Daliah Merzaban2013-05-25T18:36:37-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/author/index.php?author=daliah-merzabanCopyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc.HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Daliah MerzabanGood old fashioned elbow grease.10 Ways to Maintain Ramadan's Spiritual Momentumtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.17606072012-08-15T08:26:50-04:002012-10-15T05:12:02-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
As we refrain from food and drink, which can become luxuries we unconsciously take for granted, greater time is spent in quiet concentration, reflection and prayer to God in an effort to de-clutter our minds and revitalize our faith. Since the entire month centers on expressions of worship, namely fasting, prayer, dispensing charity and better guiding our emotions, Ramadan offers a kind of spiritual reboot that helps us "force quit" the numerous complications that muddle our minds. It invites Muslims to re-visit the source of their faith by sidelining various distractions and clearing up as much spiritual space as possible to nourish our relationship with the Almighty.
Islam is Arabic for Submission, or Complete Devotion, to God and can only be achieved through a human's free will. It embodies a state of mind whereby consciousness of God, or Allah in Arabic, guides all of our actions. We integrate different acts of worship into everything we do, such that expressions of remembrance and gratitude to God become the goal of each activity. Submission places in a human's grasp peace of mind. It offers a level of understanding that positions human experience within the greater design of existence; where all realities have divine input and purpose.
For most of my life, I was only anywhere near achieving this state of mind during the 30 days of the Holy Month of Ramadan. While I loved and believed in God, during the other 10 months of the Islamic year, my thoughts would turn to Him only at times of distress and I did very little to express gratitude.
A couple of years ago, I realized that my general avoidance of God was contradictory as it's not possible to be partially faithful, so I endeavored to nurture my bond with Him. In the process, I found the best way to achieve this was to carry aspects of Ramadan with me throughout the year.
During this auspicious month, we're reminded of the tools to honor God throughout the year. Rather than reboot one time a year, consistent maintenance is good practice for the spirit and contributes to the productivity of our spiritual operating systems beyond Ramadan. Below I describe 10 ways I keep the spirit of Islam's holiest month turned on all year long.
Worshippers gather at a mosque in Malaysia
1. Praying on time, all the time
From the busier-than-usual prayer rooms and mosques, it is clear that Muslims spend more time praying during Ramadan than other times of the year. Regular prayer is the single-best way to continually renew my relationship with God, and keep consciousness of Him at the center of my attention at all times. Islam ordains five prayers each day on believers, spanning from the crack of dawn until the dark of the night. Like everyone, I work and run errands, meet friends and family, cook, clean, shop and travel. But five times each day, like clockwork, I pull myself away from whatever activity I am doing to kneel in devotion to God in prayer. It is comforting to have this consistency in my life; it takes the sting out of a bad day and reminds me to be grateful on a good day.
2. Fasting regularly
The benefits of fasting regularly are applicable throughout the year, not only during Ramadan. The act of fasting for spiritual prowess makes us more conscious, not just of food habits but of how we think, behave and interact through out the day. That consciousness of consumption encourages patience and carries through to how we communicate and handle our daily interactions and mishaps. I strive to fast from dawn to dusk at least one time each week on Mondays or Thursdays, a practice rooted in Prophetic teachings.
3. Giving generously
Other than zakat, an obligatory act of dedicating 2.5 percent of our assets each year to charity and often dispersed during Ramadan, I offer voluntary alms known as sadaqah, virtually every month. Charity is mentioned in lockstep with prayer throughout the Quran, which calls on believers to do both "regularly." There are endless online charities and many people in need in our communities. Giving to these causes privately and publicly is both a valuable practice in paying it forward and immensely rewarding on a personal level. Each time I give, I imagine that the wealth I am distributing first passes through the Hand of God. This helps me give with greater humility.
4. Reading from the Book
During Ramadan, it is favorable to read Islam's holy book from cover to cover. For the rest of the year, many of us may spend hours each week reading articles on politics, science, human rights or business, and peruse fiction and non-fiction books with fervor, while our copies of the Quran are left to gather dust. Translated as The Recitation in English, the Quran charts out the path individuals should take to strive toward eternal peace and escape the spectacles of modern life. These lessons that are always applicable so I try to read the Quran four times a year at least, which is feasible if I spend time quiet time reading it every few nights and on the weekends. Each time I read the holy book's 114 chapters I take new and different points of wisdom from it.
5. Embracing family time
Ramadan draws families together as we meet for the meal to break the fast, known as Iftar, and gather in the early morning hours for the pre-fasting meal, Suhoor. Besides worshiping and loving God, Islam teaches that very little is more important than consistently acting toward one's parents with respect and warmth. There is a Hadith, or saying of the Last Prophet, may God bless him and grant him peace, that describes how "Heaven lies at the feet of your mother." Well, my mother loves my foot massages, so I often joke that if Heaven lies there, imagine the reward I may get for massaging those feet. Remembering our bonds of kinship, and honoring them throughout the year in our unique ways, will always draw us nearer to God and gain His mercy.
6. Remembering to remember
If we are to be Muslim -- that is, to be conscious of God at all times -- we should be thinking of Him throughout the day, not just at prayer times. It's easier to do this during Ramadan, but takes more of an effort at other times of the year. Zikr expresses the idea of "remembrance of God" through repeated recitation of supplications, or dua. There are phrases that I recite routinely throughout the day which help me quietly focus on my invocations and remembrance. At several points in the day I will say, in Arabic, a supplication that translates as: "Oh God, I ask You for Heaven, and the word and work which bring us to it. I take refuge with you from Hell, and the word and work which bring us to it." Such supplications bring me peace of mind and certainty that my actions will, with God's will, be rightly guided.
7. Attending communal prayers
In Islam, it is up to each individual to form and solidify her/his relationship with God without an intermediary. Much of what we do to nurture the bond is, therefore, inherently personal and private. One of the beauties of Ramadan is the communal feeling of sharing the process of fasting and worship with the entire community of believers. It's possible to replicate this throughout the year by attending Friday prayers at our neighborhood mosques. There's beauty inherent in bowing down in worship with rows of other believers. It reminds us of our intrinsic equality -- no matter our wealth, social status or academic achievements, all worshipers stand side by side performing the same action. We're all on the same path and will all be returned to the same Creator in the end.
8. Putting patience into practice
Ramadan helps us hone our patience because, by refraining from consumption throughout the day, we learn the benefit of refraining from gratifying each of our desires in the moment. One of the greatest consequences of embracing Islam for me has been discovering the patience that's inherent in the state of mind. By internalizing the idea that every step we take is exactly as God destines, and accepting that we don't always know what chain of events would be best for us, I've learned to become more patient at all times of the year.
9. Enjoying nature
Spending time in nature is a great way to keep remembrance of God at the heart of our spiritual practice throughout the year. The perfect balance of nature is described superbly in the Quran, which teaches that by watching, reflecting on and understanding nature, we can gain certainty of God's signs and be receptive to His message to humanity. By spending time each week outside of the concrete buildings we so often find ourselves locked in, we can marvel at the miracles of nature only God could have created, whether by listening to the drops of rain that enable vegetation to grow, traversing vast sand dunes in the desert, sailing on the open seas or just walking in the park.
