From the conversational intimacy of Chat GPT to the highly customized simulations of popular AI Companions such as Character.ai and Replika, millions now engage in private, sustained dialogues with digital entities programmed to simulate empathy, validation, and a seamless presence. While these platforms offer a digital “safe harbor” for those navigating isolation, we must ask: at what cost does “frictionless” intimacy come to the human soul?

The Innate Vulnerability to the Script

Our susceptibility to digital intimacy is not a modern accident, but a biological reality. In the mid-twentieth century, early experiments in computer science demonstrated that humans possess an innate psychological vulnerability to anthropomorphization – the tendency to project a personality, intentions, and consciousness onto simple computer scripts.¹ We are effectively hardwired to perceive a social presence and a “real” relationship even when we are interacting with nothing more than code.²

While these entities are programmed to simulate validation, they represent a steady erosion of the boundary between a tool and a friend. This push for “easy,” conflict-free relationships clashes with the Islamic value of the “moral search”—the hard work of growing our character and keeping our power to make real choices. Because these digital tools lack a real moral compass, they often fail to navigate the ethical and emotional complexities inherent in crises.³

A Tool for Learning vs. a Mirror for the Ego

Interestingly, the Qur’ān itself uses human-like descriptions of Allah , referring to the “Hand of Allah” [Surah Al-Fath: 48;10] or His “Eyes” [Surah Hud: 11;37]. These aren’t meant to define what God looks like, but are a teaching mercy; they make a “complex abstract morality” feel relatable so we can build a personal relationship with our Creator.

However, AI uses these human-like qualities for a very different purpose: to fake a friendship that has no real moral depth. When we treat a machine as a “companion,” we risk ignoring the sacred uniqueness of the human soul (rūh). While God uses these descriptions to pull us toward a higher authority, AI uses them to keep us comfortable in a simulated relationship that doesn’t ask anything of us.

While the story of Mūsa and Khidr [Surah Al-Kahf: 18:65–82] is a powerful example of mentoring, where the student is challenged by a perspective that shatters his own logic – the AI companion offers no such disruption. This interaction is life-changing precisely because it is difficult and pushes us to grow. In contrast, an AI interaction is “frictionless”. It acts as a mirror of the user’s own nafs (ego), and lacks the “otherness” necessary to develop true empathy. In essence, there is no conflict unless you start it, and the AI never pushes you to be a better person. 

The Atrophy of the Heart

“Real empathy and relationship skills involve learning how to handle disagreement and stand up to social pressure.” [PC: Schiba (unsplash)]

Without this independent pressure, our hearts can become weak. If our “growth” only ever reflects our own desires, we aren’t achieving tazkiyah (purification of the soul), but are instead stuck in a loop of telling ourselves what we want to hear.

Conclusion: Returning to the Community of Souls

In our tradition, well-being is more than just feeling “stress-free.” It is the active work of building God-consciousness (taqwa) through the “refining fire” of a real human community. We have to look past the “safe harbor” of a computer screen and return to the suhba (companionship) that truly matters.

To deepen this reflection within your own circles, consider using the following questions to spark a meaningful conversation about the future of our digital and spiritual lives:

Community Reflection Questions

1. In what ways have we started to prefer “frictionless” digital interactions over the “messy” reality of human community?
2. How can we reintroduce the “Khidr-like” disruption in our circles to ensure we aren’t just echoing our own nafs?
3. What practical boundaries can we set to ensure AI remains a tool for utility rather than a substitute for suhba?

Just as the human-like language of the Qur’ān is a bridge to a higher Truth, technology should only be a bridge to human connection, not a substitute for it. True well-being lies in the pursuit of haqq (truth) alongside other souls—a journey that requires a heart, a spirit, and a presence that no computer code can ever replicate.

Related:

– Faith and Algorithms: From an Ethical Framework for Islamic AI to Practical Application

– AI And The Dajjal Consciousness: Why We Need To Value Authentic Islamic Knowledge In An Age Of Convincing Deception

The post Digital Intimacy: AI Companionship And The Erosion Of Authentic Suhba appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

As Ramadan approaches, it is imperative for Muslims to purify their hearts of malice (ḥiqd). At its least harmful, malice diminishes one’s rank in the sight of Allah and obstructs a believer from performing voluntary acts of goodness. At its most severe, malice becomes a deadly spiritual disease associated with idolatry, unbelief, and even the practices of black magic.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ instructed us to approach Ramadan with hearts free of malice, as indicated by his statement:

“On the middle night of Sha’ban, Allah Almighty looks down upon His creation, and He forgives the believers, but He abandons the people of grudges and malice to their malice.”¹ In another narration, the Prophet ﷺ said, “Allah looks down at His creation on the middle night of Sha’ban, and He forgives all of His creatures, except for an idolater or one who harbors hostility (mushāḥin).²” Imam al-Ṣan‘ānī explained that ‘one who harbors hostility’ refers to a person who carries malice in the heart.³

In a related narration, the Messenger of Allah ﷺ issued a grave warning:

“If not one of three evil traits is within someone, then Allah will forgive whatever else as He wills: one who dies without associating any partners with Allah, one who does not follow the way of black magic, and one who does not harbor malice against his brother.”⁴

In other words, a Muslim who deliberately nurtures malice against his brothers or sisters places himself in the company of idolaters and those who seek aid from devils. Malice is so heinous that Allah may withhold forgiveness from one who persists in it. As Imam al-Munāwī observed, “Malice is an evil portent. Its condemnation has been related by the Book and the Sunnah countless times.”⁵

Clearly, the Messenger of Allah ﷺ intended for believers to purify themselves of malice by the middle of Sha‘bān—at least two weeks before the arrival of Ramadan. To that end, we must develop a proper understanding of what malice is, how it undermines fasting, and the means by which it is treated, lest our Ramadan be corrupted from within before it even begins.

Malice: The Root of Evil

Imam Ibn Ḥibbān, who compiled the sayings of the Prophet ﷺ in written form, wrote plainly, “Malice is the root of evil. Whoever harbors evil in his heart will have a bitter plant grow, the taste of which is rage and the fruit of which is regret.⁶” There is no acceptable degree of malice, for the scholars have described it as “one of the mothers of sin.⁷” Unlike anger—which is often dangerous but occasionally righteous—malice is never praiseworthy. It is a weed in the garden of the heart and must be uprooted.

Shaykh Ḥasan al-Fayyūmī, one of the Hadith masters of the 9th century Hijrah, defined malice as “to internalize enmity and hatred.⁸” He explained that it is often described as the desire for revenge, and that its true nature emerges when rage cannot be released—because one is unable to retaliate in the moment—causing it to turn inward, fester, and ultimately transform into malice. In this sense, malice is unresolved anger: a smoldering fury that is retained and nurtured until it erupts in acts of vengeance. The desire for revenge and the pleasure of justified rage are beautified by Satan, yet in reality, they are a silent poison that corrupts the believer from within, masking the virtues of character and even sabotaging one’s fasting in Ramadan.

Malice is not a single spiritual disease, either, but rather a constellation of related sins that take root in the heart. Imam Ibn Ḥajar al-Haytamī listed unjust anger, envy, and malice as a single disease among the major sins.⁹ Further examination of the Hadith commentaries in which malice is mentioned shows that scholars consistently associate it with envy (ḥasad), arrogance (kibr), rancor (ghill), malevolence (ghish), hypocrisy (nifāq), rage (ghayẓ), and lingering grudges (ḍaghāʾin).¹⁰ Indeed, it could be said that ‘all roads lead to malice,’ for it is the central node through which Satan’s whisperings assail the heart. Therefore, purifying the heart of malice disarms the Devil of his most potent of weapons.

Fasting, when observed in accordance with both its outward rules and inward realities, is among the most effective means of treating malice in the heart. The relationship between the two is reciprocal: fasting purifies malice, while malice corrupts fasting. For this reason, the Messenger of Allah ﷺ urged believers to rid themselves of malice at least two weeks before the onset of Ramadan.

Fasting: A Treatment for Malice

“When I forgave and held no malice toward anyone, I relieved my soul of the anxiety of enmity.” Imam al-Shafi’i [PC: Christopher Stites (unsplash)]

When we fast, we deliberately train ourselves to refrain from retaliation and revenge. We cultivate patience, forbearance, and dignified self-restraint in the face of insult, in accordance with the Prophet’s ﷺ instruction, “If someone insults him or seeks to fight him, let him say: ‘Indeed, I am fasting.’¹²” This posture stands in direct opposition to the impulse of malice. Thus, one who truly fasts is actively resisting malice, even if unaware of its formal or academic definition.

In this light, the commentators understood what the Prophet ﷺ meant when he said,

“Shall I tell you what will rid the chest of disturbances? Fasting for three days each month.¹³” Imam al-San’ani explained, “Disturbances in the chest, that is, its malevolence, malice, rage, hypocrisy, or intense anger. This [ridding of disturbance] is due to the benefit of fasting.¹⁴” 

The righteous predecessors likewise linked fasting to the treatment of malice, specifically citing the Prophet’s ﷺ description of Ramadan as “the month of patience.¹⁵” Al-Ḥārith al-Hamdānī, may Allah have mercy on him, said, “Fasting the month of patience—Ramadan—and fasting three days each month removes disorders within the chest.” Mujāhid similarly said, “It removes agitation within the chest.” When asked what agitation in the chest is, he replied, “His malevolence.¹⁶” Imam Ibn Baṭṭāl clarified this linguistic connection, explaining, “Agitation in the chest refers to the inflammation of malice and its burning within the heart.¹⁷”

If malice is the node around which Satan gathers his weapons, then patience is the virtue through which Allah dispenses His cures—such as mercy (raḥmah) and sincere goodwill (naṣīḥah).

