Remembering My Shahadah

[chubacka]

Thx North, dey really are amazing stories...I love the Latino born in Texas. His sincere love for Allah and His deen comes across so much.Marshallah may Allah increase him in faith and devotion to the deen. Ameen

[Ms DD]

My Journey to GOD

 

By Sanadee Kamal

 

I had never heard of Islam before 1998, except once when I heard a news report announcing that pop singer, Cat Stevens, became Muslim and changed his name to Yusuf Islam. I still didn’t know what this strange religious cult was that he had joined, but I knew I would miss his beautiful singing.

 

In December 1998, I was surfing the internet, not for anything specific, just surfing, when someone popped up on my instant messenger box. He said he was Muslim and asked me if I knew anything about Islam, wherein I replied, “Oh, yeah, they worship cows!” He abruptly replied, “No, we don’t worship cows.” He said, “We worship the one GOD and in the Arabic language, that means ALLAH.” He continued teaching me a little more about Islam, mentioned that it was Ramadan and he was fasting. I told him how I used to fast, drinking only juices and water all day, until the next day, sometimes for several days in a row. I told him I don’t go to church anymore.

 

I was raised in a home where religion was not practiced per se. My parents couldn’t decide between being Protestant or Catholic, so they would kick all us kids out of the house every Sunday morning, instructing us to go to the nearby church. Thomas Avenue Baptist Church was only a couple blocks away. I was a good and obedient child, so I had to go to church, while my brothers and sisters went about in the neighborhood doing only GOD knows what. I remember hearing the Preacher speak of Jesus. He said this great man Jesus died for my sins so that I might live. Wow, what a good person, I thought. I listened attentively. The Preacher also said we were all going to ‘hell in a hand basket’ if we didn’t accept Jesus into our hearts, believe that he was the Son of God, and that he died for us, then on the 3rd day was raised from the dead. The Preacher instructed us to get saved by walking down the aisle towards him to accept Jesus today or go to hell. I was terrified. I, of course, ran up that aisle, and accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior.

 

The next step was to get baptized. That night, I went to late church to receive my baptism and receive my certificate of proof. I was dunked, head and all, into a pool of water above the choir at the front of the church, behind where the Preacher had taught me that I was born a sinner, and I needed to be washed in the blood of Jesus. Now I was to be a new and sinless creature, for the sins of the world had been laid upon the shoulders of the Son of God, Jesus. I remember as a young girl of 12 years old, looking up into the heavens and praising God for everything I saw. The world was so beautiful; the leaves on the trees were so much greener now, and the sky so much bluer. Everything seemed so much sweeter and safer.

 

Years went by. I had been a good kid, and grew up into a decent adult, but I would sin from time to time and feel the need to go back to church, repent in front of the entire congregation, which was a necessity in order to have your sins forgiven, and get saved and baptized all over again. I kept wondering why it wasn’t taking for me. I still kept sinning. I did my best, but I was a failure. I must have been saved and re-baptized at least a half dozen times. I must have been doing something wrong, because I kept sinning and would have to go up that aisle regularly for years to get re-saved.

 

When I was well into my adulthood, I began experimenting with different denominations, in the hopes that I could find whatever it was that was missing in my life. I was so in need of GOD, but I felt like I just wasn’t doing a good enough job being a Christian.

 

I went to a non-denominational church where they teach speaking in tongues, an evidence of receiving the Holy Spirit. That’s it! I thought. I didn’t have the Holy Spirit, because I never spoke in tongues. I began ‘training’ for that. I heard people in the church speak in unknown languages, and then someone else would interpret it for the rest of the congregation. This was supposed to be :gifts of the Holy Spirit.” There were also people with gifts of healing and others with the gift of discerning and casting out evil spirits, while others had the gift of prophecy. My gifts were apparently discernment of evil spirits and prophecy, as I was told.

 

I always have had spiritual dreams. Sometimes I dream of hearing angels singing and praising God. Other times I dream that the end of time is coming and I am trying to warn people to be ready, but they don’t listen. Even today, I pay close attention to my dreams, because they usually reveal something to me that is useful in my awaken life. I have always felt that I need God in my life and have spent my entire life trying to find out how to get to Him without a middle man.

 

The more time I spent at churches, the more questions I had and the more confused I would become. I would pray to God to give me understanding. No one at the churches could answer my questions, and would throw it back on me by saying, “Well, you just have to have faith.” That is the blind faith Christians are compelled to follow without reason. I became confused about some of the doctrine being taught in the Churches. The Trinity was a big stumper to me. Who do I pray to? Do I pray to God, Jesus or the Holy Spirit? From reading the Bible, I would read stories that led me to think God was sort of mean and had a temper, Jesus was the nice one that we could talk to and who would sympathize with us, and the Holy Spirit just kind of hung around giving people power. I was thoroughly confused about the Trinity.