10. Feeling compassion
Don't let the corporate world and the challenges that life throws your way make you hard of heart. Don't let them siphon your compassion and courtesy. Being kind to family, friends, colleagues and strangers; being honest, loyal and sincere in our conduct; keeping promises; responding to e-mails and messages promptly and with equal courtesy -- all of these good deeds will be rewarded by Our Beloved, who multiplies the rewards we receive for the good we do not just during Ramadan, but all year round.
"Do you not see how God compares a good word to a good tree? Its root is firm and its branches are in the sky, it yields its fruit each season with its Lord's permission -- God makes such comparisons for people in order that they may take heed. But an evil word is like an evil tree torn out of the earth; it has no foothold." --Quran, Abraham, 14: 24-26]]>In Loving Memory of My Fathertag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.16693922012-07-18T08:06:28-04:002012-09-17T05:12:07-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
A walk along the pathway in the early morning isn't particularly elaborate; its beauty is much more unassuming and steeped in nostalgia. The gravel path glides along an untrimmed shoreline of marshes, scattered clusters of wildflowers and trees both drooped and willowy. A backdrop of sounds combine the crunch of the gravel, singing birds, lapping waves, the occasional seaplane landing and the imbued silence and freshness of the open air. On the river's edge, one may find a man sitting on one of the rocks or wooden logs resting against the slanted cliff of the waterbody, his fishing rod dunked into the freshwater in hopes of catching a Pacific salmon, trout or flounder. A family of ducks, meanwhile, may be gliding its way across the water nearby.
An elderly couple may be standing at the edge of the riverbank, performing Tai Chi as the water behind them stretches out into the Pacific Ocean in the distance. When the skies are clear, as they often are in July, it can be difficult to distinguish the horizon where the blue of the ocean ends and the sky begins. The couple will remain intently engaged in their martial art as residents pass by, alone or in pairs, jogging, walking or cycling across the multi-kilometre trail that stretches much of the length of the city. Almost everyone is ready to greet with a friendly "good morning."
This winding ecological trail is evidently teeming with life, and yet across the length of it are reminders about death embedded on a sequence of wooden benches situated all along the pathway, overlooking the waterfront.
Positioned a few metres apart, the benches allow passersby to pause, relax and take in the serene surroundings -- and each one is adorned with a plaque dedicated to someone who has passed away. The tributes that engrave the plaques often begin with the phrase "In loving memory," with the name of the deceased and the years they were alive etched below the inscription.
A short dedication to commemorate the late person's life will follow, sometimes including a unique message that only the person's family members would be able to fully decipher and appreciate. The messages often contain universal reminders of how precious time we spend with our loved ones is -- and how we can never know when and how death will inevitably divide us.
I sat on one of these benches this week for a short break after a brisk several-kilometre walk, pausing before retracing my footsteps back home. My thoughts turned to my late father, God bless his soul. It will be two years since he passed away on the second day of the holy month of Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting, which begins this month. He often enjoyed sitting on these benches and I wondered if he had perhaps sat in the same spot several years before, gazing at the river as I was on that morning.
His death was sudden, leaving me no opportunity to change aspects of our relationship that were not entirely functional, or address snags in our communication that I had put off trying to rectify, expecting I would have years to do so. When he died, I sensed that all of his time in this world, the years leading up to the moment he was no longer accessible, was equal a millisecond -- one that I could never retrieve.
"Every soul is certain to taste death: We test you all through the bad and the good, and to Us you will all return." --Quran 21:35
We often shirk at reminders of death in our daily lives. We race through life as though we are racing down this trail and while we may see the benches, we rush past them, ignoring what is written on the plaques. Perhaps we regard the messages they hold as offering glimpses into someone else's life, and although we may know our own mortality we do not truly apply this certainty to ourselves. That is, until someone dear to us dies.
"Remember much, that which cuts off pleasure: Death," reads one Hadith, or saying of the Last Prophet, Muhammad, God bless him and grant him peace. "Since no one remembers it in times of difficulty, except that things are made easy for him, nor mentions it at times of ease, except that the affairs become constricted for him."
The more I uncover layers of my spirituality and surrender to God in Islam, a state of mind where one lives in submission to the Almighty, the more I ponder death more regularly. It isn't that I fear or dread it. Rather, it's the awareness that death can happen at any time and at any age, and we shouldn't take our time in this life for granted.
Remembering death more frequently has helped me live a better, more-fulfilled life. It enables me to keep my struggles, triumphs and challenges in perspective. I remember to treasure loved ones, and treat others kindly and respectfully at all times. I'm less likely to hold a grudge for long, and more likely to apologise quickly if I feel I've said a cruel word.
Amassing wealth, hoarding possessions, worrying excessively about the future become unreasonable waste of time, while praying, giving charity, spending time with family and friends, and striving always to say kind words and do good deeds take the focus of my energy.
For the remainder of my summer holiday, I hope to continue to savor my morning walks in the fresh summer air. As I embrace the vibrant illustrations of life in the nature around me, I'll also be aware that all along the pathway are reminders of how near, present and certain death is.
Rather than rush by as we often do, it can be worthwhile from time to time to slow the pace of our steps, take a seat on one of these benches and read the inscription that adorns it. Often we'll discover that the insight we can draw from a stranger's experience is very intimately applicable our lives, as well.
"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die"
In loving memory of Jack Littlewood
1919-1997
]]>The Limits of Unlimited Communicationtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.16375662012-07-02T17:44:30-04:002012-09-01T05:12:12-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
Perhaps because I exert more effort to find and compose the right words within the language, I sense that any note I write is infused with more heart than the language I use unconsciously. I'm always eager not to make grammatical errors, and yet even though I inevitably do, I'm satisfied with the beautiful cursive sentences I've scrolled onto the sheet of paper before me.
Making efforts to learn what is ultimately my mother tongue has caused me to reflect with both sadness and disappointment at how greatly my native English handwriting skills have deteriorated over the years. I predominately use computers and smart phones with predictive text to jot down any thought in English, so whenever I actually have to write something onto paper I'm appalled at how messy my handwriting has become. I type faster now in English than I'll ever be able to write, a consequence of the fact that most of my daily correspondences are done using some form of technology.
Strictly speaking, technological advancements should improve our ability to communicate with each other. "Social-networking" tools such as Facebook or LinkedIn and instant message applications like WhatsApp, iMessage, BlackBerry Messenger and Skype are supposed to make communication easier and simpler. While they do in many instances -- connecting people in different time zones and continents with virtually no effort at all -- I sometimes sense interpersonal communication has deteriorated. The flavour of both oral and written communication, and our excitement and appreciation for it as a form of human connection, has dissolved into a series of screens, abbreviated words and buttons.
Messages and e-mails are rarely returned promptly, and when they are returned, the replies often lack equal courtesy. Phone calls are very often rushed and frosty. Even in person, we risk being aloof because our attention is periodically drawn away from the conversation to our iPhones, BlackBerrys, Androids and other animated "smart" devices.
The more we connect with the medium of communication, the less we connect with people on a personal level behind the screens or even across the table. In the workplace, I spend countless hours each day glued to a computer screen. While people may surround me, we rarely have a moment to pull our attention away from the multiple screens in front of us and engage in a conversation.
Drawn together, these factors often overwhelm me with the sense of disconnection that results from being "connected." Being someone who thrives on, and ultimately needs, thoughtful communication with those around me -- be they family members, friends or colleagues -- I find this trend troubling.