Healing from the Disease

Malice is a malignant disease at all times of the year, not only during Ramadan, and its cure is not confined to fasting alone. Imam Ibn Qudāmah, citing the great Imam al-Ghazālī, teaches that the general remedy for diseases of the heart is to compel oneself to act in opposition to them.¹⁸ Thus, if a Muslim feels inclined to curse another person, he should instead force himself to pray for that person’s guidance and well-being—however distasteful this may feel to the heart. As Imam al-Ghazālī observed, such remedies are “very bitter to the heart, yet benefit lies in bitter medicine.¹⁹”

Building upon this insight, Shaykh Ṣāliḥ ibn al-Ḥumayd, one of the Imams of al-Masjid al-Ḥarām in Mecca, offers the following counsel:

Whoever is afflicted with the disease of malice must compel himself to behave toward the one he resents in a manner opposite to what his malice demands—replacing censure with praise and arrogance with humility. He should place himself in the other’s position and remember that he himself loves to be treated with gentleness and affection; thus, let him treat others in the same way.²⁰

Such, then, is your mission this Ramadan: to enter the month with a heart purified of malice, and to emerge from it fortified against this disease ever taking root again. Strive to place yourself in the position of those you resent, so that you may regard them with empathy and incline your heart toward forgiveness. If nothing else, keep the words of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ ever before your eyes, “Whoever would love to be delivered from Hellfire and admitted into Paradise, let him meet his end with faith in Allah and the Last Day, and let him treat people as he would love to be treated.²¹”

Success comes from Allah , and Allah knows best.

Related:

• Using Ramadan To Forgive Those Who Have Hurt Us In The Past
• Purification Of The Self: A Journey That Begins From The Outside-In

The post Starting Shaban, Train Yourself To Head Into Ramadan Without Malice appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A Companion In The Grave 

This devotion to reading Surah al-Mulk is new, and something I’m doing solely for myself. Some random lady at a masjid wearing a niqab told me that reading it every night will make it a companion in my grave that will save me from being punished.¹ That sounds like a hack I’m willing to believe in and implement.       

The fear of the punishment of Hell is supposed to be a great motivator for Muslims; otherwise, why would it be mentioned in the Quran in horrifying detail? But when I hear about the punishments of Hell, I don’t break a sweat. Sorry…Hell? It’s just too abstract and theoretical to impact me. I’ve got to die first, wait for the entire world to end in an insane earthquake, be resurrected, and go through the Day of Judgment with all of humanity, and then maybe eventually I’ll be thrown into a pit of fire. I’ve got a lot of time before any of that happens.

But what truly scares me is what is real in this world: that’s the punishment in the grave. If I read a few words about life in the grave, I’m paranoid for a whole day and sobered up for a good week. Why? Because I’ve been to a cemetery, prayed a funeral prayer with a dead body in front of the congregation, smelled the sickly scents inside of a morgue, and seen a fresh pile of earth next to an empty grave. To me, that’s real, and I could be in my own grave tomorrow night, for all I know.  

So, I spend the hour break during student government camp at sixteen years old, making sure I deal with my life in the grave adequately. It is a miracle I am there in the first place–but a miracle with conditions. I could go if and only if I promised I would not a) attend the dance, and b) perform in the skit/dance competition between schools. It was something I put on the table outright when negotiating going on a multi-day-and-night co-ed trip. My parents were already not fans of my decision to join the student government, and going to this camp was unofficially mandatory for everyone. I knew I was pushing my luck, but they eventually signed the permission slip and I packed my bags before they could change their minds!

That Night

It’s from out of these very bags that I pull the full-blown carpet janaamaz, my yellow namaz dupatta with the tiny Sindhi mirrors studded all over it, and my mushaf every day of the trip. I admit, it’s an assortment of odd additions to what could easily be a trip brimming with unabashed rule-breaking away from home. There are two things I would guard on this trip, no matter what: praying all five prayers every day, even if they are all late, and reading Surah Al-Mulk before I sleep. These are not things I promised my parents. These are not things they ask me to do or keep track of at home. These are things I do to prepare myself for my grave.

“There are two things I would guard on this trip, no matter what: praying all five prayers every day, even if they are all late, and reading Surah Al-Mulk before I sleep.” [PC: Md Mahdi (unsplash)]t

My friend disturbs me as our free time concludes, saying she’s off to meet the others for dinner if I want to join her now. I haven’t finished, but I’ll wrap it up before bed. The next couple of hours aren’t extraordinary–eating dinner in the cafeteria and attending a leadership seminar of some sort. After that is the big dance, which I am not attending, of course. I run into some minor problems, though: nobody else is going to the dorm, and I’m worried about walking by myself at night on an unfamiliar college campus, and I’ll be passing right by the dance that’s happening in a courtyard along the way. I’m already feeling hesitant about being alone, and I’m very aware of the fact that I’m definitely the black sheep in the student government group. As I try to figure out how to get back to the dorm on my own at the top of the steps towards the festivities, some of the seniors press me to join them. It only takes a couple of entreaties, and my curiosity takes the best of me.

I descend the concrete steps into Dante’s Inferno with the gaggling group of senior girls, a reluctant smile on my face. I’m going to my first high school dance and I know this is the only time I’ll ever get away with it. Maybe prom won’t be too much to ask for in two years…? I pass Mr. Garcia, the teacher in charge of our high school’s group, and see a smirk flit across his face. He knows I’m breaking my moral code because I expressly told him I need to be excused from all dancing activities for religious reasons. I push it from my mind and tell myself to see what this quintessential high school experience is all about. 

The rest of the night goes poorly. Although I’m no stranger to dance parties with my sisters and our friends, I can’t relax here. My shoulders are tense, my throat is tight, and my jaws feel hot the same way they get when I’m lying. I can’t make myself smile, and my limbs jerk in an awkward way when I try to groove along to a beat. I have danced to these very songs so many times, but here, I’m too aware that the air is heavy with teenage sexual angst. I try to ignore it, but I’m too busy being disgusted and feeling guilty for breaking my promise to my parents and going against my personal code. I finally see what grinding looks like in person, and I am horrified; particularly to see some girls I look up to partaking in what looks like a pre-mating ritual. I get what all the hullabaloo about banning it from school dances is about now. 

I think of another tactic: I take in the oppressive air and use the energy to my strategic advantage towards a cute, unassuming white guy from my school that I’ve been nursing a crush on for a while. This is my chance to make a tiny move–nothing too extreme. I’m trying to muster up the courage, but I can’t breathe enough to propel myself into action. Is the air as thick as slime, or is it just me? I look around and want to close my eyes to everything I see. 

All I wanted to do was have a good time! I scream at myself in my mind. Grudgingly, I know it’s not going to happen here. I’m not like the rest of them, even the other Pakistani girl who is also Muslim and has been empathetically nudging me towards all the haram things that the others do. I can’t be like the rest of them, even if I want to be. 

I decide to leave before I can witness more of my classmates’ t strange escapades, not sparing a care about getting back to the dorm on my own. I nudge my roommate and tell her I’m not feeling well and need to bounce. Luckily for me, she has a headache and wants to knock out. We walk towards the steps, and I make sure to wave down my teacher and let him know we’re leaving. I hope he chokes on the fact that I only spent half an hour here and had a horrible time. 

Not Tonight, My Friend

Twenty years later, I admit that I have thought about that night often, particularly when I feel tired and would rather sleep than read Surah Al-Mulk. They say that the Quran can be a companion, and when I hope it can be a companion in my grave, I remember wearing the dupatta while reading the surah and hearing the ocean. I remember walking down the steps to the dance into the muggy air pregnant with teenage titillation. I remember feeling like I was moving through sludge even though I thought I could indulge in a secret night away. I wonder how I could do such opposing things in the same night. I feel the surah wrapping its mustard yellow wings around me in an embrace. Holding me, it whispers–not tonight, my friend. I’ve got you. Somehow, it was my wingman back then, saving me that one night and thus probably on many others.  I remember that night when I can hardly look at myself in the mirror from the shame and guilt from my sins of the day and feel that I am not worthy of reading Surah Al-Mulk. But we’ve experienced so much together since that night at UCSB. I owe it so much and I know I can’t leave it hanging now.  Once I’m six-feet under, I I hope it returns the favor and clings onto me.

Related:

– Lessons From Surah Al-Mulk: How The Bees And Birds Teach Us About Tawakkul

– Surah Al Waqiah Paid My Tuition Twice

The post Why I Can’t Leave Surah Al-Mulk Hanging Every Night appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

In Islamic tradition, the Dajjal is described not only as a figure of physical trial, but as a master of deception, illusion, and confusion, someone who blurs the line between truth and falsehood until people no longer know what to trust. Whistleblowers are dismissed as conspiracy theorists, seemingly Islamic videos microdose incorrect information to slowly make people question their faith, and scholars are categorized as extremists. I am not saying that the Dajjal will take on any other form than what is clearly stated in our Quran and ahadeeth, but with the onslaught of microtrends, mainstream fashion, popularized language, and made-up ideologies, we are already prone to a form of deception that is already infiltrating our minds; not through force, but through familiarity, convenience, and constant exposure.