 

I began seeing things in church that I couldn’t deal with. I saw things that seemed to me were not from God. People were falling out in the floor because they ‘got the Holy Ghost’. They would start laughing hysterically for no reason; well they said it was the Holy Spirit taking over their bodies and giving them the feeling of being drunk, as spoken of by Paul in the Book of Acts in the Bible. Well, I thought, I am close to God. I am striving to be closer to Him every day, so why can’t I get the Holy Ghost? What am I doing wrong? I would fast for as much as 2 weeks at a time sometimes. I fasted regularly in the hopes of finding what was really right and truly from God. I went up to the front of the church to receive the Holy Spirit like everyone else. They would fall in the floor when they got it, but not me. I asked God, “Ok, God, if this is really from you, then I want it too! I want the Holy Spirit to come and live inside me and speak in tongues and be a better person like them”. This thing never happened for me.

 

I will never forget the day I was on my knees beside my bed, crying out to God, begging Him to show me what was right and true from Him. I cried and prayed for hours. I decided at that moment I would not go back to church. I would find God on my own. I prayed that He would bring someone into my life that could guide me to the Truths of God. I prayed for a good and righteous husband that would be a guide for me as well.

 

It was a few years later before God answered my prayers, but I had no idea He was even working in my life. This is when the man popped up onto my instant messenger screen and began telling me about Islam. I was very intrigued by the things he would tell me about this strange religion. It turned out that this man lived only two blocks down the road from me! He sent me websites about Islam, and the more I read the more intrigued I would become.

 

One of the first things I read was the Christian-Muslim Dialogue. If you have not read that, I strongly urge you to read this fascinating piece of work. One of the most important aspects of Islam that my friend shared with me about Islam was that I didn’t have to give up anything about Christianity that I believed. I was really interested to know that Muslims believed in the same characters that are in the Bible. I was awed to know that they believe in Adam and Eve, Moses, Noah, and even Jesus.

 

But then he told me they don’t believe Jesus is the Son of God. Oh, no, I thought. I can’t believe that Jesus is not the Son of God. That is grounds for going to hell. Christians are so terrified of hell by what we are told in the Preachers’ sermons. That one was a tough one to swallow. I put that thought aside and continued on with learning more. Then my friend said they don’t go through an intercessor like Jesus when they pray, but instead pray straight to God. Wow, that is an answer for me. I could never figure out what part of God to pray to. They used to tell me the egg theory to explain the Trinity. That story didn’t fly with me. I couldn’t force it to make sense. Christianity teaches you only need the faith of a mustard seed and you would know. I could have a cupful of mustard seeds and the Trinity still didn’t make sense to me.

 

My friend taught me that Jesus was a great Prophet that came only to teach the Israelites about God, as did Noah to his people, and Moses to his people. He went on to explain that Muslims believe that Muhammad was the last Messenger, and he came to deliver the same message as Jesus and the other prophets, but that he came for all mankind. I was interested to know more about Islam, about God, whom Muslims call Allah, and about the message of Prophet Muhammad.

 

Then an amazing change happened in my life. My friend set up a meeting for me with Dr. Kazi and Allia. Dr. Kazi would later become my wali. My friend told me how knowledgeable Dr. Kazi was, and that he and his wife could teach me more about Islam. We were invited to their home. This was a new experience for me, as I had never met people who take their shoes off at the door. He didn’t make me take my shoes off though. They were so cordial to me that it was all overwhelming. He taught me a little more about Islam. He invited me to a class he teaches on Sunday afternoons to teach people about Islam. I went to the class with my friend, and felt very excited about my new experiences.

 

I felt a little nervous as I made my way to the front of the class where the women used to sit, and the men in back. The first person I saw was Izziddin, who, unbeknownst to me, would be my husband. For some reason, he gave me chills. When I heard his voice, my heart would skip a beat, and, of course, I thought he was very cute. Mind you, I wasn’t in the mindset I am now. That was jahileah (worldly thinking).

 

It was a very interesting class. Everyone was so friendly and made me feel so welcomed. I never experienced such warmness from strangers, who were mostly from other countries that I was unfamiliar with. They were so neat a group of people. They left me wanting more; more involvement with this type of people, and wanting to know more about their religion. Dr. Kazi gave me a copy of a book he had written called, 130 Evident Miracles in Qur’an. After the class, Izziddin came running to give me tapes about Islam. I thought he liked me, but it turned out he does this for everyone he meets, especially new people, to help them feel welcomed. Dr. Kazi yelled at him, “Brother, don’t overwhelm her with so many tapes!” I laughed, but I felt genuine concern from Dr. Kazi and his wonderful wife, Allia. Izziddin was so excited to share his religion with anyone who would listen.