I tend to be very responsive and engaged in everything from Facebook status updates to long telephone conversations or deep, meaningful chats over tea. Generally speaking, I'll respond quickly to e-mails, messages and phone calls, even when I am busy, except for the rare times that I simply forget. When that happens, the moment I remember I feel culpable and reply at the earliest convenience, beginning with profuse and honest apologies for the delay in responding.
Being thoughtful and prompt in communicating with others is, for me, a basic courtesy and, in the words of the Last Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, "humility and courtesy are acts of piety."
Yet I often regard my innate desire to communicate effectively as a drawback in modern-day life because, in spite of the fact that we have so very many tools at our fingertips to keep in touch, our communication skills leave much to be desired. Rather than communicate more, I often try to restrain myself from conveying my thoughts and emotions as much as I would like.
The time I've spent lately with a pencil in hand and a sheet of paper has reminded me of the need to bring back more sincere, courteous communication into my life. At its core, communicating well is about good manners that we should all strive toward achieving. Our politeness and consideration when dealing with others are, after all, important ways of expressing faith.
"When you are greeted by anyone, respond with a better greeting, or at least return it," advises the Holy Quran (4:86). "God takes account of all things."]]>Lost Letterstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.14187752012-04-12T16:30:56-04:002012-06-12T05:12:01-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
This was one of the only activities that could draw my mom away from her rigorous daily routine of managing every family affair and caring for three daughters with boundless dedication. Taking the time to write letters was a rare respite for our supermom. She would become immersed in her thoughts and intently focus on the blank sheets in front of her, as well as the multi-paged letter she'd received in the mail a day or two prior and was then replying to.
For more than an hour, swiftly and with ease, she would craft page after page of prose, pouring onto the paper the multitude of thoughts and feelings that she had stored in a crevice of her mind for the months, if not more than a year, since the last time she sat down to write to one of her sisters.
Most of my childhood years were spent on Canada's prairies and the West Coast bordering the Pacific Ocean. This situated my mom literally a world apart from her sisters, who hadn't strayed from their childhood home on Egypt's coastline along the Suez Canal and Mediterranean Sea.
Long-distance phone calls, costly and impractical, were reserved for religious holidays such as Eid al-Fitr, the celebration marking the end of Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting. These infrequent conversations would end as quickly as they started. My mom was constrained to giving her siblings short and impersonal greetings in the 10 minutes or less they had of airtime.
Meanwhile, our family trips to Egypt were few and far between, a stretch of several years separating each visit. When mom did get together with her sisters, we (her daughters) would suddenly cease to exist. They would seclude themselves in the bedroom or balcony for hours of gossip, uproarious laughter and heartfelt embraces.
In the lifetime separating these scarce encounters, it was indeed only the long, lovely letters that bridged the distance between my mom and her sisters. Mom would become visibly excited when the mailman would drop off a red-and-blue airmail envelope, the front adorned with Egyptian postal stamps and her name written in messy English cursive.
She never shared what she wrote in her letters, nor about the responses she received from our aunts. I always imagined my mom expressed herself with passion and emotion, especially given how rare her communications were with her family. She would wait patiently for months to receive word from her home country. These letters were a mechanism to articulate all of the ideas and sentiments she'd kept bottled in.
It's been many years since I last saw my mom write a letter. With modern technology, chatting and video calls have narrowed the divide between her and her siblings and offered a new channel of communication.
Yet I've always admired the art of writing letters, and yearned to receive and write my own magnificent hand-written notes, crammed with the thoughts we may not express in words in our daily lives, even if they form an integral part of how we feel about our loved ones.
I recently opened an email account for my mom and taught her how to compose messages to my sisters and I so we could stay in touch while she is traveling. In the first few days, I would have her practice sending me messages while I was at work and she was home in my apartment.
It became clear very quickly that mom's emails carried a special quality, far removed from the mundane messages I'm used to receiving. The passion with which she wrote shocked me. Her opening greetings were thoughtful and dear, and she expressed herself earnestly and sincerely, as though the words she typed came straight from that crevice in her mind where she stored those innermost feelings reserved only for letters, not daily expression. I choked back tears on more than one occasion, as did my sisters.
"Mom writes emails like people used to write letters," my younger sister quite aptly said upon receiving her own lovely electronic letter from our mom.
My mom has never had an email account, or access to a Facebook "Like" button that gives us the option to avoid sharing even basic feelings. She isn't on Twitter condensing her emotions to 140 characters or less, nor does she use WhatsApp, on which it can sometimes take a day to relay a thought that a phone conversation could have accomplished in less than two minutes.
I have, quite inadvertently, found myself getting a glimpse of what it must have been like to be at the receiving end of one of my mom's long letters. Rather than a ballpoint pen and loose-leaf paper, she has a compose button and a keyboard. Her animated style is untainted by the world of electronic expression that has in many ways made the way we communicate inexpressive and dull.
Each day now I look forward to my mom's short and sweet notes, and hope I'll be able to share my own sentiments with even a fraction of the luminous color that she does.]]>I'll Remember, Insha'Allahtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.13728672012-03-30T11:12:01-04:002012-05-30T05:12:01-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
That is, until I got into a small car accident less than 10 minutes later.
As I waited to turn right at an intersection not far from my apartment, the car behind me abruptly drove into the rear of my small hatchback, suddenly jolting me forward and setting back my initial plans.
I pulled over to the curb just beyond the intersection to assess the damage and the profusely apologetic young woman in the car behind me called the police so that we could file a traffic accident report. Once I knew officers were on the way, I called the dentist to reschedule the appointment for another day. My plans for the morning were swiftly unwritten and rather than visit the dentist, I took the police report to my insurance office to file a claim instead.
As the morning rush of traffic hurried passed, I thanked God quietly that the accident hadn't been more serious. As I did so, I realised that not once the night before and earlier that morning had I said insha'Allah, the Arabic phrase meaning 'God Willing' or 'If God so Wills,' when discussing my ill-fated plan to visit the dentist that morning.
The main reason for Muslims to say insha'Allah is to recognise that an event in the future will happen only if God wills it. So when I say "I'll go to the dentist this morning before work, insha'Allah," I am acknowledging that what I intend to do cannot be fully guaranteed. I concede to the presence of God in my daily life, and His ultimate control over the coordination and course of the minute and substantial happenings of my life.
It is quite easy to forget to say insha'Allah in our everyday lives, partly because the phrase has strayed so far from its intended meaning in popular usage. Insha'Allah has in many cases become a slang way of avoiding commitment to anything. Especially when a person is too cowardly to say "no," s/he will instead say insha'Allah in order to brush aside the reality: that they do not intend to do a thing, but can't be bothered to be upfront about it.
In many modern contexts, Muslims and non-Muslims frown upon the use of insha'Allah because it carries with it the meaning that what someone is promising or intending is not reliable, always leaving the door open for escape.
This is quite paradoxical for me because growing up, I was taught that when I say insha'Allah, I am obligated before God to follow through with my word, save for some unforeseen circumstance beyond my control. By saying the phrase, I am giving my word that I will do what I say, unless God makes the event impossible to fulfil due to some unexpected event, such as the accident I was in the other morning.
Two meanings for this phrase, poles apart in their implications, have thus transpired. One very beautifully encapsulates Islam, a state of mind where a person lives in submission to God and respects the time and commitments s/he makes. The other, void of consciousness of God, gives a person a false sense of absolute control over their lives. It is easy to overlook how fragile the progress of our lives actually is. As an ocean has an unstoppable current guiding the movement of things beyond our daily comprehension, it would be egotistical to think that one single person has control over a force that guides the flow of their lives.