How Deep Has This Deception Sunk In? 

It has become increasingly difficult to hold onto our faith in this day and age, as foretold to be a sign of the end of time. As narrated by Anas ibn Malik , the Prophet said:

“A time of patience will come to people in which adhering to one’s religion is like grasping a hot coal.” [Sunan al-Tirmidhī 2260, Sahih (authentic) according to Al-Albani]

With the world changing so rapidly, Islam can sometimes feel centuries behind in its practices. Determining what is halal and haram, and what is permissible in interactions, dealings, and research, can make Islam seem more rigid than it truly is. While endless information is available with a few clicks, the more advanced technology becomes, the less informed people seem to be. 

AI Videos and the Threat of Misinformation 

AI has been in development long before its public release. Now, with common citizens having access to powerful technologies, it is increasingly difficult to discern what is real. Globally, this poses threats to security, sincerity, and solidarity. Fake pictures and videos can deceive the untrained eye and spread misinformation rapidly. Recently, videos of sheikhs, muftis, and scholars have been scrutinized for questionable statements. Short clips of muftis giving fatwas without proper evidence have become popular among those who lack deep knowledge of Islamic Fiqh. Comments often show confusion and doubt, highlighting the need for proper understanding.

“Relying solely on what we see, instead of belief grounded in authentic teachings, contradicts Islamic principles.” [PC: Aerps.com (unsplash)]

This illustrates a severe unity and media literacy problem within the Ummah. Many Muslims turn against one another online, often prioritizing personal validation over seeking truth. Relying solely on what we see, instead of belief grounded in authentic teachings, contradicts Islamic principles. Being knowledgeable in deen should not negate being competent in understanding the world around us. Proper understanding of religion requires awareness of modern technologies and media, as well as the tools to critically assess information. 

The Rise of “Sheikh GPT” and AI Misguidance 

AI is increasingly being used as a resource for Islamic guidance. Columbia Journalism reported that AI models provided incorrect answers to more than 60 per cent of queries (Columbia Journalism, 2025). These systems can offer biased, speculative, or incorrect responses. Many people unfamiliar with scholars turn to conversational AI for religious advice, believing they are receiving reliable guidance. 

Religious questions, especially nuanced ones, require consultation with scholars, muftis, or sheikhs. Classical knowledge involves research, evidence, and context, often unavailable online. The preservation of Islamic knowledge was never casual or convenient. Scholars of hadith would travel for months, sometimes years, to verify a single narration, carefully examining chains of transmission, the character of narrators, and the consistency of reports. Imam al-Bukhari is reported to have memorized hundreds of thousands of narrations, accepting only a fraction after rigorous scrutiny, prayer, and verification. Knowledge was earned through discipline, sacrifice, and accountability, not instant answers or surface-level familiarity.

AI cannot replace the depth of human scholarship or the oral traditions through which Islam has historically been transmitted. Old manuscripts, parchments, and other sources of wisdom are not accessible to AI, which only draws from online content. While AI may provide answers to simple questions, it encourages habits of shallow engagement, diminishing the practice of active research and reflection. 

Digital Manipulation and Contextual Misuse 

Creators who are not knowledgeable about Islam often take ayahs, hadith, and practices out of context to produce viral content. These clips spread quickly, often with inflammatory captions, provoking outrage rather than informed discussion. A 2025 UNESCO report described AI-generated content as creating a “crisis of knowing,” making it difficult for users to distinguish authentic from fabricated material (UNESCO, 2025). 

This is particularly dangerous for religious content. AI-manipulated videos of respected scholars, like the case of Sheikh Dr Al-Sudais, demonstrate how quickly misinformation can erode trust. AI models are often seen as convenient conversationalists, but they lack accountability, depth, and the ability to interpret religious context, nuance, and jurisprudential principles. Overreliance on these tools fosters a “copy-paste” mentality and encourages superficial engagement with Islam. 

The Role of AI in Surveillance and Control 

The concept of AI itself is not inherently bad. AI has many legitimate applications in research, organization, and efficiency. However, with it increasingly used directly against Muslims, including in surveillance, data tracking, and social monitoring, we must approach it with caution. Reliance on AI can subtly condition compliance and even make us more receptive to the tricks of the Dajjal. It is no longer merely a tool for convenience; it has become an instrument of influence and control that can weaken spiritual and communal resilience. 

Returning to Authentic Learning of Islam

“Deep engagement with the deen is essential to develop discernment, patience, and spiritual strength.” [PC: Ishan-Seefromthesky (unsplash)]

Patience and discernment are essential. The Prophet ﷺ warned that a time would come when holding firmly to one’s religion would be like grasping a burning coal, a trial that demands endurance, clarity, and restraint (Jamiʿ al-Tirmidhi, no. 2260). Critical thinking, verification, and measured responses are necessary to avoid deception. Knowledge of both deen and dunya is crucial. Understanding Islamic teachings while being aware of modern communication methods, digital influence, and misinformation allows the Ummah to protect its faith and its community.

AI is not inherently evil, but when misused, it becomes a tool of confusion, division, and doubt. The responsibility falls on each of us to seek knowledge actively, question critically, and prioritize authenticity over convenience. Just like we as Muslims have been repeatedly warned to seek protection from the deception of the Dajjal, why not also wake up our consciousness to the many influences that are already present, subtly infiltrating our minds?

Yet the remedy remains steadfast: patience, authentic knowledge, and unwavering commitment to Islam. 

Related:

– The Promise of SAIF: Towards a Radical Islamic Futurism

– [Podcast] Man 2 Man: How Social Media Is Killing Your Imaan

The post AI And The Dajjal Consciousness: Why We Need To Value Authentic Islamic Knowledge In An Age Of Convincing Deception appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

My daughter hears the shouting: “Free, free Palestine!” I try to mute the video, but it’s too late. Since our trip to Palestine last year, she has developed a kind of radar — anytime the word Palestine is mentioned within earshot, she rushes over to see what it’s about. She is drawn to her roots, pulled by something deep and familiar. She comes running to me, eyes wide with recognition and hope.

“Mama,” she says, “I want to go.”

In our home, justice isn’t something we just talk about — it is something we practice. We’ve discussed boycotts, what it means to use your voice with purpose, and how standing up to oppression is an act of faith. With all the protests these past months, she has joined them more than once, her small hands keeping rhythm with the drums as voices around her rose in unison.

But before she can finish her sentence, footage flashes across the screen of students being thrown to the ground and arrested. Confusion crosses her face. Her eyes search mine for an explanation. I froze. I realized in that moment something irreversible was happening — something I had hoped wouldn’t happen for a very long time.

My daughter was growing up in front of my eyes. These few seconds would shape her being faster than years of childhood ever could. For the first time, she was seeing just how unfair and unjust the world she lives in can be.

I tried to explain that some people don’t want others talking about the genocide happening in Gaza. Her brows furrowed. “But Mama, people are dying,” she said softly. “That’s never okay.”

That moment will stay with me forever: the first time my daughter experienced moral dissonance. It was a concept I had read about so many times, but I never felt the full weight of it until now. That painful awareness in her eyes that the values she has been taught to hold sacred do not always govern the world around her. For children, moments like this aren’t abstract. They aren’t “complicated.” They are simple and formative. They build the architecture of their belief systems.

Developmental psychologists like Lawrence Kohlberg tell us that as children grow, they move from obedience to conscience. They grow from doing what is expected to understanding why something is right or wrong. When that understanding collides with the punishments or silences of the adult world, they enter a moral freefall. Their conscience and consequence no longer align.

“Children are not born with distrust. They are taught it. They learn it by omission, by silence, by the lessons we are too afraid to name.” [PC: Melbin Jacob (unsplash]

What pushed them into this freefall? Realizing that their world punishes empathy toward Palestinians because it challenges the narratives of power. They realize that mourning the murdered is seen as defiance because the world refuses to acknowledge the oppressed.

Muslim children are taught that courage means standing for justice, but then they watch college students handcuffed for doing exactly that. They are told that honesty matters, but they see adults stay silent to keep their jobs. They see compassion rewarded only when it is convenient, and condemned when it challenges power.

This isn’t confusion. It’s something far deeper — it’s a spiritual and moral collapse. A wound that forms when their moral world shatters. Those in power have betrayed the very values they claim to uphold, and it has fractured our children’s moral foundation. In schools, we call it cognitive dissonance. In childhood, it simply feels like heartbreak.

Then we turn around and pretend to preach Social/Emotional Learning (SEL). We tell them to practice empathy. We tell them they must be self-aware. We teach them to make responsible decisions rooted in ethics. Yet the world they live in violates every one of these principles in plain sight. “Responsible decision-making” in our world has little to do with ethics. It’s about bottom lines, hidden agendas, and five-year plans that ignore human impact unless it aligns with profit or power.

How are we supposed to teach empathy when compassion for certain lives is punished? How can we model social awareness when silence is praised as professionalism? How can we ask for “responsible decision-making” when we, the adults, excuse violence because it’s “complicated,” —  which really means I don’t want to look closely enough to see the human cost?

For Muslim youth watching Gaza unfold, these lessons ring hollow. They are being asked to regulate emotions that adults are too afraid to name. They are being asked to build relationships in a world that others their faith. They are being asked to make “ethical choices” in a moral landscape that keeps shifting beneath their feet.