 

I went home and watched tapes of a debate between Sheikh Ahmed Deedat and Jimmy Swaggart. I was amazed. I knew Jimmy Swaggart from his history tv evangelizing some years ago, before he admitted his terrible sins on national tv. At that time, lots of TV evangelists were doing all sorts of bad things and, either getting caught or just outright admitting their atrocities. This was another reason I quit going to church. If you can’t trust the leaders, who can you trust.

 

The debate led me to more questions and more of a desire to learn more about this religion, Islam. I wanted to read the Qur’an but no one would give me one. I wanted to know what was in their Holy Book, so I could compare it to the Bible. I read Dr. Kazi’s ‘130 Evident Miracles’ book. I was so shocked and surprised by the scientific miracles that were in the Qur’an, which I still had not had the privilege of reading. You would think it was a National Treasure the way they were keeping me from it. After reading about all the miracles, I thought, “Wow, if these miracles are in the Qur’an, then it truly must be a book from God. My friend gave me a book that had a few verses of Qur’an in it, but it left me wanting more.

 

The following Sunday, I went to Dr. Kazi’s class. At the end of the class, he presented me with a copy of the translation of the Holy Qur’an by Maududi. I was overwhelmed. I remember clutching that book like it was my life. Little did I know at that time, but it was indeed my life. I couldn’t wait to get it home and start reading it.

 

I began reading as soon as I got home. I started from the front cover. I was enthralled with it, and it felt special to me. I had a difficult time putting it down. I wanted to find all these miracles that were promised in Dr. Kazi’s book. I was eager to read more. I remembered how confusing it had always been to me, trying to figure out whom to pray to; Father, Son or Holy Spirit. Was Jesus really the Son of God, and did he die for my sins too? I felt like that if Dr. Kazi’s miracles were in this book called the Qur’an, then this amazing book was Holy and was really from God, and I had to believe whatever else it said. I continued on reading.

 

I reached Surah Al-Nisa. Then, like a lightning bolt, my body was shocked, and my knees hit the floor. With tears streaming down my face and I began to weep uncontrollably, asking God to forgive me for all the sins I had ever committed in my life, for being angry with Him when I couldn’t find the truths. He had now answered my prayer that I prayed by my bed all those many years ago. I read the words that would forever change my life. Surah 4: Al Nisa: 171: O People of the Book! Commit no excesses in your religion: nor say of Allah aught but the truth. Christ Jesus the son of Mary was (no more than) a Messenger of ALLAH, and His Word, which He bestowed on Mary, and a Spirit proceeding from Him: so believe in Allah and His Messengers. Say not “Trinity”: desist; it will be better for you: For Allah is One God; Glory be to Him: (Far Exalted is He) above having a son. To Him belong all things in the heavens and on earth.”

 

I was sobbing uncontrollable at this point, but couldn’t stop reading. At ayah 174: O mankind! Verily there hath come to you a convincing proof from your Lord: For We have sent unto you a light (that is) manifest. 174: Then those who believe in Allah, and hold fast to Him—soon will He admit them to Mercy and Grace from Himself, and guide them to Himself by a straight Way.

 

My life was changed in that instant. I sent Dr. Kazi another of my many emails and told him that I was ready. I wanted to be Muslim. On Sunday of the following week of February 24, 1999, I said my shahadah. I met the most amazing people who accepted me into their lives and hearts, and I was overwhelmed with joy. It took a couple of weeks to build up the courage to begin wearing hijab, but when I was ready, God, whom I now began calling ALLAH swt, gave me the courage. I went to the class without it and began feeling embarrassed. Allia gave me a beautiful blue scarf. I wanted to wear it to the class so badly, but I was so afraid. I remember sitting in my car, trying to muster the nerve to put it on. It was a huge step for me. I sat there; holding that blue scarf in my hands, shaking fiercely with anticipation, then did it. I brought it to my head, and thought to myself, “There is no backing out now.” Someone was sitting in the car next to me and I hadn’t realized it until now. I can do this, I thought. I want to and so I will, with the help of ALLAH. I put the scarf on, pinned it in place, and then proudly walked into the class. I was so happy that I had taken that leap of faith.

 

As the weeks went by, I learned more and more about Islam, and took a beginner’s Arabic class with Allia and a few of the women from the class. It was great, and I was so eager to fill myself with all the knowledge I could get, all the while, Dr. Kazi was telling me to “slow down, slow down.” I couldn’t go slow. I had waited my entire life to get what I had found in Islam, and I didn’t want to waste a single second. I wanted it all and I wanted it all now. It was mine; a beautiful gift from God.

 

I began learning the prayers. My kids heard me shouting the prayers in my bedroom, repeating them over and over again, practicing, practicing and practicing more. I still didn’t have it down pat, and didn’t realize there were times to pray and a certain direction. I was learning from Dr. Kazi and Allia, from Izziddin, and from my dear friend I had met on the internet. I couldn’t get it fast enough. I was like a starving child, only my food was now the morsels of Islam and the goodness of ALLAH.

