine,” says Ibrahim, somewhat at a distance, still sulking. “Sabir gave it to me.”

“No it’s mine,” responds Amna.

“Ok, please open the book,” I say, trying to move beyond what feels like a constant struggle between the children.

Amna follows my instruction and has soon flipped to the page with the entire Arabic alphabet.

Aliph,” I say.

Aliph,” she repeats.

Aliph,” I say again, pointing to the first letter. We have been doing this exercise for several weeks now, since her third birthday, and have progressed through the first four letters.

“You know I could do that,” says Ibrahim, who continues to sit at a distance.

Baita, of course you could; you learned this two years ago,” I respond.

“No, I mean, I could teach Amna that,” he clarifies.

“I thought you were at war,” I say, somewhat off the cuff.

“No, we’re friends, she just doesn’t understand boundaries,” offers an adult Ibrahim. “Really, I could do that,” he says emphatically, now approaching us.

“It’s mine,” says Amna.

“Yes, baita, it’s yours for now,” I say to Amna.

“Ammi, watch this,” says Ibrahim. “Amna, say ‘Baa’.” Ibrahim opens his mouth slowly, pronouncing the second letter in the alphabet.

Baa,” repeats Amna.

“Now, say it again,” says Ibrahim.

Baa,” repeats Amna.

“Ok, now say, ‘Aliph, Baa’,” says Ibrahim.

Alipha, Baa, Taa,” says Amna, anticipating the next letter.

MashaAllah,” I say, not knowing how long this will work but appreciating the cease fire and collaboration.

“See Ammi. I’m really good at this job,” says Ibrahim, confidently. Then continuing, “maybe some of this could count for my review of Yā Sīn and Juz Amma, like…I could trade one Amna lesson for two long surahs.”

“Ibrahim, we need to review Surah Al Mutaffifīn. Do you realize that it’s been almost a week since we worked on this one? And we’re slipping on Yā Sīn. We still haven’t finished ayah 12 for today.”[2] [3]

“Ammi, remember what you said, ‘one ayah at a time’ and ‘no due date’,” says Ibrahim, looking at me right in the eyes as though I’ve gone back on a promise. “We were going to take it slow, Yā Sīn is just too long.”

Yā Sīn too long,” mimics Amna.

“No, not ‘Yā Sīn too long, ‘Yā Sīn is too long,” corrects Ibrahim. “So Ammi, can I trade?” persists Ibrahim.

Baita, you’re doing a great job with Amna, now, and you’re right, Yā Sīn is long, but you’ve been making remarkable progress. I just thought that we might be able to finish it before Eid, but maybe that’s asking too much.  We can put the pause button on Yā Sīn for a little while, however, I’m not going to relent on review.  Allah Subhanahu wa-ta‘ala has entrusted us with these surahs, and we need to take care of them, just as we would take care of, and protect a valuable jewel. And remember Hafidha Rabia is also going to want to hear how well you have taken care of all of them, after Ramadaninshaa Allah.”

“I don’t want to,” says Ibrahim, defiantly, adopting more of Amna’s tone.

I was not expecting this, not here, not now. I anticipated a swift lesson, due to the change of scenery, in the mosque, and some distraction from Amna, but not Ibrahim’s resistance. I look around, again, spotting the older woman. For a minute, I wish a young boy would walk in and start reciting so that I could point to him, as a potential role model.

“Do you want to listen to Mutaffifīn?” I ask, trying to come at it, at a slightly different angle.

“No, I want to teach Amna, up to the letter geem,” he responds.

MashaAllah baita, that’s wonderful, but I also want to teach you to complete your cycle of review,” I say.

“I’ll use it at magreb,” suggests Ibrahim finally giving in a little.

“Out loud?” I say, referencing a technique that we use to help review our surahs.

“Well, what if Papa leads us in prayers…” says Ibrahim.

“Then you may not be able to recite Surah Al Mutaffifīn at all,” I respond, wondering how we are going to close the loop.

“I’ll do it,” says Amna, unexpectedly.

“Do what?” asks Ibrahim.