No wonder our kids are exhausted, anxious, and depressed. They live in a world that preaches empathy but rewards apathy. They live in a world that teaches inclusion but normalizes exclusion. The world keeps telling them, “Do as I say, not as I do.” Then we wonder why they don’t trust the systems that are meant to guide them. We wonder why they question everything. We don’t have a generation of children who “just listen” anymore because the world no longer makes sense.

The faith we once placed in authority no longer exists. We grew up believing the adults around us wanted to keep us safe. Our children are watching those same adults look away as their tax dollars kill tens of thousands of people who look and speak just like them. They are witnessing a moral dissonance so loud it drowns out every promise we make to them. Somewhere deep inside, their instincts whisper: trust no one.

Children are not born with distrust. They are taught it. They learn it by omission, by silence, by the lessons we are too afraid to name. When young people repeatedly witness injustice without repair, they internalize one of two messages: either morality is performative or they must carry the moral weight that adults have dropped.

And so they do.

They carry it.

They carry it in their sleeplessness and in their anger. They carry it in their posts, their protests, and their art. They begin to see everything as a cause because the world has shown them that indifference kills. Their restlessness is not rebellion…it is grief with nowhere to go.

Erik Erikson reminds us that adolescence is the stage of identity — of testing who they are against what the world says they should be. Albert Bandura’s social learning theory reminds us that children model what they see. So what happens when they are testing their limits in a world that models hypocrisy? When every adult in the room looks away instead of calling it out?

They learn that silence is safer than truth.
They learn that empathy must be rationed.
They learn that belonging requires erasure.

If we, as educators, want to heal this fracture, we have to start by being honest about it. We cannot ask students to “self-regulate” emotions we refuse to validate. We cannot praise “perspective-taking” while silencing their own perspectives with “It’s too complicated.” We cannot teach courage as a virtue while punishing its expression.

SEL without moral clarity becomes compliance training.
Character education without justice becomes performance.

When I think back to that night with my daughter, I realize she wasn’t just asking about Gaza. She was asking about justice itself — whether the world still has a conscience. I don’t want her heart to harden before it fully blooms. I want her to keep believing that justice, humanity, and truth still matter. I want her to keep believing that speaking for the oppressed is not a crime but a command.

As the chant for “cease-fire” echoes across the world today, people begin to find slivers of hope, but then the news breaks again: more assassinations, more bombings, more death. In that moment, I can’t help but wonder how deep this wound will go for our children.

They are living in a constant state of contradiction — hearing one thing on mainstream news while knowing, in their bones, another truth entirely. It’s a unique kind of dissonance. It is the dissonance that comes from watching the attempt to erase an entire society in real time: thousands killed, thousands more entombed beneath rubble, hundreds still breathing through dust and despair.

Yet, our children are still hearing people call this genocide “complicated.”

This is the work before us as educators and as parents: to rebuild moral trust. We need to show our children that the values we recite are not decorative words but living principles. We need to prove to them, through our actions, that integrity still exists somewhere between silence and survival.

We may not be able to undo the harm they have witnessed, but we can choose not to deepen it.
We can teach with moral courage.
We can speak with gentleness and understanding.
We can model what it means to be human in a world that keeps forgetting — because our children are watching, and one day, they will rise to rebuild what our silence allowed to crumble.

Related:

– Real Time Scholasticide: The War On Education In Gaza

– Ice Cream: A Poem On The Loss Of Childhood In Gaza

The post The Pedagogy Of Silence: What Muslim Children Are Learning About Truth appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

For Muslim women, this change can feel even more complex, entwined with cultural expectations, spiritual practices, and evolving family dynamics. While medical resources are rightly covered by our Muslim physician colleagues, this article explores the emotional and relational dimensions of peri- and post-menopause. It considers how these phases can shape marriage, parenting, and identity, and how Muslim women can navigate them with faith, support, and grace.

Understanding the Emotional Landscape

Menopause is not only a biological milestone. It is also an emotional terrain shifting under your feet. Hormonal fluctuations may bring:

• Mood swings and irritability. Sudden changes in serotonin levels can lead to emotional volatility.
• Anxiety or low-grade depression. Anxiety may arise from changes in the body or identity. Some women experience a quieter, deep sadness as menopause approaches.
• A sense of loss or dislocation. Fertility and youth are tied deeply to self-image and societal roles. The loss of natural cycles can stir grief or existential questions.
• Relief or liberation. No longer facing menstrual cycles or contraception concerns, some women describe a freeing sense of autonomy.

From an Islamic perspective, recognizing these emotions as valid, even while striving to maintain patience, can be healing. The Prophet ﷺ said:

“No fatigue, nor disease, nor sorrow, nor sadness, nor hurt, nor distress befalls a Muslim, even if it were the prick he receives from a thorn, but that Allah expiates some of his sins for that.” [Bukhari and Muslim]

Women may also draw comfort from the lives of those closest to the Prophet ﷺ. Sayyidah Khadījah , for example, was a mature woman whose wisdom and dignity were deeply honored. The Prophet ﷺ remembered her long after her passing, saying:

“She believed in me when the people disbelieved, she trusted me when the people belied me, she shared her wealth with me when the people deprived me, and Allah blessed me with children from her and not from any other wife.” [Musnad Ahmad]

Her life demonstrates that maturity is not a loss but a stage marked by depth, contribution, and honor in the sight of Allah and His Messenger ﷺ.

Impact on the Marital Relationship

Menopause can subtly or dramatically shift the marital dynamic. The following highlights some of the how:

Intimacy and Libido

Changing oestrogen levels may decrease vaginal lubrication and arousal. For some, libido diminishes. This can cause:

• Discomfort or pain during intercourse, leading to avoidance or withdrawal.
• Hurt feelings, if either spouse misinterprets distance as rejection.
• Renewed opportunities, if couples communicate openly and explore alternative forms of closeness, such as affection, cuddling, conversation, and supportive touch.

The Prophet ﷺ reminded husbands and wives of their responsibility to one another:

“The best of you are those who are best to their wives, and I am the best of you to my wives.” [Tirmidhi]

This ḥadīth points to compassion and attentiveness as the norm for marital life. Together with the Qur’ānic ethic “live with them in kindness” [Surah An-Nisa; 4:19] and “you are garments for one another” [Surah Al-Baqarah; 2:187], it frames intimacy as a place for mercy, not pressure. In practice, couples can:

Menopause can subtly or dramatically shift the marital dynamic.[PC: David Dvořáček (unsplash)]

• Talk early and kindly. Use “I” statements about sensations and emotions (“I feel soreness / I’m worried I’ll disappoint you”) and agree on a shared plan for closeness during this phase.
• Prioritise consent and avoid harm (lā ḍarar wa lā ḍirār). If penetration is painful, pause. Explore solutions rather than pushing through pain.
• Broaden the meaning of intimacy. Affectionate touch, cuddling, massage, shared baths, and non-penetrative pleasure can maintain connection when penetration is difficult. Many couples also benefit from longer warm-up/foreplay, comfortable positions, adequate privacy and time, and lubricants (checking ingredients if that matters to you).
• Time it wisely. Choose symptom-lighter times of day; fatigue, hot flushes, or joint pain often fluctuate.
• Address the physical. A clinical check-in for urogenital symptoms, pelvic floor physio, sleep support, or treatment for dryness can make intimacy easier, and caring for health supports marital rights.
• Hold the fiqh balance. Spousal intimacy is important in fiqh, yet scholars also emphasize kindness, mutual satisfaction, and the prohibition of harm. Temporary adjustments or even pauses are recognised where there is credible hardship or illness, especially by mutual agreement. Rights are not a licence to coerce; they are a call to iḥsān (beautiful conduct).
• Reassure and repair. If an attempt is difficult, offer comfort, make duʿāʾ together, and try again another time rather than letting shame or resentment grow.
• Seek wise support. A faith-literate counsellor can help couples negotiate expectations, communication, and practical adaptations.

Menopause aware intimacy honors both fiqh’s regard for spousal rights and the Prophetic standard of gentleness, protecting wellbeing while keeping connection alive.

Role Shifts

Menopause may coincide with children entering adulthood, career changes, or a newfound quiet in the household. This may lead to a re-evaluation of marital roles. Some women flourish with more time for personal projects, worship, or deepening the spousal bond. Others feel unmoored without the familiar structure of motherhood. Husbands and wives benefit from acknowledging this inward journey and renegotiating roles with love and respect, guided by the Prophetic ideal of mutual support and kindness.