 

I moved from Conroe to Houston so I could be closer to the class and to all my new Muslim friends. I also began taking all the information I had learned about Islam and created a website called Shahadah.net. It was my baby, just like I was a baby Muslim. I also began communicating with Izziddin; we sent emails and talked on the phone in the most innocent and pure way. We would talk about Islam and cry, then laugh, then cry some more. It was quite a bonding experience. I began feeling I wanted to marry him, and began praying for Allah to take these feelings from me if it wasn’t what HE wanted for me. Everyone was trying to get me married, but my heart was toward Izziddin. I felt like he was possibly the second part of my answered prayer. The closer we got, the question of marriage became an issue. With my new life, I wanted only what ALLAH had planned for me, without deviation.

 

I prayed all the time to Allah, with so much faith in my heart for one thing or another. I believed so strongly in what I was doing and the new life I was leading, but wanted Allah to be in the driver’s seat of my life. I wanted only what He planned for me, nothing more, nothing less. I began praying fervently about the feelings I had for Izziddin. I asked Allah to please take away the feelings I had for him if they were not in His plans. The more I prayed, the deeper the feelings grew, until finally Izziddin began talking about marriage. I was so happy. It was around September when he began talking about it. It was almost Ramadan, and he said, “Let’s wait until 6 months to marry”. I thought, That is too long. I want to marry him now. I had no concept of sabr at that point. I began praying, both for my feelings for Izziddin to evaporate if it was not in Allah’s plan, and if it was, that Izziddin would want to marry me sooner.

 

After a couple of days, Izziddin decided to marry after Ramadan. Again, I thought, no, if this is meant to be, then I don’t want to wait even that long. I began praying again. My feelings for him were so strong, and I had always wanted to be married to a man who was so devoted to Allah as Izziddin seemed to be. I didn’t want to wait a single moment longer than necessary. I began praying harder than ever. A couple days later, I was at work. I got a phone call from Izziddin. He said with much excitement in his voice, “I talked to Dr. Kazi today. Can we marry on Friday?” I was so excited, I could hardly contain myself. Everyone in my vicinity knew my phone call was good news. I couldn’t work any more due to my enthusiasm. They let me go home for the rest of the day. I actually worked on my wedding day. When I got off work, I went home and got dressed, drove myself over to Dr. Kazi’s home, where he was so gracious to perform and host the wedding. It was a most exciting day for me. The wedding was a little strange for me, in that I didn’t get to talk or even see my husband until after the wedding. I wasn’t even sure if he had shown up. He did, and we couldn’t stop smiling!

 

The prayer I had prayed so many years ago had been answered. I got the answers about God from God Himself with Islam, and he gave me the husband I had always dreamed of having. I was literally experiencing a little bit of heaven on earth. We shared our first Ramadan together shortly after we were married, and I fasted as a Muslim, as prescribed by our Prophet Muhammad, pbuh, from sunrise to sunset; no juices or water, as was the way I used to fast. I began wearing hijab at all times, even to work. I was a very proud Muslimah, and I felt that no one could stand in my way.

 

After a few months of marriage and having been a new revert Muslim, my new husband and I went to a Houston University, where I was witness to another miracle. I had the privilege of hearing the shahadah story of one of my idols of years gone by. Yusuf Islam, aka Cat Stevens, was there to give his reversion story. I watched in awe as my dear husband gave Brother Yusuf the biggest man hug. It was a beautiful sight, one that I will cherish and remember always. Now I understood what Brother Yusuf had gone through all those years ago, and I shared something with him; our reversion to Islam and the truths of ALLAH.

 

My husband almost immediately gave me the name Sanadee, which is Arabic for ‘my support’. He has been an inspiration for me and truly has been my sanad, my support, with the sabr of Job. He has been my support, with sabran jameel – beautiful patience, through my trials and tribulations, my ups and my downs, through my journey to Islam, which continues on to this day.

 

 

 

 

 

But my journey doesn’t stop here…..

 

Read the continuing story of my life as a Muslim in

 

My Journey through Islam

 

After Reversion

by Sanadee Kamal

[Ms DD]

A sister from the Gulf embraces Islam

 

 

Feb 17,2007

Short Description:A sister from the Gulf embraces Islam......

 

Alsalam Alaikum Wa Rahmatu Allah Wa Barakatuh(Peace and blessings by upon you all )

 

Praise be to Allah for lighting my heart with the light of Islam, made it possible for me to find the right path, Peace and blessing be upon the prophet of Allah. .

 

 

At first I would like to indicate that the situation I ended up in was a natural result of negligence and carelessness. My story started before I was even born, my father is a Muslim from the (Arabian) Gulf, he married my Christian Arabic mother on a condition that she embraces Islam after getting married. My father and mother both got married In a European country –where they had studied-.