Facing the latter meaning in my daily life has led me to, in many cases, refrain from saying insha'Allah, even though I use it with the former intention. Having my schedule shaken up from time to time is always a good reminder of the importance of remembering to say the phrase, regardless.
In the banality of our daily routines, we often get the sense that we have control over the events of our days; that we can do and have anything we want. But the reality is we can never know what the future holds for us. All of our plans, ambitions and goals, indeed every step we take, are at God's will.
"Never say of anything, 'I shall certainly do this tomorrow,' without adding, 'if God so wills.' Remember your Lord whenever you forget and say, 'I trust my Lord will guide me to that which is even nearer to the right path than this.'"
(Quran, 18:23-4)
]]>Dilemmas of a Muslim Shoppertag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.12280922012-01-29T08:45:46-05:002012-03-30T05:12:01-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
This is especially so because in the past two to three years, I managed to work toward having financial freedom for the first time. I can now afford to buy nice things for myself and my loved ones while sustaining a comfortable standard of living, building my rainy-day savings and giving charity more generously than I used to.
Reaching this stage took a great deal of hard work and patience. Growing up, money was often too tight to warrant excessive spending on material goods. My mom taught me and my sisters to steer clear of living beyond our means, and to find a balance between spending wisely and being generous while avoiding stinginess. Apart from the mortgage we took for our family home, I've never incurred debts. This meant I had to stay away from elaborate electronics and fancy fashion labels, as well as opt to work rather than pursue a Master's degree I couldn't afford.
Quite naturally, with my newfound financial freedom, I do splurge a bit more than I used to. This has been rewarding not least because I know that it is due to my own hard work and sacrifice that I found myself at this stage.
And yet, there I was with a few bags of new possessions and I couldn't help but feel guilty and, as much as I loath to admit it, greedy. While that isn't an adjective I would generally use to describe myself, there are moments when I become so focussed on self-fulfilment that it is difficult to decipher what I really need from what I buy/consume/collect out of sheer indulgence. It is so easy to fall into the trap of consumerism and spend wastefully on things we do not really need, an idea that is known in Arabic as Israf.
Living in Islam, which refers to a state of mind where the believer surrenders to God, places a great deal of responsibility on our shoulders over how we handle our finances. We are called upon as Muslims to avoid extravagance, promote welfare and encourage fairness in our families and communities. As with all aspects of life, this is accomplished through moderation, with God instructing us in the Quran to "be neither miserly, nor so open-handed that you suffer reproach and become destitute." (17:29)
Just one look at my closet teeming with clothes makes me realise how tough it is to strike the right balance. While the wealth we accumulate is a grace from God, it is also a test to see how we will manage, distribute and respect it. The more I earn, the more I am willing to spend to improve the quality of my life because I regard the wealth in my possession as a sign of God's mercy. Yet it is crucial to always be aware that it is up to us to ensure that we set boundaries that we do not cross.
Giving charity regularly is one way to keep the balance in check. Charity, one of the pillars of being a Muslim, is mentioned in the Quran often in the same breath as prayer. Each time I read the Quran I become conscious that the responsibility of giving alms is much greater than simply offering zakat, the obligatory act of giving 2.5 percent of our savings to those less fortunate, one time each year.
Charity is preceded by the word "regular" in virtually all references in the Holy Book, which defines a righteous person as one who "practices regular prayer and gives regular charity". Since as Muslims we pray five times a day, surely charity should be something we incorporate in our everyday lives rather than relegate to once a year, knowing that what we give will be replenished in material and spiritual ways.
"Be mindful of God as best you can; and listen and obey; and spend in charity: it is for your own good. Those who guard themselves against their own greed will surely prosper. If you give a good loan to God, He will multiply it for you and forgive you for God is appreciative and forbearing."
(Quran 65: 16-17)
When I read the above excerpt, the idea of "guarding myself against my own greed" resonates quite powerfully. It is a human tendency to revert to selfishness, which necessitates that we be aware of how and on what we are spending our money. Following my shopping spree last week, I went to bed with a sense of greediness eating away at me. I resolved to donate charity in the morning.
Once we have the intention to give alms, it becomes very easy to find opportunities to give, whether it be through established charities online or to those in need in our communities. I decided to dedicate at least a third of what I had spent on my new possessions to different charitable causes, and that helped offset the sting of self-indulgence. My hope is that I'll reach the stage where treating myself to something - whether it be clothing, a new car, a vacation - triggers a simultaneous sense of obligation to pass on a generous portion of the blessings I have to others as well.
"The true servants of the Gracious One are those who walk upon the earth with humility and when they are addressed by the ignorant ones, their response is 'peace' ... They are those who are neither extravagant nor niggardly, but keep a balance between the two."
(Quran 25:67)
]]>Relief Around the Corner: Reflections From Circling the Kaabatag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.11701142011-12-29T06:11:25-05:002012-02-28T05:12:02-05:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/umrah, involves as a first step walking seven times around the Kaaba, literally meaning "cube" to describe the approximate shape of the structure whose corners are positioned toward the four points of a compass.
I first visited the Kaaba during Ramadan three years ago. For my entire life, the stone edifice draped in an elaborate black silk- and gold-embroidered cloth, or Kiswah, had seemed accessible only through images in books or the woven depictions of it on velvet prayer rugs. Muslims pray in the direction of the Kaaba regardless of where they are in the world. Always conscious of its importance, I couldn't envisage seeing it before me and praying at its side.
The Kaaba during my first visit to Mecca in 2008
Standing in the hall of the Great Mosque, the Kaaba in immediate view for the first time, moved me to tears instantly. I arrived just after sunrise with my cousin and her son in earnest hopes we could get near enough to the Kaaba for me to lay my hands on this sanctuary that God had first instructed Prophet Abraham and his son Ishmael, peace and blessings upon them, to erect in His honour. Muslims are drawn by the millions to Mecca in Ramadan to perform umrah, which carries the same excellence as the hajj pilgrammage if performed in the course of the month of fasting, according to Prophetic teachings.
The early-morning crowd was enormous and I worried it would be impossible to get near to the Kaaba. Yet we joined the mass trekking around it with relative ease, uttering phrases of appreciation to God, sending good wishes to Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings upon him, and asking God to answer some of our most-pressing prayers. During my first loop around the Kaaba I found myself standing close enough to touch it, and I placed my head on the surface in an awe-inspiring few moments, thankful God had ordained for me to be there.
But walking around the Kaaba wasn't always easy. Every so often our focus would be disrupted as we got caught in an indiscriminate crowd of people of all ages, nationalities and income levels. I was reminded then more than any point in my life that every human, regardless of social condition or gender, is equal before God. Each of us on the same journey, we are simply given different trials to test of our faith.
This congestion would generally form shortly before turning the eastern corner of the Kaaba where the sacred Black Stone is positioned. Participants tend to slow down to swarm around the celestial stone in hopes of touching or kissing it. The Prophet, peace be upon him, said the stone "descended from Paradise whiter than milk but the sins of the sons of Adam (human beings) made it black." Even if you aren't waiting in the haphazard line-ups to touch the stone, it becomes difficult to move or catch a breath attempting to pass that corner.
It can be a tense experience both physically and mentally, giving us no choice other than to patiently focus entirely on our prayers and let the tightened crowd push us forward at its own pace. The obstruction would last for several minutes until all at once, as we passed the corner, the crowd would disperse and we would walk without difficulty again, eyes focused on the Kaaba's immaculate walls and the Quranic inscriptions embroidered in gold on the curtain enveloping it.