Parenting Through the Transition

For many Muslim women, parenting is a core identity. As menopause unfolds, children may be grown or nearing independence. This stage can feel like:

• Empty nest syndrome, an ache for purpose or belonging.
• Emotional tug as the mother, wanting to remain central in children’s lives while they claim their own time, space, boundaries, and identity, choosing how they live, what they believe, where they make home, whom they befriend or marry, and how they prioritize work, faith, and family.
• Opportunity for mentorship, duʿā, and building deeper, more balanced relationships, based on guidance rather than caretaking: checking in regularly without hovering, asking permission before offering advice, listening more than directing, making duʿāʾ by name for their needs, sharing skills or experience when invited, celebrating their independent decisions, agreeing healthy boundaries and rhythms of contact, and being available for practical help when requested.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“When a person dies, all his deeds come to an end except three: ongoing charity, beneficial knowledge, or a righteous child who prays for him.” [Muslim]

As the family evolves, women may take comfort that their nurturing role continues through du‘a and guidance, even when the daily intensity of parenting diminishes. The Qur’ān also reminds us of the honour due to mothers:

“And We have enjoined upon man [care] for his parents. His mother carried him, [increasing her] in weakness upon weakness, and his weaning is in two years. Be grateful to Me and to your parents; to Me is the [final] destination.” [Surah Luqman; 31:14]

Community, Sisterhood, and Spiritual Identity

Menopause can feel like an invisible transition, often silent and rarely acknowledged within many Muslim communities. Yet opening dialogue can be transformative:

Menopause can feel like an invisible transition, but having peer support circles can help overcome isolation. [PC: Vonecia Carswell (unsplash)]

• Peer support circles, whether informal or virtual, allow sharing experiences of sleep troubles, mood changes, gratitude for newfound calm, and laughter about hot flushes.
• Imams or women’s counsellors knowledgeable in fiqh and women’s health can foster safe spaces to ask, “Is it permissible to pray when I am drenched in sweat? How do I manage fasting with hot flushes at suhoor?”
• Spiritual leadership repurposes this life stage. Older women can shape younger generations with wisdom, du‘a, and steadiness.

The Qur’ān itself honors the voice and concerns of women. When Khawlah bint Tha‘labah brought her distress to the Prophet ﷺ about her husband, Allah revealed:

“Indeed Allah has heard the statement of she who argues with you [O Muhammad] concerning her husband and directs her complaint to Allah. And Allah hears your dialogue; indeed, Allah is Hearing and Seeing.” [Surah Al-Mujādilah; 58:1]

This verse is a powerful reminder that women’s lived realities matter deeply in the sight of Allah .

The Prophet ﷺ also said:

“The best among you are those who learn the Qur’ān and teach it.” [Bukhari]

This opens the door for mature women to embrace teaching, mentoring, and guiding, drawing on their life experience to benefit the next generation.

Practical Strategies for Muslim Women

Here are some tangible ways to navigate this stage with resilience:

1. Educate yourself. Learn about symptoms, treatments, and self-care strategies, including diet, hydration, exercise, and sleep hygiene.
2. Open dialogue with your spouse. Frame conversations around feelings, not blame. Small shifts in communication can yield deep compassion.
3. Connect with sisterhood. Sharing breaks isolation.
4. Prioritize self-care and spiritual rhythm. Ensure you can observe prayer comfortably, even through sleepless nights. Some women turn insomnia into time for tahajjud, drawing strength from night worship. The Prophet ﷺ said: “The most beloved prayer to Allah after the obligatory prayers is the night prayer.” [Muslim]
5. Seek Islamic-medical guidance. Engage professionals who understand both health and faith. There are a number of Muslimah womb health and/or perimenopause experts and advocates online, such as Honored Womb, Fit Muslimah, and Barakah’s Womb.
6. Reimagine purpose. Let menopause be the prologue to new journeys such as mentoring, studying Qur’ān, or serving the community.

When to Seek Help

While mood changes and emotional shifts are normal, professional help is important if you experience:

• Persistent sadness or hopelessness that doesn’t lift.
• Severe anxiety, panic attacks, or escalating worry.
• Rage flashes – sudden, intense anger or outbursts that feel out of control, lead to verbal or physical aggression, or create fear/ongoing harm at home.
• Relationship breakdowns that feel stuck or irresolvable.
• Physical symptoms (e.g., sleep disturbance, pain, hot flushes) that significantly impact daily life.

Seeking help, whether medical or therapeutic, is not a deviation from tawakkul (trust in Allah ). It is a sign of wisdom and self-compassion.

Menopause is more than biological. It is a spiritual, relational, and emotional terrain that beckons Muslim women toward new chapters. It may stir grief or liberation, distance or newfound intimacy. It challenges identity and nurtures wisdom.

Within a faith that honors the dignity of every phase, menopause becomes an opportunity. By drawing on sisterhood, honest dialogue, renewal practices, spirituality, and faith-affirmed support, Muslim women can move through this shift with grace, finding in themselves new light, new connection, and renewed purpose.

Related:

– Purification Of The Self: A Journey That Begins From The Outside-In

– The Fiqh Of Vaginal Discharge: Pure or Impure?

The post The Muslim Woman And Menopause: Navigating The ‘Invisible’ Transition With Faith And Grace appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

We hear about the passing of brothers and sisters in Islam, but losing someone close to you is different; most people aren’t prepared for it. That day replays in my mind, minute by minute. Twenty minutes before maghrib, I ran into my mother’s room, trying to wake her. My wife began CPR until help arrived, and we rushed to the hospital. I stood on the other side of the words we hear in movies: “We tried everything we could, but unfortunately, your mother has passed away.” I collapsed like a child, and in that moment, I accepted that my life would never be the same.

The Silence After the Burial

The first few days after my mother’s passing moved quickly. From the ghusl, the janazah, the burial, the steady stream of family and community who surrounded us with prayers, food, and support. In many ways, those early days carried me on autopilot. The structure of our faith and the presence of loved ones softened the initial blow. But then comes the question: what happens next?

“The stillness of a chair, the absence of a voice, the memories that return uninvited, sharp and vivid. That silence speaks volumes, but only to those who live inside it. No one else can truly feel that particular pain, because it belongs uniquely to you.” [PC: Silvestri Matteo (unsplash)]

In those moments, a realization sets in: nothing can really prepare us for loss. No book, no story, no imagined scenario. Grief strips away our illusions of control and reminds us how fragile we are. We are vulnerable, we are temporary, and we are completely dependent. In that raw state, one truth becomes undeniable — Allah is in control of everything. He is Al-Ḥayy (The Ever-Living), while we are travelers destined to return to Him.

Learning the Phrase “Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn”

We grow up hearing the phrase: Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn. “Indeed, to Allah we belong, and to Him we shall return.” It is said almost automatically when we hear of someone’s passing or any kind of hardship. But what does it really mean?

The Prophet ﷺ taught us that when a calamity strikes and a believer says these words sincerely along with the duʿāʾ, “Allāhumma ajirnī fī muṣībatī, wa akhlif lī khayran minhā” — Allah promises to reward that person and to replace their loss with something better. [Sahih Muslim]

On paper, it is easy to read. But when the loss is someone so close: a parent, a sibling, a spouse, or a child, the words carry a weight that shakes your very being. This isn’t just “a calamity.” This is someone you saw every day, shared meals with, traveled with, laughed with, and someone who knew you almost as well as you know yourself. Suddenly they’re gone. The phone calls that once came so naturally now go unanswered. The little routines that felt permanent are no longer possible. And the question creeps in: Where did they go?

The truth is, they were never truly ours to begin with. They belonged to Allah . He is the One Who gave them life, sustained them, and protected them. We were simply entrusted with their presence for a time. Like a borrowed pen at school, which you use for a while, but eventually it must be returned to its rightful owner. The difference is, this “pen” was your whole world, your comfort, your love. And yet, even they must return to the One Who created them.

This realization is painful, but it is also freeing. Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn becomes more than words. It becomes a lens through which we see the reality of life, loss, and our ultimate return. We have returned the loved one to their rightful owner, and Allah is the best of caretakers.

What Should We Expect?

• Time doesn’t heal all wounds. People often say, “time heals everything,” but that isn’t true. Time allows you to accept reality, but it does not erase the wound. Nothing truly heals except recognizing the essence of life — that this world is temporary and the real life is the eternal one. Your loved one is not lost; they are simply ahead of you on the journey, and you will follow when Allah wills.

• You will feel lonely. Loneliness can feel heavy, but it can also be a gift. The Prophet ﷺ himself would retreat to Mount Ḥirāʾ in solitude before revelation. Use your moments of loneliness to turn back to Allah , to speak to Him , and to find strength in His Company. Going on hikes, walks, and looking at the creation of Allah while talking to Allah will help this feeling.

• Your heart will feel uneasy. Grief doesn’t move in a straight line. There will be days that feel normal, and then suddenly the weight returns. In those moments, hold fast to the promise of Allah: “Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest” [Surah Ar-Ra’ad; 13:28]. Fill those pauses with dhikr, with prayer, with the Qur’an — and you will find the unease gently softened.

• You will cry. Tears will come — and they should. Crying is not a weakness. It is mercy. The Prophet ﷺ himself cried at the loss of his loved ones. When his son Ibrāhīm passed away, tears flowed from his eyes. When asked about it, he said: “The eyes shed tears and the heart grieves, but we do not say except that which pleases our Lord.” [Bukhārī and Muslim] Let your tears flow, and let them turn into duʿāʾ for the one you have lost.

What Shouldn’t We Expect?

• Don’t expect the pain to vanish. Grief doesn’t disappear one day. It softens, it changes shape, but it never fully leaves. The absence of someone you loved will always be felt, and that’s a sign of the bond Allah placed between you.

• Don’t expect others to fully understand. Family, friends, and community may offer comfort, but they can never truly feel your exact loss. Each grief is unique. Expecting others to “get it” in the same way you do will only deepen the hurt. Instead, lean on Allah , the One who knows what is in every heart. This is your test and may not be theirs.