 

After six months of the marriage my mother refused the idea of accepting Islam, therefore my father decided to divorce her for breaking a major condition of their marriage. At that time my mother was pregnant of me, however that didn’t stop the divorce to take place. My mother then went back to here home country where I was born. Soon after, Dad asked her to take me back, but Mom refused for maternal emotions and insisted that I stay with her, Dad accepted her opinion and left me with my Christian mother. As for my dad, my relationship with him was based on his monthly money transfer that he was committed to me, as well as some occasional calls, I was to meet him once every two years or maybe more… even though I was carrying documents stating that I am a Muslim from the Gulf, however, I didn’t know anything about Islam and the Gulf except what I used to take in geography and history classes, or through what I had observed from the Muslims that I used to see in my mother’s country.

 

I used to study in a catholic school and go with my Mom to church; I lived like that for 18 years…I was Muslim by name that used to practice Christian rituals. It is true that I was sluggish in my worship, and hated going to church, but I was blaming myself and always promised myself to become a better Christian in the nearest future..

 

I used to live the careless teen life, I was out all the time spending the nights. I had friends from both genders. My mother used to advice me on some things, but after I had finished high school I didn’t earn a great GPA that will permit me to enter a university that I liked in my mother’s country, so I decided to study in my father’s country.

 

When I told my father about my plan to study in his place, he didn’t care much, all he asked me was “ where will you live?! I understood that he didn’t want me to live with him, I suggested to have my Mom and maternal step brother to travel and live with me, since my step father had passed away ‘who I used to call Father’.

 

Dad had accepted this idea, and decided to carry out all the costs associated with this trip including the apartment rent, food, and to increase my monthly salary.

 

This tripe was a major turnover in my life, I started learning about Islam from the Muslims themselves. The most thing that had attracted me was, the young girls who covered their heads with ‘Hijab’ scarf, I felt so jealous from them, because I have imagined them as saved diamonds by a piece of black velvet, but I was almost half naked just like an advertisement in a newspaper that attracts a few people, even those few don’t last, soon they would use this newspaper for their kitchen or throw it in the trash.

 

During my first year in the university I asked my mother about Islam,- I was so attached to her- but she gave me an answer that I’ll never forget… She said: “I was impressed about Islam before you and married your father, I was a believer of that religion, but after getting to know it closer I became sure that it is not a religion from God… it was just rubbish things from an ignorant Arabic man who didn’t know how to read or write… so how can an educated person like you allow an ignorant man play with her mind and try to adjust here life?...”

 

I was silent and accepted here talk, to be honest I didn’t bother myself anymore, because I was enjoying my free open life…

 

Three years passed during which I had flashes of thought about my religion…

 

I was addicted to the Internet and a frequent visitor to the PalTalk rooms for a full year. One day I entered the room of “Izhar Alhaq”(i.e showing the truth) by mistake, in which I found people showing the dark side of the Christianity, and I had known that a different room was talking bad about Islam. I lost my feelings between both religions between Islam that I’ve been labeled with in my documents plus it is my father’s religion, and Christianity that I was raised with plus it is my mother’s religion… Since my feelings go towards both religions, I decided to find myself in this religion issue… so I stayed for two months shifting and listening to both the Islamic and the Christian room, I gave each room two hours ‘listening only’. After knowing the two religions I started having questions… so I began asking the administrators of both rooms for a whole month. I found warm welcomes and a listening ear from the Muslims more than the Christians, which had amazed me. The only answers I used to get from the Christians when I asked them about the ideas I got from the “Izhar Alhaq” room, is that they are lyres or that it is in the old testament… Old Testament??????? How can a holy book be for a certain period and then get replaced with new book, written by a created person which they call the new testament???? However, the Qur’an is one book! I have compared between both religions and found that Islam is the one that my mind and natural feelings move towards, where the cleanness, justice, and dignity lay . So after three months I chose Islam as my religion, I then visited ‘Hamel Almesk’ room “in PalTalk” to learn more about my new religion. I noticed that the people there were competing to help me especially brother ‘Muslim’ and brother ‘Albalsam Alshafee’ Jazahum Allah Khair…

 

Through them, I was introduced to some books, and websites on Islam. I have not faced any difficulties with this religion since its the religion of fitrah (i.e. nature). I announced the ‘Shahadatain’ in ‘Hamel Almesk’ room, then I took a shower, followed by two ‘Rak’ah’ prayers. After three days I wore ‘Alhijab’ (i.e. the head cover), through which my mother knew about my Islam… I can’t say nor describe what she said and did to bring me back to Christianity -because I am making my story brief - she even offered to allow me live a secular life without any limits… can you imagine this call from a mother to her daughter. She even tried to tear up the Qur’an once, but I showed up at the right time.. She tried in various ways, but couldn’t defeat my determination on Islam , I promised her that my religion would not affect her life, so she would leave me live freely…

 

Now after three months of being a Muslim, I know about Islam more than those who were born Muslim. Do you know why? Because I chose to enter Islam, and left out my friends and my free life according to the western definition of the free life, all that for the sake of Allah, Allah has become my lover whom I work sincerely for, I knew by being a Muslim I am pleasing my Lord...