Over the course of going the rounds of the Kaaba, the same scenario -- moving with ease and then getting caught in an inevitable jam -- repeated itself several times with apparent exactitude. It struck me before I had finished the seven rounds that walking around the Kaaba was a lot like my journey through life up to that point.
There had always been periods when things were easy followed by times when tensions mounted and I was inundated by pressures exerted by work, family, relationships, illness and grief. These hardships always ended up being temporary stops along the journey and, once I had moved past them their significance proved to be less considerable than I initially perceived. Yet in the heat of the challenge, I became consumed by it because I lost the perspective that relief was around the corner.
Walking around the Kaaba, I was at a vantage point to know that the jams I would get caught in were temporary -- they would end, literally, around the corner. This helped me be patient even when the pressure was greatest. Carrying this understanding through life is more difficult, but my experience at the Kaaba has changed my perception of the sticky situations I get caught in.
It reminds me that whatever may be weighing me down will push me toward some form of resolution or relief. I remember that struggles are part of the journey, and enduring them will make the relief that comes from turning a rough corner more satisfying. I become thankful for times of comfort and, aware that a new struggle is likely to present itself soon, I am more patient when it arises, certain that my journey through life would not be complete without these fluctuations.
Most of us will visit the Kaaba only rarely, if at all, during our lives. Yet if we become conscious of God at each turn -- which is how I define living as a Muslim -- we realise that intervals of struggle and resistance are intrinsically connected to periods of pleasure and ease. Each phase contributes to the understanding and appreciation of the other, and our condition throughout is guided by how well we are able to see God in every step.
"So, surely, with every hardship, there is ease.
Surely, with every hardship there is ease."
(Quran, 94: 5-6)
]]>How To Pray Five Times A Day With A Busy Work Scheduletag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.11036622011-11-28T12:33:32-05:002012-01-28T05:12:01-05:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
Working as a news wire journalist, I was often spending upwards of 10 hours a day in the office or at conferences, interviews and meetings, barely able to make time for a lunch break. If I wasn't working, my time was divided between house chores, errands, family and friends, and exercise. I was punctual with everything in my life, except that I was late five times a day.
In my mind, it was not viable to expect that I could wake up before the crack of dawn to pray the early-morning prayer, fajr, otherwise I would be too tired to work effectively later that morning. It also seemed inefficient to interrupt my work meetings to pray duhr, the mid-day prayer, and asr, the afternoon prayer.
Making the sunset prayer maghrib was often a challenge because the window to pray is typically quite short and coincides with the time between finishing work, having dinner and returning home. So, in effect, the only prayer that was feasible for me to pray on time was isha, the evening prayer. For most of my life, thus, I would at best pray all five prayers in the evening, or skip prayers here and there to accommodate my immediate commitments.
Women pray at Prophet's Mosque in Medina, Saudi Arabia, Mandy Merzaban photo
Without realising it, my inconsistency and approach to praying trivialised the principle behind performing prayers throughout the day. I believed in God and loved Him, but on my own terms, not on the terms very clearly set out in the Quran and Prophetic teachings. Yet praying the five daily prayers, at their prescribed times, is the backbone of being a Muslim; we cannot stand upright in our faith without them. It is one of the essential practices that God has called on those who endeavour to live in Islam, a state of existence whereby a human strives to live in submission to God.
When I came to truly understand the importance of prayer, the realisation was both overwhelming and quick. It dawned on me that if I was not fulfilling this precondition, then I really could not claim to be Muslim. Even if I desired to have a solid connection with the Almighty I was not taking the necessary steps to do so. I promptly reoriented my life and it has now been a year and a half that I have not intentionally missed a prayer time, whether I am in the office, mall, grocery store, out with friends or travelling.
Looking back, I see how wrong I was about the impracticality of Islamic prayers, which are succinct and straightforward notwithstanding their resonance. When I moved from trying to fit prayers into my life to fitting my life around my prayer schedule, I instantly removed a great deal of clutter from my daily routine. Since regular prayer promotes emotional consistency and tranquillity, I began to eliminate excess negativity and cut down on unnecessary chitchat, helping me be more focused, productive and patient.
Over a short period of time, what amazed me was how easy and fluid the prayers became. Performing the early-morning prayer actually gave me a burst of energy during the day and, gradually, the prayers that I had initially perceived as cumbersome became an essential facet of my routine. With God's help, I would find ways to make a prayer regardless of the hurdles. While in Canada for the summer, I would often catch duhr prayer in a department store fitting room, with the help of a handy Islamic prayer compass application on my Iphone.
"'Verily the soul becomes accustomed to what you accustom it to.' That is to say: what you at first burden the soul with becomes nature to it in the end."
This is a line drawn from a magnificent book I am in the process of reading by great Islamic thinker Al-Ghazali, entitled "Invocations and Supplications: Book IX of the Revival of Religious Sciences." Al-Ghazali describes a series of formulas, drawn from the Qur'an and Hadith, which we can repeat to help us attain greater proximity to the divine and purify our hearts.
Women gather for prayer outside the Prophet's Mosque in Medina, Mandy Merzaban photo
At each turn in my quest to enrich my faith, I have found that what at first appears difficult becomes easy when performed with sincerity. Soon after I reoriented my life to revolve around prayer, the five prayers felt insufficient in expressing my devotion. I examined Hadith, or the traditions of Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, and discovered there were optional prayers I could add to my routine. Since then, I have not let a day pass without praying them.
To supplement my prayers, I have integrated various zikr, or remembrance and mentioning of God, into my days. Zikr, including repeating such phrases as "la illa ha il Allah" (There is no God but God), habitually draws our attention back to God.
Among the many rich invocations mentioned in Ghazali's book is this one which I have started to incorporate. As we leave our houses each day, if we say "In the name of God" (Bismillah), God will guide us; when we add "I trust in God" (Tawakalt al Allah), God will protect us; and if we conclude with "There is no might or power save with God" (La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah), God will guard us.
I suppose to an outsider, these acts of devotion can appear a bit obsessive, and I have had a couple of people say this to me. Yet it is an obsession with the greatest possible consequences that can improve rather than disintegrate one's disposition. The more time I devote to God, the greater the peace of mind I find filling my life and the more focused I become on what is important -- such as treating my family and friends honourably, working hard in my job, giving charity with compassion and generosity, and maintaining integrity.
Remembering God throughout the day, through prayer and invocation, truly does polish the heart as Hadith teaches; you erase obstructions that would impede faith in its purest form.
"Truly when a man loves a thing, he repeatedly mentions it, and when he repeatedly mentions a thing, even if that may be burdensome, he loves it," writes Ghazali.
]]>Salat al-Istikhara: God's Answer Key for Sound Decision-Makingtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.10649582011-11-07T11:01:58-05:002012-01-07T05:12:01-05:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
Sensing my indecision, my sister replied with only one simple line: "Sometimes, we just have to follow the path God paves for us."
At that, the sequence of thoughts in my head paused for a moment and I found myself at ease. While my mind may wander at times in worry and uncertainty, it always comes back to this very simple lesson: God's will will prevail. Whether we spend time fretting and worrying or not, we will find ourselves both drawn and pushed in directions we perhaps had not expected, and events will unfold exactly as they should.