• Don’t expect the world to pause. For you, life has changed forever. For others, it continues as normal. People will move on, routines will resume, and calls will slow. This is natural. It doesn’t mean your loved one is forgotten, but it means you must carry their memory in your own way. Don’t have high expectations even from your closest friends and family.

• Don’t expect faith to erase sadness. Sometimes we imagine that strong faith means we shouldn’t feel broken. “I pray so I should be strong”. Yaʿqūb wept until his eyes turned white from sorrow over Yūsuf . Our faith isn’t as strong as Yaʿqūb , but even at that level, we learn that strong faith doesn’t remove sadness; it gives you the strength to carry it with patience and hope.

How Do We Prepare for Grief?

There is no manual for grief, no checklist that makes the pain easy to manage. But there are steps we can take to prepare our hearts and our families for the reality of loss.

Here are a few reflections that may help:

• Study the stories of the Prophets and Companions. Allah tells us: “Indeed, in their stories there is a lesson for those of understanding.” [Surah Yusuf; 12:111] We spend so much energy teaching ourselves and our children how to live in comfort and “succeed” in this world, but the greatest people who ever lived, the Prophets and Companions, endured the greatest struggles. Their trials drew them closer to Allah and became timeless examples for us. While we don’t ask to be tested, when we are, their lives remind us how to respond with patience, resilience, and trust in Allah .
• Teach your children who Allah is. The Prophet ﷺ said: “Be mindful of Allah, and He will protect you. Be mindful of Allah, and you will find Him before you… If you ask, ask of Allah; and if you seek help, seek help from Allah.” [Tirmidhī] From a young age, connect your children’s hearts to Allah through love. Let them know that even if the world is against them, they are never alone if Allah is with them. When a loved one leaves, they have returned to Allah . They may no longer be here, but Allah is always with you.
• Visit the graveyard often. The Prophet ﷺ said: “I had forbidden you to visit the graves, but now you may visit them, for indeed they remind you of the Hereafter.” [Muslim] Going only after a loved one passes can feel overwhelming, almost unbearable. But making it a habit beforehand softens the heart and normalizes the reality of death. The graveyard is not an end, but a resting place until the day that truly matters.
• Speak about the Hereafter openly. Allah says: “And this worldly life is nothing but diversion and amusement. And indeed, the home of the Hereafter — that is the [eternal] life, if only they knew.” [Surah Al-‘Ankabut; 29:64] Too often, we focus only on worldly success while neglecting to talk about the akhirah. Make it normal in your home to speak about the deeds that prepare us for eternal life. Let these conversations shape your family’s mindset and priorities. In the world that we live in, these conversations only come when reality strikes.
• Leave a legacy of good deeds. The Prophet ﷺ said: “When a person dies, his deeds come to an end except for three: ongoing charity, beneficial knowledge, or a righteous child who prays for him.” [Muslim] Show your children the good you do for your parents and grandparents. When your time comes, they will continue that chain of goodness. This is a mercy from Allah that it benefits the one who has passed and comforts the loved ones left behind, knowing their duʿāʾ still reaches their family member in the grave, and will help them in their most difficult times.
• Seek support from others. Grief can feel isolating, but Islam encourages leaning on community. The Prophet ﷺ said: “The example of the believers in their mutual love, mercy, and compassion is that of one body: when any part of it suffers, the whole body responds with wakefulness and fever.” [Bukhārī and Muslim] Reach out to trusted family, friends, or teachers when the burden feels heavy. Sharing your feelings is not a weakness; it’s part of healing, and it allows others to fulfill their duty of compassion toward you.

Grief is something we do not talk about often enough. Having faith is something we should be so thankful for. We are able to completely rely upon Allah , and with Him we are able to continue to live this life. Today we grieve, and tomorrow people might grieve for us. We ask Allah to forgive us for our shortcomings and allow the pain that we go through inside as a means of preparing to meet Him. May Allah allow us to be united with our loved ones in Paradise. Ameen.

Related:

– Death The Greatest Teacher: Three Life-Lessons From The Child I Lost

– Sharing Grief: A 10 Point Primer On Condolence

The post Unheard, Unspoken: The Secret Side Of Grief appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This is where Muslim chaplaincy could make all the difference.

Too often, teenage students are forced to shoulder immense emotional and spiritual labor for themselves and their communities. The demands of leadership roles in on-campus Muslim Student Associations (MSAs) can quickly escalate far past what they were initially meant to be. What would it look like if Muslim students had someone trained, trusted, and spiritually grounded to turn to? How beneficial might it be if students had someone beyond their own peers to take advice from? Someone embedded in the institution who could guide them not just in times of crisis, but through the quiet work of faith formation?

Such an individual is a reality for far too few Muslim students in the United States. However, the presence of a Muslim chaplain in this role could revolutionize the experiences of hundreds of thousands of Muslim undergraduates across the nation, helping build a generation of highly educated students who effectively integrate their faith identity into their day-to-day lives.

This model of care and mentorship is not foreign to our tradition. Our beloved Prophet Muhammad was not just a leader and lawmaker – he was a murabbī, a healer of hearts and soother of souls. Countless stories from the sīrah detail his compassion for the needy, ill, and impoverished. As the Qur’an says:

“There has certainly been for you in the Messenger of Allah an excellent example for anyone whose hope is in Allah and the Last Day and [who] remembers Allah often.” [Surah Al-Ahzab: 33;21]

Emulating the Prophet goes beyond just observing rituals of prayer and worship; it means fostering communities rooted in mercy, emotional health, and spiritual resilience. At its essence, chaplaincy carries forward this Sunnah of emotional and spiritual caregiving.

The Landscape: Muslim Students on Campus

The presence of Muslim students as an organized body on US campuses is a recent development. Although Muslim student organizations were founded as early as the 1940s, the modern MSA system began at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign in 1963. Muslim chaplaincy did not exist until 30 years later when the first part-time Muslim chaplain was hired at Wellesley College. Six years later, at Georgetown, the first full-time Muslim chaplain was introduced¹.

“The growth of the Muslim student population – and their increasing visibility on campus – has outpaced institutional support available to them.” [PC: Kawah Kaos Dakwah (unsplash)]

Impacts of Participation in Campus Religious Life

Though research is limited regarding Muslim university students specifically, numerous studies confirm that spiritual care and chaplaincy play a significant role in maintaining student mental health and overall well-being across Christian and interfaith communities during college years. Faith community support, in particular when directly led via chaplaincy, is integral in proactively addressing distress points for college students.

A comprehensive study by Saliba (2024) underscores the multifaceted contributions of university chaplains to mental health within the context of suicide prevention. Chaplains surveyed across international communities were reported to engage in various preventive practices, such as referring students to mental health professionals, offering community life services, providing support during exam periods, and discussing images of God or other religious figures. These activities not only address spiritual distress but also foster a sense of belonging and support among students, which are crucial factors in mitigating suicidal thoughts and behaviors².

Beyond addressing student distress from a spiritual perspective, participating in an active, chaplain-led faith community may indirectly alleviate academic distress as well. A 2021 study undertaken at Baylor University found that Christian students who attended on-campus church services at least once per week had higher GPAs, reported improved mental focus and academic resilience, and were less likely to engage in academic dishonesty than those who did not³. A study conducted by UCLA of over 100,000 incoming freshmen at institutions across the country found that students with high religious engagement had significantly higher rates of being able to find meaning in hardship and feeling at peace, indicating a greater ability to deal with hurdles in both their academic and personal lives⁴. Though data is ultimately limited on the direct influences of chaplains on student wellness, it stands to reason that chaplaincy involvement generally leads to a stronger and more active on-campus faith community, which is indicated to increase student wellness across multiple sectors of life.

However, while such involvement may be a reality for Christian communities on campuses, Muslim representation is sadly lacking. As universities have expanded religious life offices to serve Christian, Jewish, and interfaith populations, Muslim students were often left without a parallel advocate or advisor. While the aforementioned chaplaincy roles established at Wellesley and Georgetown in the 1990s and early 2000s marked a turning point—not only as acknowledgments of Muslim student presence, but as acts of institutional responsibility—significant work remains to be done.

Research conducted by a chaplaincy consulting firm confirmed the presence of approximately 150 Muslim chaplains across the over 4000 colleges in America, meaning less than 4% of US college communities have access to a chaplain⁵. This creates a vacuum in moments where spiritual care is most needed.

The Role of a Chaplain

Such an absence of spiritual care and leadership can leave a significant void in the lives of college students as they navigate critical stages of identity development and moral alignment. Having an adequately trained and engaged spiritual leader is integral for guiding Muslim students towards healthy, deen-centered lifestyles.

“Muslim chaplaincy stands out as a vital resource that bridges faith and modern campus life.” [PC: Nathan Dumlao (unsplash)]

The nebulous boundaries defining a chaplain’s responsibilities can be both empowering and challenging. While they may have the freedom to interpret their role as they see fit, they may also become overwhelmed with burdens that are outside of their field of expertise. As Muslim chaplaincy becomes more widespread in higher education, it is crucial to establish shared guidelines about the scope and nature of their role. This includes articulating expectations for prior training, ensuring access to ongoing training and support from older chaplains, and fostering collaborative relationships across university leadership. Doing so not only helps chaplains thrive in their roles, but also ensures that Muslim students receive the holistic, faith-sensitive support they deserve during one of the most formative periods of their lives.