 

I looked after my religion and ‘all praise are due to Allah’ I became very good in “Tajweed” and have memorized chapters of the Qur’an. I didn’t leave nor delay a single prayer…

 

Brothers and sisters I hope you get to know Islam the way I did, so think and ponder into Allah’s rulings that way you’ll get attached and closer to it. Thanks and sorry for the lengthy story, even though I haven’t mentioned many parts of my story. I am 21 years old now, in my last year at the university.

 

 

Regards, Your sister: Muslimah.

 

Source: http://www.islamhouse.com/p/6005

[Sharmarkee]

Originally posted by Ms Dhucdhuc & Dheylo:

 

This tripe was a major turnover in my life, I started learning about Islam from the Muslims themselves. The most thing that had attracted me was, the young girls who covered their heads with ‘Hijab’ scarf, I felt so jealous from them, because I have imagined them as saved diamonds by a piece of black velvet, but I was almost half naked just like an advertisement in a newspaper that attracts a few people, even those few don’t last, soon they would use this newspaper for their kitchen or throw it in the trash.

 

Regards, Your sister: Muslimah.

 

Source:

http://www.islamhouse.com/p/6005

[/QB]

Quite a testimony

[N.O.R.F]

Finding Islam: The Road Less Traveled

 

By Sumayyah Meehan

 

Freelance Writer

 

I recall the day perfectly. It was the first week of December 1992. I was a sophomore in college and had just wrapped up my mid-term exams. I was excited that Christmas vacation would start in a couple of days. I had just enough time to pack up my belongings for the winter break and wrap a few gifts that I had bought for my roommate.

 

 

As I put the last bow on the gifts, I just froze as a thought entered my head. And that thought was in the form of a question: If God is good, then how could He allow His only son Jesus to be crucified?

 

This single question opened the floodgates for me. It literally took my breath away. I had to lie down on my bed to just breathe and collect my thoughts, which I was afraid, were blasphemous. I went down a virtual checklist of just how much I knew about Christianity and asked myself whether or not I really believed what I knew. What I learned is that I did not know much about my religion, and what I did know I questioned.

 

As an infant, my parents baptized me a Christian. However, they were not very religious at all, and I can only remember attending church a handful of times in my life. The only time we even went to church was during the holidays. As a result, I always felt a deep void in my heart and I could not "feel" that God was in my life. I knew I had to take immediate action and "find" God.

 

The winter break ended just as soon as it came. I headed back to college to complete the final semester before summer vacation. I knew this was the opportunity I had to explore my faith.

 

Iset out on my quest the following Sunday. I attended a Catholic Mass at a church near my college. During the service, I did all I could to control my laughter. And the service was not supposed to be funny. I looked around me and everyone had serious looks on their faces and had their heads bowed.

 

To me, the sermon sounded ridiculous as if it were something a father would say to a naughty child that would scare him into behaving. It was ridiculous and, unlike me, the other parishioners were swallowing it hook, line, and sinker! Why wasn't anyone asking questions or demanding the light of truth? I did not find God that day in church. My search continued.

 

Over the course of the next several months, I continued my quest by visiting the churches of every single denomination Christianity has to offer. I attended a Presbyterian Church for a couple of weeks. Then moved on to the Lutheran, Baptist, Methodist, and so on. But again I found the sermons unconvincing and was just not buying what the preachers were selling.

 

By this time, the void in my heart was all encompassing. I fell into a deep depression. I could not understand what was wrong with me. Was I an atheist? I did not think so since I did believe in a Higher Authority that created and ruled humankind. Was I in Satan's clutches? Certainly, I must be since I laughed at my own religion. I could not find answers to any of my questions and fell into a blackness that made me question every aspect of my life.

 

Allah's light would not shine on me until almost a year later. In 1993, I met a man who just happened to be a Muslim. His name was Abid. I knew a little about Islam from high school.

 

Surprisingly enough, we had learned about Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) in world history class. So, I could converse a little with Abid about Islam, and he taught me the basic principles of the Islamic belief.

 

I was very skeptical at first. All I had ever heard about Muslims was bad. The media regularly portrayed Muslims as being terrorists and oppressing women. I believed what I saw on TV.

 

At the same time, I was taking a class on "feminism," and the book we used for the class had a huge chapter that explicitly stated that women in Islam were treated like dogs and not allowed to pray in the mosque because they are considered to be impure.

 

So, the first question I asked Abid was about how women are treated in Islam. His answer was that women are allowed to pray in mosques, but separate from the men because of piety and modesty issues for both of the sexes. He had captured my attention and made me rethink what I knew about Islam.