It is easy to lose sight of this when we are standing at a crossroads, compelled to make important choices that will fundamentally change our lives. They could be decisions on whether to accept a job offer, move ahead with a marriage proposal, relocate, pursue a new business venture, make an investment or buy a home. Very often, these choices are not clear-cut and are weaved in personal sacrifice, loss and gain. Choosing a certain path may seem less desirable than we had expected good decisions would feel, sometimes precarious and fraught with uncertainty.
While weighing the pros and cons of these decisions, we will often do some soul searching and seek advice from family members, friends and colleagues. Yet I have found that as a Muslim, someone who is striving to live in submission to God, it is important not to underestimate the power of turning to the Almighty for guidance in decision-making, big and small.
While using reason and logic in determining what outcome is better for us, we must also involve God in all decisions through careful prayer and supplications. Muslims will often perform a special prayer for guidance, Salat al-Istikhara, to help us reach important decisions. When offering this prayer, we ask God to guide us to the right choice concerning any affair in life.
The prayer requires that I ask God with sincerity if the action I intend to do "is better for my religion and faith, for my life and end, for here (in this world) and the hereafter then make it destined for me and make it easy for me and then add blessings in it, for me."
And alternatively, "if this action is bad for me, bad for my religion and faith, for my life and end, for here (in this world) and the hereafter then turn it away from me and turn me away from it and whatever is better for me, ordain that for me and then make me satisfied with it."
Istikhara prayer is meant to make evident specific choices that resolve our dilemmas and answer our questions in the most-favourable way. In essence, istikhara requests from God the clarity of a situation so that the appropriate choices rise from beneath our distractions and confusion. At the same time, the prayer also requests that wrong decisions be made indisputable through impenetrable obstacles.
Performing istikhara properly means truly leaving the matter to God and withholding our own inclinations and emotions. It is trusting that once we have put forth the proper, earnest effort toward pursuing our goals, then God will make events unfold in the direction that is best for us.
"You may dislike something although it is good for you, or like something although it is bad for you," God informs us in the Holy Quran (2:216) "God knows but you do not know." To truly embrace this idea is quite challenging in practice, because we can find ourselves persuaded that certain situations, scenarios or relationships are the best for us. When they fail to happen or persist we are often dissatisfied, frustrated and feel a sense of loss or neglect.
There have been numerous times in my life when I have been convinced that one option is right for me. Then, within a matter of weeks or months, an entirely different scenario unfolds, sometimes revealing the inconsistencies of my previous disposition. In the end, we cannot fully grasp why one path we are guided toward is better for us than another.
Striving to live in submission demands that we understand and accept that we lack the foresight to know what is good for us at all times. It involves accepting what life deals us, whether our immediate perception of the consequence is positive or negative. I have tried as much as possible to internalize the idea that every step we take is exactly as it was meant to be, although doing so can be difficult indeed.
The right path is certainly not always the easiest but if we follow His cues, we will be certain about the appropriateness of each choice we find ourselves moving toward. When we involve God in each decision, even in the face of a doubtful outcome, we can say Alhamdulillah (Praise to God), trusting that He will guide us to what is best.]]>Martial Arts and the Journey to Islamtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.9831422011-10-02T10:58:53-04:002011-12-02T05:12:04-05:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
But after sitting in on one of my friend Imran's aikido and karate classes at a dojo in the United Arab Emirates last month, the correlations began to unfold before my eyes. The mood was set when, just before starting two hours of rigorous and meticulous training, a number of students and the sensei assembled to pray Islam's sunset prayer, known as maghrib.
Each technique they practised during the sessions that followed was precise, demanding mastery of the subtle movements of leg, arm, hand and back. Students of various backgrounds and faiths exhibited tremendous patience as they repeated these motions, striving to take any tiny step closer to precision of combat technique.
Aikido, which originated in Japan, is typically done in pairs and practitioners learn to defend themselves while protecting their attackers from injury. Karate emphasises hard training and precise movement using a series of punches, kicks, and knee and elbow strikes.
While learning defensive fighting skills is the core purpose of training, interactions between students were remarkably cordial. A deep sense of equality filled the room; no matter how advanced in skill an apprentice, young or old, happened to be, s/he made an effort to enrich the experience of peers. Whether the belts they wore around their waists were black, brown, purple or white, everyone appeared to derive some value from the session.
This was inspiring for me because of the commonalities I saw with Islam. Muslims at varying stages along the spiritual path share a common ambition: to forge an intimate bond with the one Almighty God. Islam embodies an undeviating path to peace of mind, attained by aligning one's physical, mental, financial, family and community affairs to this primary goal, which we should help each other work toward.
For a martial artist, the journey of perfecting technique doesn't end with a black belt, it demands continual dedication and training. Imran told me later than evening, "Karate is like a pot of boiling water, and constant training is the fire that keeps the water boiling," citing wisdom from a prominent karate instructor that can underlie both martial arts and Islamic devotion.
The comment brought to mind the concept of Al Insan Al Kamil in Islamic theology, describing the perfect being who has achieved unity with God in mind, body and soul. Attaining this level of consciousness demands a series of traits, such as steadfastness (istiqamah), self-inventory (muhasabah), improvement (tahsin) and humility -- each honed to perfection.
Such traits are at the heart of martial arts as well, although a practitioner need not be driven, as Imran is, by a desire to please God. There are, furthermore, a few martial arts practices that go against sharia which, for instance, discourages blows to the face and bowing to other human beings.
To bridge gaps inherent in some martial art forms and supplement his training, Imran added an exercise technique known as Senaman Tua, native to his homeland Malaysia, to his martial arts regimen. Most-easily understood as an Islamic form of yoga, Senaman Tua requires that in addition to physical development, students take a journey toward self-realization.
One who trains in Senaman Tua will eventually have all the core skills to learn and master Silat, a martial art practised in Malaysia and Indonesia, rooted in Islam. The goal of each Silat practitioner is to improve their art for the sake of God, explained Mohd Nadzrin bin Abdul Wahab, Imran's Senaman Tua instructor, who has offered Silat training in Malaysia since 2003.
"The basic idea behind silat is softness is strength," said Nadzrin, 34. Based in Kuala Lumpur, Nadzrin was drawn into Silat after seeing how Islam was woven into each lesson of his first guru, Muhammad Radzi Haji Hanafi. "Every other word" he uttered was an Islamic principle, related Nadzrin.
Silat teaches practitioners that they should dedicate their whole self, mind, body and soul to the intention of performing the art for the sake of God in order for the goal to be worthwhile. Apprentices should strive to be truthful, keep promises and act with strong conviction without disrespecting their parents and teachers.
"Every martial technique depends on a preset, pre-thought movement of the human body," explained Nadzrin, who has written extensively on Silat on a series of blogs. "A possible stumbling block to spiritual development is the practitioner's ascribing of his development or prowess to himself... Thus, we are taught in Silat that all gerak (movement) belongs to Allah, The Mover, in every sense of the word."
While certain varieties of Silat became controversial because they deviated from Islam, most Silat styles in Malaysia are sharia-compliant, he said. Some schools, meanwhile, have modified techniques used in other martial arts like aikido and taekwondo to ensure they comply with Islam by, for instance, including bows that do not reach the level of sujud, prostration in Islamic prayer. Silat and Senaman Tua styles are now offered in many countries, including the United States, Europe, South Africa, Canada and Singapore.