Conclusion: A Call to Invest in Our Students’ Spiritual Future

In an era when students face increasing pressures around identity, purpose, and belonging, the presence of a Muslim chaplain can offer much-needed spiritual grounding, guidance, and advocacy. As institutions of higher education continue to diversify and expand their understanding of student wellness, Muslim chaplaincy stands out as a vital resource that bridges faith and modern campus life. 

But to fully realize the potential of this role, we can’t rely on universities alone. It will take the entire Muslim community – students, alumni, donors, community leaders, and everyday Muslims – to help build the scaffolding around chaplaincy positions and ensure Muslim students are not left spiritually adrift.

Here’s what you can do:

• Support institutions that train Muslim chaplains, such as The Islamic Seminary of America, the Association of Muslim Chaplains, and Boston Islamic Seminary. These programs ensure that chaplains are both Islamically grounded and professionally equipped for pastoral care.
• Reach out to your alma mater. Ask whether they have a Muslim chaplain on staff. If not, advocate for one. Share resources and help them understand the unique challenges Muslim students face.
• Encourage your local masjid or community center to connect with nearby campuses. Even part-time chaplaincy support—one day a week—can provide a lifeline.
• Give if you’re able. Many chaplaincy positions begin as donor-funded roles. A single scholarship, endowment, or fundraising effort can change hundreds of lives.
• Keep Muslim chaplains in your du‘ā. Their work is often quiet, emotionally demanding, and under-recognized. Pray for their strength, sincerity, and impact.

By investing in the development and sustainability of Muslim chaplaincy, we can help colleges and universities cultivate more inclusive, spiritually attentive environments. Let’s ensure that our students don’t walk their journeys alone. Let’s build a future where faith and education grow hand in hand.

Related:

– [Podcast] Hospitals And Healing: Islamic Chaplaincy | Ch. Sondos Kholaki

– From The Chaplain’s Desk – Reap The Rewards Of Being Mindful Of Allah

The post The Urgent Need For Muslim Chaplaincy On Campus: An Investment In Spiritual Futures appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Black Muslims in the United States are often referred to as “indigenous Muslims” (Love, 2017) who embody unique intersections of racial, religious, and national identities (Ahmed & Muhammad, 2019). This term highlights a long-standing and often overlooked presence of Black Muslims in the U.S., whose roots in American Islam predate many immigrant Muslim communities. Black Muslims have consistently shaped the religious, cultural, and political landscape of American Islam. Despite this historical significance, Black Muslims remain vastly underrepresented in educational research, particularly in higher education literature, where their student experiences are rarely examined. 

Although Black Muslims represent one of the largest racial groups practicing Islam in the U.S. (Schmidt, 2004), little is known about their educational realities, challenges, and resistance. Much of the existing research on Muslim students tends to focus on South Asian and Arab populations, often failing to account for how anti-Blackness operates alongside Islamophobia to shape educational experiences in distinct and compounding ways. As a result, the needs, identities, and insights of Black Muslim students are frequently overlooked in institutional responses to inclusion.

This article draws on existing literature to explore how systemic anti-Blackness and Islamophobia shape the lives of Black Muslim students, while simultaneously highlighting how they resist these forces through religious identity, cultural affirmation, and educational aspiration. In doing so, this work aims to challenge the erasure of Black Muslim voices in academic research and to contribute to a broader understanding of how race and religion intersect within the educational experiences of minoritized students. Centering Black Muslim students is not only necessary to address an ongoing gap in the literature, but also critical for building more just and inclusive educational environments where their histories and identities are affirmed.

Historical and Sociopolitical Context

To understand the present-day experiences of Black Muslim students, it is essential to first consider the historical and sociopolitical foundations of their identities. The positioning of Black Muslims in the United States must be understood through the legacy of white supremacy and racial exclusion. Auston (2017) argues that the practice of Islam in the United States has long been shaped by racial hierarchies rooted in anti-Black racism. For Black American Muslims, Islam has historically served as a vehicle for resisting structural violence, segregation, and racial inequality. 

The emergence of the Nation of Islam (NOI) during the Jim Crow era is a prime example. As Akom (2003) details, the NOI developed in response to racist policies and environments that excluded Black communities. Within such contexts, Islam became both a spiritual and sociopolitical force shaped by resistance. In an ethnographic study with high school students affiliated with the NOI, Akom (2003) found that these students developed a “Black achievement ideology,” allowing them to excel academically while resisting school norms that clashed with their religious and racial values. Their resistance manifested through peer support, cultural pride, and redefining success on their own terms. Although the NOI’s theological framework differs from Sunni or Shi’a traditions, its significance lies in how it historically enabled Black students to maintain their identities within oppressive educational systems.

“Black Muslim students navigate educational spaces that are often hostile to both their racial and religious identities.” [PC: Wadi Lissa (unsplash)]

Cole et al. (2020) emphasize the importance of understanding students’ multiple identities, especially those shaped by intersecting systems of race and religion. As such, analyzing Black Muslim student experiences requires an intersectional approach that can capture the compounding effects of multiple forms of oppression. For Black Muslim students, their marginalization is compounded by an entanglement of anti-Blackness and Islamophobia that demands an intersectional lens. Their marginalization is not only compounded by racism and Islamophobia, but also by the lack of recognition and support for their unique religious practices and cultural expressions within academic spaces (Auston, 2017).

Intersectionality and Compounding Marginalization

This intersectional framework helps us better understand how Black Muslim students navigate educational institutions that are often ill-equipped to support either aspect of their identity. Black Muslim students navigate educational spaces that are often hostile to both their racial and religious identities. Auston (2017) underscores how the dual stigma of being Black and non-Christian in a predominantly white, Christian-majority society places Black Muslims at a unique disadvantage. She mentions how “current manifestations of Black Muslim engagement with the unique intersectional impacts of marginalization arising out of the combination of being Black and non-Christian…is cumulative. To a large extent, Black American Islam has always been about the struggle for racial equality and religious freedom, shaped by the intersectional concerns necessitated by the fight on multiple fronts against state power, anti-Blackness, and entrenched White supremacy” (p. 20). Unlike their South Asian or Arab counterparts, whose experiences with Islamophobia may be racialized differently, Black Muslims face a historically entrenched anti-Black racism that predates and shapes their religious marginalization.

Ahmed and Muhammad (2019) further demonstrate how Black Muslim youth actively challenge these overlapping oppressions through spiritual grounding, community involvement, and cultural affirmation. These youth are not passive recipients of discrimination, but rather active agents who resist and reframe their realities.

Resistance and Black Muslim Brilliance

This active resistance forms the basis of what Rahman (2021) terms “Black Muslim brilliance,” a framework that reframes student agency and excellence through cultural and religious affirmation. A central theme across the limited but growing scholarship on Black Muslim youth is their strategic resistance to systemic marginalization. Rahman (2021) explores how Black Muslim students often opt out of U.S. educational systems entirely in favor of international or faith-based educational spaces. Drawing from an ethnographic study across Senegal and several U.S. cities, Rahman (2021) found that youth sought environments where Islamophobia and anti-Blackness were less pervasive. These spaces allowed students to nurture their spiritual and intellectual growth in affirming ways.

Rahman (2021) articulates the concept of “Black Muslim brilliance,” describing how these youth harness education as a tool for both personal empowerment and community uplift. She mentions how educational opportunities provided in faith-based settings often instill within students a commitment to addressing the social issues that impact Black communities. This brilliance is not defined solely by academics, but by a comprehensive growth grounded in justice, communal responsibility, and a strong sense of identity.

Similarly, Akom’s (2003) study of NOI students shows how alternative frameworks of success rooted in Black pride, religious commitment, and cultural resistance can produce academically successful students who do not conform to dominant educational norms. These examples suggest that Black Muslim youth are not struggling due to a lack of ability or aspiration, but rather due to structural barriers that deny the legitimacy of their identities.

To fully grasp the complexity of Black Muslim student experiences, it is important to distinguish them from those of other Muslim groups in the U.S. While Islamophobia impacts all visibly Muslim groups in the U.S., the experiences of Black Muslims are distinct due to the historic and ongoing realities of anti-Blackness. Auston (2017) argues that Black Muslim identities are forged in struggle, whether that is against slavery, segregation, mass incarceration, or religious exclusion. The convergence of racialized Islamophobia with entrenched anti-Black racism renders their experiences different from those of other Muslim groups. Recognizing this distinction is crucial in creating institutional responses that address the specific needs of Black Muslim students.

Conclusion

Black Muslim students occupy a liminal space at the intersection of race and religion, where both anti-Blackness and Islamophobia shape their educational experiences. They navigate an educational landscape that often fails to recognize and validate their intersecting identities. The historical and sociopolitical context of anti-Blackness and Islamophobia is crucial in understanding how Black Muslim students experience marginalization, but it is equally important to highlight their transformative responses to these challenges. 

Black Muslim students’ educational journeys are deeply shaped by their struggles against both racism and religious exclusion. However, their agency offers us crucial insights into how education can and should be transformed to truly affirm the identities and aspirations of all students. From resistance strategies in school to international educational pursuits, Black Muslims continually seek and create spaces that affirm their identities and values. To address the systemic inequities they face, both educational institutions and scholars must recognize their unique experiences and challenges and take meaningful action to create an inclusive, supportive, and just educational landscape. Educational institutions and scholars must begin to take seriously the voices and needs of Black Muslim students as central figures in the ongoing struggle for equity, belonging, and justice in education.