 

Unfortunately, Abid was called back to his own country, Kuwait, to tend to his sick father. So, I was pretty much left on my own to discover Islam. However, I did keep in contact with Abid over the phone. We had several furious debates about Christianity and Islam.

 

And then he challenged me. He dared me to go out and find a copy of the holy Qur'an and read it. I had never backed down from a challenge before, and this was no different. I accepted the challenge, not knowing that it would change my life forever.

 

The challenge to find an English translation of the Qur'an was just that — a challenge. I was in a city with a church on just about every corner and a massive Christian bookstore downtown. There was nowhere to buy a copy of the Qur'an. I decided to search the college library.

 

I typed the word "Qur'an" into the database and one single entry came back. And it was not even listed in the Theology section, which was really stunning. It was located in the Children's Book Section, which was pretty telling to me. I trekked down to the basement where the kid's books were located and found a dirty and ragged Qur'an between two fairytale books.

 

That Qur'an had seen better days. It was not worn from devoted reading or interest. It was worn from sheer neglect and covered in dust. Regardless, I dusted it off and proceeded to check it out much to the amazement of the librarian who leered at me as I signed my name. As if I had committed a sin in her presence! I shoved the Qur'an in my backpack and made my way back to my dorm.

 

Abid had given me strict instructions for cleanliness before touching the Qur'an, which seemed really strange to me.

 

The Bible, in my home, was left on the coffee table to gather dust and get an occasional lick from our dog. It was not revered as the Qur'an is. His instructions were that I should perform an act called wudu' (ablution), which consisted of washing different parts of the body.

 

For some reason, my mind was not wrapping around this idea. I kept telling him that I did not know how to perform "voodoo." Clearly, we were not on the same page! So, he told me to just take a shower before touching the Qur'an.

 

After finishing my shower and dressing, I sat down at my desk with the Qur'an in hand. For some reason, I did not open it at page one but rather I opened it up somewhere in the center. And this is the very first ayah (verse of Qur'an) that I read:

 

[We have enjoined on man kindness to his parents; in pain did his mother bear him, and in pain did she give him birth.] (Al-Ahqaf 46:15)

 

I was stunned. What a wonderful thing to read. I flipped through the pages, and everything I read brought a smile to my face. After reading a lot more over the course of several days, I was absolutely flabbergasted with my findings. Moses and Noah were in the Qur'an, and so were Jesus and his mother Mary! And the Qur'an gave a lot more detail, in regards to historical events, than the Bible did.

 

As I read and read, I felt my heart soaring. I felt I was on the right path to finding Allah and knowing Him. However, my quest was interrupted due to problems with my family, finishing my studies and the fact that Abid, my only teacher, was remaining in his country for an unspecified time. The feeling of loss and hopelessness once again overwhelmed me. So, I put my interest in Islam on the backburner.

 

It was only the sheer grace of Allah that led me back to Islam in 1995. I had continued to keep in contact with Abid during his stay in his country. One day he asked me to marry him over the phone and I agreed even though I was still Christian. I was committed to learning more about Islam but had no way of knowing if I would be able to accept this new religion.

 

After our marriage, we moved to Kuwait, which is where his family was based. I took the Shahadah in 1996. The tears of thankfulness to Allah overwhelmed me as I stood in the mosque surrounded by Muslim sisters. I could not stop crying. I felt that Allah had plucked me out of a life of disbelief, that He saved me from a meaningless existence and a life of reckless abandon.

 

However, the story does not end there. I was now a Muslim, but I had very limited knowledge of Islam. No one in my newfound family spoke enough English to teach me how to pray and the Islamic books in English were scarce. I was a Muslim, but I was unable to practice my beliefs. It was very discouraging.

 

 

Everyone kept telling me that it was OK and I would not be held accountable for not knowing how to pray or fast. But, while that is true, Muslims are supposed to strive for knowledge and seek it out. My problem was that I did not know where to look. I felt my Islam slipping away again, but Allah, in His infinite wisdom, pulled me back again for the third time!

 

 

 

It was exactly 4 a.m. in the morning during the summer of 1999. I was pacing my apartment because I just felt restless. The phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I knew something was wrong. It was my sister calling from Connecticut. The news was bad. Not only had my grandmother died, but she had been brutally strangled to death by a handyman who had known her for over 15 years.

 

 

 

I was shattered. My grandmother was the most important person to me. I did not know how to cope. Over the next few days, I just cried myself sick. All the while I had my eyes fixated on the English translation of the Qur'an that I had on top of my cupboard. I had never opened it once since the sisters gave it to me when I took the Shahadah at the mosque.

 

 

 

I felt like a failure as a Muslim because of the language barrier and because of not knowing how to pray, so I even ignored the Qur'an in my own language. But something was different. All the days I spent crying in my room because of the loss of my grandmother, I felt like the Qur'an was beckoning me to read it. I was drawn to it.