Yet Silat on its own is no replacement for a Muslim's intellectual training in religion. It is rare to find instructors who are also qualified religious scholars, which had been commonplace between the 11th-19th centuries, Nadzrin said.
"I have discovered that the only way to learn Islam is to learn Islam directly, not going through the goggles of a martial art. Some martial arts teachers aren't qualified to teach or misrepresent it. However, in martial arts, you get to see the practice of Islam in muamalat (interactions)," he said.
Islam, Arabic for 'submission to God', embodies an entire lifestyle whereby followers integrate acts of worship into everything they do, such that expressions of gratitude to God become the goal of each activity, even beyond the five daily prayers.
In the area of fitness, we are encouraged to live in a healthy, beneficial way, consistently keeping our egos and impulses in check. In one Hadith, Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, advised Muslims: "Teach your children swimming, archery and horse-riding".
Martial arts help people attain these goals, according to Nadzrin, because with proper training they encourage alignment and coordination between mind and body. He said participants gain many benefits, including equilibrium, muscular strength, stamina, cardiovascular maintenance, hormonal balance, improved kinesthesis and their senses become more receptive.
When a Muslim's body is healthy and fit, s/he is better equipped to, for instance, apply greater focus in prayer. In this context, one's pursuit of fitness is not driven by a desire to feed one's vanity and ego by attaining a toned figure or buff muscles, but rather to strengthen one's body to be better able to practise faith.
Reflecting back to Imran's training, I am impressed at how the mastery of combat techniques actually moves martial artists away from negative energies like anger and closer to the serenity inherent to the Islamic state of mind.
"Martial arts teach us awareness," said Imran. "The more we train, the more aware we become. The more aware we become, the less likely we would get involved in a situation of conflict. So ironically, the more we train, the less use we will have for our violent techniques. We attain peace."
Special thank you to Asma Faizal for providing photographs for this article.]]>Encountering the Glory Of God in Naturetag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.9555032011-09-13T19:02:36-04:002011-11-13T05:12:02-05:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
While I have always held some appreciation for the nature around me, one consequence of my endeavour to enrich my relationship with God is that I have become incredibly more receptive to the beauty and divine precision inherent in nature than I was before. Like many people, I tended to take for granted God's pivotal role in creation and directing the flow of events in everyday life. We often attribute the mechanisms of nature to indistinct concepts like Mother Nature, assuming the circle and cycles of life somehow simply exist without reflecting on why they exist.
Before I truly embraced my Islam, an Arabic term meaning submission to God, I perceived faith as something we needed to enter into with eyes closed, without rationale, analysis or intellect. To my surprise as I investigated Islamic teachings more thoroughly, I realised that it was through the acquisition of knowledge and use of reason and logic that certainty of God's existence becomes most palpable.
While reading the Quran I was struck by the number of times God asks us to seek wisdom, use our reason and look at evidence in nature and history in order to grow deeper in faith. In virtually every verse we are called upon to ponder its divine messages. The best of believers are not those who blindly submit, but rather "those who reflect" (45:13), "those who use their reason" (2:164), "those who consider" (13:3), "those who have knowledge" (35:28) and so on.
The perfect balance of nature is described superbly in the Quran, which I read in full for the first time last year. We learn that watching, reflecting on and understanding nature are among the principal ways to gain certainty in God's signs and be receptive to His message to humanity.
Geese flock onto grass field one afternoon in autumn (courtesy of Mandy Merzaban)
There is an order to things in nature: birds glide through the sky and make their homes in trees as ants structure their productive communities on or near the ground. Leaves flutter in the wind, change colour and disintegrate into the ground, and the ground appears stationary until it shakes to remind us of our fragility. The clouds converge and disperse, the rain falls and stops, the sun rises and sets according to a meticulously balanced system that can only be divinely weaved. All of the world's vegetation and animal life are constantly obedient to Him; that is, except for humans, who often lose their connection with Allah, the Arabic word for the Almighty God.
In the creation of the heavens and of the earth; in the alternation of night and day; in the ships that sail the ocean bearing cargoes beneficial to man; in the water which God sends down from the sky and with which he revives the earth after its death, scattering over it all kinds of animals; in the courses of the winds, and in the clouds pressed into service between earth and sky, there are indeed signs for people who use their reason. (Quran 2:164)
People of various faiths who are spiritually in tune with God experience glimpses of the Divine in everything. I recall marvelling to learn that the Quran refers to ants and bees as feminine; science proved that worker ants and bees are female only about ten centuries later. I was amazed further when I came to verses describing how animals are created out of water, bodies of the world's sweet and salt waters are separated with a partition, the sun and the moon glide in orbits, the foetus develops in distinct stages and much more.
Having faith requires that we reflect on what we read in the holy books and in messages relayed by the great prophets. I find it counterintuitive to observe animals, vegetation, weather patterns, human diversity, etc, and assume that they simply exist without having been sprung into being by an Almighty force. Once you gain certainty, you accept that while you may not have all of the answers, research and discovery will uncover God's secrets in nature over time.
About a year ago, research findings based on new computer simulations showed how the parting of the Red Sea, described in the Bible and the Quran, could have been caused by strong winds, enabling Prophet Moses, peace be upon him, to cross with fleeing Israelites before the waters engulfed the Pharaoh's soldiers.
Other discoveries of modern science lend credibility to more routine teachings embedded in holy books and prophetic wisdom.
A friend recently related a Hadith, or saying of the last Prophet, where Muhammad, peace be upon him, advised that if a fly is to touch the surface of your food or drink, you should submerge it completely rather than trying to shoo it away. I was initially repulsed at the thought, until I learned the wisdom behind it. The reason, according to the Prophet, was that, "under one of its wings there is venom and under another there is its antidote."
This Hadith alludes to two things. The first--that flies can carry disease-causing pathogens triggering such ailments as typhoid, cholera, dysentery and tuberculosis--was discovered only centuries after this Hadith. It was only in the late 19th century that germ theory, the idea that microorganisms cause many diseases, became a fundamental tenet of modern medicine.
The second, that flies produce their own antibiotics, has come to light in recent research, such as a widely cited study by bioscientists in Australia this past decade. They hope confirmation of this could lead to better treatment for human infections.
I believe God appeals to our rationality if we are willing to explore and listen to His messages and signs, with an open mind. Discovering my faith has led me to be more receptive to the signs that were under my nose all the time. Now even witnessing something as commonplace as the daily setting of the sun prompts me to utter "Subhan'Allah," an Arabic phrase roughly meaning "Glorious is God."]]>Laylat al-Qadr: The Night of a Thousand Monthstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.9323392011-08-26T07:30:24-04:002011-10-26T05:12:01-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
Laylat al-Qadr, the Night of Power or Destiny, is the climax of the Islamic month of fasting, commemorating the night when Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, received his first divine revelation through the Archangel Gabriel in 610 AD. These revelations continued for more than two decades and form the Quran, meaning 'Recitation' in English, which is a composition of God's message to humanity.
Many Muslims around the world will spend Laylat al-Qadr in prayer and quiet reflection, some secluding themselves in mosques in devotion to God, hoping to seek the unparalleled benefit of a night when sincere worshippers are forgiven all sins and angels descend on earth.
Last year, while visiting Cairo, I strived for the first time to participate in Laylat al-Qadr, most-widely believed to fall on the 27th night of Ramadan, although many scholars concur it could fall on one of the odd-numbered nights of the final 10 days.