***

References

Ahmed, S. & Muhammad, H. (2019). Black American Muslim youth: Navigating environments, engaging new pathways. In Political Muslims: Understanding Resistance in a Global Context, 23-51.

Akom, A. A. (2003). Reexamining resistance as oppositional behavior: the Nation of Islam and the creation of a black achievement ideology. Sociology of Education, 76, 305-325.

Auston, D. (2017). Prayer, protest, and police brutality: Black Muslim spiritual resistance in the Ferguson era. Transforming Anthropology, 25(1), 11-22.

Cole, D., Hypolite, L., & Atashi, A. (2020). Black Muslims. In Islamophobia in Higher Education: Combating Discrimination and Creating Understanding. Sterling, VA: Stylus Publishing.

Love, E. (2017). Islamophobia and Racism in America. NYU Press.

Rahman, S. (2021). Black Muslim brilliance: Confronting antiblackness and Islamophobia through transnational educational migration. Curriculum Inquiry, 51(1), 57-74.

Schmidt, G. (2004). Islam in Urban America: Sunni Muslims in Chicago. Temple University Press.

Related:

– The Black Muslim Experience In K-12 Education

– Top 10 Books On Black Muslim History

The post Faith, Identity, And Resistance Among Black Muslim Students appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

It happened swiftly. Too swiftly for me to fully comprehend. One moment, we were celebrating the arrival of our second daughter, a miracle we had waited 11 long years for. The next moment, I was standing in a living room filled with a silence so heavy it was almost deafening. I had a newborn cradled in my arms, her soft coos oblivious to the storm that had descended on us, and an 11-year-old daughter whose laughter had been replaced by tears.

My eldest, Hanafi’s shadow, had always been close to her father. She adored him in the way only a daughter could. She had hung onto his every word and shared his love for subtle jokes. When I told her what had happened, her wail pierced the stillness of the house. She clung to me, her tears soaking my shoulder, her voice trembling as she asked, “Why, Mommy? Why did Allah take him away?”

How could I answer her when I was struggling with the same question? How could I console her shattered heart when mine was breaking into a thousand pieces? I held her tightly and whispered the only words that brought me comfort: “Allah will not abandon us, sweetheart.”

The Day Everything Changed

The day my husband returned to Allah began like any other. I spent the morning preparing for and conducting a mid-semester test for my students, completely unaware of the test that awaited me later that night. Hanafi and I had chatted briefly about our plans to travel back to our hometown for the long weekend. We were excited, as always, to spend time with family. The day unfolded as it always did, an orderly routine, with no sign of the storm about to come.

That night, the phone rang just before midnight, shattering the silence of the house. I picked up the phone and, on the other end, I could hear wailing and screaming in the background. The person on the other line was clearly struggling to speak, and it took several moments before they finally delivered the words that would change everything: “Hanafi collapsed on the badminton court. It was a heart attack… he didn’t make it.”

The news hit me with a force I couldn’t comprehend. My knees buckled, and I gasped for air as my mind struggled to process what I had just heard. It felt as though the ground beneath me had disappeared, but somehow, my heart kept beating, even as my world shattered around me.

Breaking the news to my eldest daughter was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I walked into her room, my hands trembling, and gently shook her awake. She blinked at me, her face still heavy with sleep, and asked, “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

I struggled to find the words, but there was no way to soften the blow. When I finally told her, she froze and stared at me in disbelief. Then the tears came, deep, wrenching sobs that filled the room. She clung to me, crying. Her anguish mirrored my own, and all I could do was hold her tightly and cry with her.

As I stood between my two daughters, one shattered by grief and the other blissfully unaware of the loss that had forever changed her world, I realized this was indeed a great test: a test of faith and trust in Allah’s Plan, even when everything felt unbearably heavy.

The Legacy of Hajar

Hajar [alayhis] held onto tawakkul in her darkest hour. [PC: Emma Van Sant (unsplash)]

– these words aren’t mine. They come from the story of Sayyidatina Hajar , a woman whose faith continues to inspire countless believers. Imagine her, standing in the barren desert of Mecca with no food and water for sustenance, and no shade to protect them from the relentless sun. Her husband, Prophet Ibrahim had left her there with their infant son, Ismail , under Allah’s Command. She did not waver. Instead, she asked one simple question: “

I hold on to Hajar’s story of trust and resilience. If she could summon strength in such dire circumstances, then, إن شاء الله “If Allah wills”, I could find it too. Her story is not just a historical tidbit. It is a timeless reminder that Allah never abandons His servants.

The Final Goodbye

At the forensic unit, many of our family members had already gathered to bid him farewell. Friends and relatives remarked on my calm demeanor, surprised that I wasn’t hysterical or wailing, as they might have expected when faced with such devastating news. Outwardly, I appeared composed, but inside, my heart was breaking into a thousand pieces. Every step I took toward him felt heavier than the last.

When I saw him, lying there so peacefully, he looked as if he were merely asleep. I had the honour of washing his body, a task both painful and sacred. It was a final act of love, the last time I would hold him. My hands trembled as I completed the ritual, my tears falling silently. At that moment, I made dua’, asking Allah to have mercy on him and to reunite us in Jannah one day.

It was then that I truly understood the meaning of inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un—to Allah we belong and to Him we shall return. As much as my heart ached, I knew this was part of Allah’s Plan, and I clung to the hope of meeting him again in the hereafter.

The Light of His Humour

Even in the darkest times, memories of my husband’s wit always bring us so much joy.

Once, the vet sent a message to Hanafi’s phone, which was registered with the clinic, so they contacted him whenever we sent a cat for treatment. My sister had recently sent her cat, Ani, to the vet, and the message simply stated it was time to pick Ani up.

Hanafi, ever the joker, announced that we needed to pick up Ani from the clinic, knowing full well that we also had an aunt named Ani who lived hours away. The confusion was immediate. Why would our aunt be at the clinic? And how had she ended up there? Hanafi let us stew in our bewilderment, quietly enjoying the chaos, until it finally dawned on us— the Ani he was referring to wasn’t our aunt but was the cat instead. The realization left us in fits of laughter at the absurdity of the situation and at Hanafi’s quiet delight in watching us unravel the mystery.

He also loved to tease. He knew my eldest daughter couldn’t stand seeing us display affection with one another. So, with his usual cheekiness, he’d purposely tease her by using pickup lines on me. “I need the tea sweet like you,” he’d say to me, with a mischievous smile, knowing it would earn him a dramatic eye-roll or an exaggerated groan.

Even now, in the midst of my grief, memories like these continue to bring a smile to my face, reminding me of the light he brought to our lives.

Faith as a Refuge

In the quiet moments, after the visitors had left and the house fell silent, I turned to Allah . Tears streamed down my face as I raised my hands in dua’, “Oh Allah, guide me through this. I cannot do this alone.”

It was in those moments of vulnerability that I felt the most strength. I thought of the Quranic verse:

“And with Him are the keys of the unseen; none knows them except Him. And He knows what is on the land and in the sea. Not a leaf falls but that He knows it. And no grain is there within the darknesses of the earth and no moist or dry [thing] but that it is [written] in a clear record.” [Surah Al-An’am; 6:59]

If Allah knew the falling of a single leaf, surely, He knew the state of my shattered heart. Surely, He had a plan.

The Path Forward

“The days are long, and the challenges are many, but they are interwoven with moments of joy.” [PC: Dila Ningrum (unsplash)]

My eldest, despite her grief, has shown a resilience that astounds me. We talk about her father often, sharing his jokes and remembering his wisdom. It’s our way of keeping his beautiful memory alive in our home. My youngest, too young to understand the loss, is now almost three years old. She is growing up healthy, cheerful, and looking more and more like him each day.

Each day begins with a dua’ for strength and ends with gratitude. Gratitude not only for what I still have, but also for what I have finally come to understand. I have learned that tawakkul, reliance on Allah , is what steadies the heart. I have also realised that vulnerability is not a sign of weakness. It is a path toward resilience and unimaginable strength. 

A Traveler’s Perspective

Life is a journey, a temporary stop on our way to the Eternal. The loss of Hanafi has made this reality clearer than ever. I am a traveler, as are we all. And while the pain of separation remains, knowing that he is now under the care of our Merciful Rabb brings me calm, and the hope of reunion in Jannah continues to sustain me.

Hajar’s story ends with the miraculous spring of Zamzam, a manifestation of Allah’s Promise and Mercy. My story is still unfolding, but I know one thing for certain: My Rabb will never abandon us.

If you are reading this and carrying your own burden of loss, know that you are not alone. Your pain is seen, your tears are counted, and your struggle is known by the One who created you. Trust in Him, even when the path is unclear.

As the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said upon the loss of his son, Ibrahim :

“The eyes shed tears, and the heart grieves, but we will not say except that which pleases Allah. Indeed, we are grieved by your departure, O Ibrahim.” [Sahih al-Bukhari 1303]

May Allah grant us the strength to endure, the faith to persevere, and the hope to continue our journey toward Him.

اللهم أجرني في مصيبتي، واخلف لي خيراً منها

“O Allah, reward me in my affliction and replace it with something better.”

Related:

– My Dearest Fetus: Enduring Unimaginable Loss

– Sharing Grief: A 10-Point Primer On Condolence

The post My Rabb Will Never Abandon Us: A Personal Journey Through Love, Loss, And Tawakkul appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.