“The surah,” she says.

“You can’t do Surah Al Mutaffifīn, you’re a baby,” counters Ibrahim, who’s now acting as though he doesn’t want to be upstaged by his three-year-old sister.

“I can, and I’m not baby,” responds Amna, adamantly.

“I think I am simply going to do Surah Al Mutaffifīn and anyone who wants to join me is welcome to,” I say, giving in. Although the mosque is air conditioned, at this time every afternoon, during Ramadan, my energy level tends to dip, reminding me that I am definitely still a mother-in-training.

“I’m doing it,” insists Amna.

“No, it’s my turn,” says Ibrahim, then continuing he adds, “Waylul-lil- mutaffifīn, allatheena ithak talou alan-nasi yastawfoun….”[4]

Amna contributes her variation of the third verse, which is sufficiently recognizable for Ibrahim to carry on with the fourth. Hearing the children recite, the older woman picks up her head again and looks over at us, witnessing the surah. She smiles, deeply, and I smile back, finally grateful for her presence.

[1] Part one, of the two part Qur’aanic primer series, Towards Reading the Qur’an, has a blue cover. Generally students of Qur’aan may take between six months and one year to understand the Arabic alphabet and basic tajweed rules before starting on the Qur’aan, however, it depends largely on the age, aptitude and interest of the student. See footnote 3, Chapter 7, ‘Qur’aan Contract,’ (p.25) and footnote 3, Chapter 17, ‘Surah Work, Leaf Blowing and Amna’s Ikhlas,’ (p.60) in A Qur’aanic Odyssey, Towards Juz Amma.

[2] Ibrahim first tackled Surah Al Mutaffifīn in Chapter 35, ‘Water, Again’, of A Qur’aanic Odyssey, Towards Juz Amma (pp.134-138). Prior to that, in Chapter 27, ‘Reunions and Understanding,’ Khadija was working on her hifdh of thissurah (pp.96-99). In both instances the characters expressed that this was a particularly challenging surah, which has one refrain that repeats as well as several similar ayaat. The hifdh note on page 138 of A Qur’aanic Odysseyattempts to provide some techniques for how to overcome these challenges.

[3] Ayah 12 of Surah Yā Sīn is translated as follows, “Verily We shall give life to the dead, and We record that which they sent before and that which they leave behind, and of all thing have We taken account in a clear Book (of evidence),” (Abdullah Yusuf Ali 1989, p. 1119). The commentary explains that the initial reference is to the ‘hereafter’, i.e. give life to the dead (ibid). Thereafter he explains, “Our deeds, good and bad, go to Allah’s Judgement Seat before us. They will of course be brought to our account; but our account will also be swelled by the example we left behind us and the consequences of our deeds, that will come into play or continue to operate after our earthly life had ceased. Our moral and spiritual responsibility is therefore much wider than as affects our own person,” (ibid).

[4] Ayaat one and two of Surah Al Mutaffifin are translated as, “Woe to those that deal in fraud-, Those who, when they have to receive by measure from men, exact full measure,” (Abdullah Yusuf Ali 1989, p.1616). The third and fourthayaat, subsequently referenced, are translated as, “But when they have to give by measure or weight to men give less than due, Do they not think that they will be called to account,” (ibid).


Taqwa is the full knowledge that at any moment of your life Allah can transfer you in an instant to the depths of the Hellfire, or the highest places of Paradise. It is both a feeling of insecurity in this life and hope, knowing that the life of this world is an illusion that can disappear at any moment. That it is not real. That at any moment Allah can unplug our world, He can shut down the illusion of dunya, and this life of this world that seems so real right now will clear away like smoke and we will find that we have been right in front of Allah all our lives, we just couldn't see it. We were ignorant. We were deluded. We were asleep.

On Generosity

The more we think of money the less generous we become, while the more we think of Allah the more generous we become.

What do you think more about?

On the Need for Allah

You need Allah the most exactly at those moments when you feel you need Him the least.

Muslim and proud?

Pride is a disease in the heart. May Allah give you humility.
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