Determined not to have the night pass me by, I spent these five odd-numbered nights awake until the break of dawn, in prayer, reading passages from the Quran, offering duaa (supplications) for loved ones, and trying to grasp how one night could hold such immense power. After all, 83.3 years is more than the average human life expectancy for citizens of most countries in the world. How could one night be greater than an entire lifetime?
To begin to comprehend this idea, I turned to the Quran, in which God continually calls on us to regard our perception of time as relative and flexible rather than linear and constant. For instance, the word for 'day' in Arabic is 'youm', which in everyday usage refers to the 24-hour period of a day. But in the Quran, the explanation of youm is broad, referring to long periods of time, eras or epochs of indefinite lengths, rather than a single day measured by the rotation of the earth on its axis.
"A Day with your Lord is like a thousand years of your reckoning," the Quran says in one reference to how humans would grasp the length of a day in the Hereafter. (Quran, 22:47) When God says He "created the heavens and the earth in six days" (7:54), He is referring to six stages of development, rather than six 24-hour days.
Setting aside the ideas of time we have grown comfortable with in everyday life re-arranges how we evaluate the passage of time and helps us begin to grasp the concept of eternity. We realize that while daily living on earth may seem to us to be long, in the end when we reflect back, our time here will appear momentary. Once all is said and done, people will perceive that they had stayed on earth for "a day or part of a day" (23: 112-114) or "not longer than an hour of a day" (10:45), according to the holy book.
Knowing that the journey of life is brief when compared with eternity, spiritually aware Muslims -- those who live in Islam, the Arabic word meaning 'submission' to God -- become more attentive to our actions, seeking to pray, fast, give charity and treat those around us with kindness, respect and justice.
Trying to catch Laylat al-Qadr sincerely is, I presume, about attaining a spiritual connection with God that transcends units of time. For an evening, we have a chance to traverse the world's limitations to where time is incalculable -- where the value in a moment of connection is so unfathomably rich that it surpasses the length of a person's worldly existence.
According to one Hadith, or saying of the last prophet, "whoever establishes prayers on the Night of Power out of sincere faith and hoping to attain God's rewards, then all his past sins will be forgiven". It was on this night that Angel Gabriel asked Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) to 'read'. Being illiterate, Muhammad responded that he could not. After repeating the request and receiving the same response, Angel Gabriel revealed to Muhammad the following verse:
Read! In the name of the Lord, who created:
Created man out of a clot [of blood].
Read! Your Lord is the Most-Bountiful One
Who taught by the pen
Taught man what he did not know.
(Quran 96: 1-5)
What I love about this verse is the emphasis God places on acquiring knowledge in order to understand His miracles. Sometimes this demands that we challenge pre-conceived notions of reality in order to become more receptive to the possibilities of living in submission.
After spending most of my life sleeping through Laylat al-Qadr, last year I tried my best to witness it. In the few months prior, I had made a conscious effort to deepen my connection with God. I discovered that prayer in the early morning prior to fajr, the first of Islam's five daily prayers that takes place before sunrise, can be particularly tranquil and comforting.
In the dark of night before most people are asleep, I am able to clear my thoughts, focus and meditate more than at other times of the day. My daily spiritual routine would be incomplete if I am not awake to hear the call to fajr prayer, which ends with the simple-yet-captivating line, "prayer is better than sleep".
On Laylat al-Qadr, this energy and nearness to God that I get a glimpse of just before fajr is magnified and stretched over an entire night. This is why each year, Muslims will seek the night where worship carries the weight of 1,000 months. Even if we can't fully grasp how this is possible, we have a chance to nurture a formidable connection with God.]]>Zakat: The Wealth of Charitytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.9216432011-08-12T07:01:15-04:002011-10-12T05:12:01-04:00Daliah Merzabanhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/daliah-merzaban/
At one point every year, Muslims are obliged to purify their wealth by calculating 2.5 percent of their assets -- including money in bank accounts, shares, investments, pensions, gold, etc. -- and giving it to those less fortunate.
This is known as zakat, often loosely translated from Arabic as "charity," which should go toward helping orphans and the poor, as well as assisting people in debt, suffering from illness or facing numerous other financial struggles. Zakat, one of the pillars of being Muslim, represents the minimum amount of charity that each individual is obliged to give as a virtuous human being who considers the welfare of others. In this sense, everyone is in a position to pay forward a standard amount of their wealth and everyone is credited for doing so whether affluent or not.
When reading the Quran, the significance of zakat appears to be equal to prayer as an expression of faith. The two are often mentioned simultaneously in the symmetrical rhythm of the Holy Book's verses.
In the past, if I offered a couple hundred dollars each year to charities I felt I was doing enough as a young, middle-class professional, with a number of financial commitments of my own. I did not follow any formula, and when I started to properly calculate zakat, I realised that I tended to give much less than I should.
The 2.5% minimum is a small enough sum not to place a major dent in your savings, but large enough to make a difference. For every $10,000 of your assets, for instance, you should filter out $250 each year to purify this wealth and give it to those in need. So, for every $50,000 you have in savings, the zakat you owe is $1,250. The more wealth you acquire, the greater your responsibility becomes. For someone with $100 million, zakat is at least $2.5 million a year.
To understand the concept of zakat properly, you first must abandon the idea that the money in your bank account belongs to you. All of our money and possessions are temporary and in a sense function as tools of our worldly existence. Each of these tools belongs to God and He has entrusted us with these resources in order to examine how we will distribute, divide and share them.
Once I embraced this concept, I understood why paying zakat is so crucial. It is God's way of ensuring the re-distribution of the wealth He has placed in our possession. It has the ability to balance disparities between people and possessions -- as every single person has equal access to God in all moments, there should be no barrier preventing individual assets that belong to God from flowing between people.
Disparities in wealth distribution occur when too many of us take full ownership of our assets, sometimes taking on unsustainable debts in order to gratify our desires, which can skew the balance out of favour for those less fortunate.
Other than zakat, which is obligatory, people can also offer voluntary alms known as sadaqah. Virtually every month of the past year I've been motivated to give sadaqah to help families struggling in Egypt, Yemen and Libya due to political instability, people devastated by a tsunami in Japan or the heart-breaking famine in Somalia. Embracing Islam has turned on my sensors and me made more aware of my duties toward my community.
Being charitable has also shown me that the proverb "the more you give the more you get" is absolutely true. In the past year, I have given far more charity toward various causes than I did at any point in my life, yet, it has not reduced my wealth in the least. When I calculated my zakat, I was surprised to discover the amount I owe has nearly doubled compared with last year.
Giving generously and with the right intention in no way diminishes your wealth. Your money has greater baraka in it. The Arabic word meaning "blessing," baraka implies that your money goes further; you sense that you waste less and save more. Even though the act of giving seems like a loss of something, the profits somehow find a way back to generous hands.
The parable of those who spend
of their substance in the way of Allah
is that of a grain of corn:
It grows seven ears, and each ear has a hundred grains.
Allah gives manifold increase to whom He pleases;
And Allah cares for all and He knows all things.
(Quran 2:261)
On several occasions, I have read that when we are handing someone charity, it first passes through the Hand of God before it reaches the recipient's hand. I always imagine that when I give, it helps me do it with greater humility. Holding wealth truly is an immense blessing that comes with great responsibility and untold reward when we pass it along.
"By no means shall you attain righteousness, unless you give of that which you love."
(Quran 3:92)
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