 

 

 

So, after two solid weeks of mourning, I began reading the Qur'an once again. But this time I would not leave it sitting around unused, rather I read the entire Qur'an from cover to cover over the course of a few months.

 

 

 

Armed with the knowledge of the Qur'an, I sought out ways to perfect my Islam. I finally bought a computer, got hooked up to the Internet, and found a plethora of Islamic knowledge at my fingertips. A sister in Saudi Arabia taught me how to pray via e-mail. And whenever I had a question, I would visit an Islamic forum to find the answer.

 

 

 

It has been almost 11 years since I converted to Islam. The student has now become the teacher. I am a writer. I write about Islam in various newspapers and magazines in different countries.

 

I can only wonder if my articles are being clipped and saved in a book that will help teach others about Islam. In sha' Allah they are as I come full circle.

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sumayyah Meehanreverted to Islam almost 11 years ago. She is a Waynesburg College graduate with a BA in criminal justice. She is working on an Islamic children's book. She resides in Kuwait with her husband and three children.

 

Source

[Ms DD]

New Muslims Tell of Their Journey Discovering Truth

Lulwa Shalhoub, Arab News

 

Danya converted to Islam in Ramadan. Her journey to Islam is an interesting one and began when she was 18 and when she married a man, whom she met at work in Manila in the Philippines. The man later turned out to be an alcoholic.

 

Her marriage was unhappy. Convinced that she was not meant to be happy, she started looking for happiness in other things.

 

Born a Catholic, she began studying the Bible and became a Born Again Christian. While Catholics are obliged to practice Christianity from what priests understand from the Bible, Born Again Christians have the freedom to study the Bible themselves and act as they see fit.

 

During that time, Danya’s sister married a Muslim man and embraced Islam. When Danya told her sister she had become a Born Again Christian, her sister replied sarcastically, “You still worship a creature; it’s useless!” It was then that Danya began praying to “God Almighty” to guide her to the straight path.

 

Her husband’s attitude grew worse and he started to mock her prayers. “Depression, agony and deep sadness overwhelmed my life. Nothing made me happy except praying,” she said.

 

Once the couple fought. Her husband left home and disappeared for two weeks. Feeling lonely, Danya applied for a job abroad to escape her problems.

 

She was hesitant as she had no qualifications and could not work as a housekeeper because she did not have any training. It was then that she visited a hairdresser’s shop that was frequented by actresses. She asked the manager to let her work for free and be trained.

 

After gaining some training, Danya applied for a job as a beautician in Saudi Arabia and underwent a test. She was the only one who passed.

 

As she was preparing to leave for the Kingdom, her husband returned home and saw her happy.

 

“He became jealous and mad at me. He said he would kill me. He took a knife and threatened me,” she said.

 

While preparing her paperwork to come to the Kingdom, Danya had also undergone a medical test that showed she had breast cancer and had only six months to live.

 

“I was happy to know my destination and was praying that God would guide me to the straight path. My employer liked my work and did not care about my health condition. In the end I came to Saudi Arabia in 1987,” she said.

 

When she came here, she was faced with a different culture. There were no churches and no bibles. One of her Christian colleagues gave her a small bible. “My sister’s words were haunting me. I asked myself if I was worshipping a creature or the Creator,” said Danya.

 

She used to read the Bible and asked God to help her understand it. She read that the Prophet Jesus (peace be upon him) fasted and so she fasted as Christians do, abstaining from solid food. She wanted to pray as much she could before she died.

 

One day her employer asked her, “Why don’t you become a Muslim?” Danya asked whether Muslims believe in Jesus. Her employer, not being able to understand English properly, said “No.”

 

Danya’s Muslim Indonesian colleague also advised her to accept Islam. She refused and said that she would not change her religion and beliefs for anyone.

 

Her brother in law also worked in Jeddah and so Danya asked him about Islam. He was kind and sent her a letter that explained details about what Muslims think of Jesus and the five prayers.

 

She prayed five daily prayers before accepting Islam. A Christian colleague asked her to join an Islamic center. She attended four sessions on the recitation of the Holy Qur’an and comparative religion.

 

Sometime later she became convinced that Islam was the truth and so went to Makkah. “I went to Makkah and saw the true meaning of equity, mercy and tranquility,” she said.

 

She told her employer that she wanted to embrace Islam. They took her to a court in Ramadan and there she formally took the Shahada (a declaration that there is no God but Allah and Muhammad is His messenger). Danya has lived longer than the six months she initially thought she would live and is currently undergoing treatment for her illness.

 

Maria is another convert. Born in an Italian Catholic family, Maria initially wanted to become a Catholic nun. While studying at a theology college in Italy, she found contradictions in the new and old testaments. After studying for three years she quit and decided to travel to a country where she could find peace of mind.

 

She did not have enough money to travel and so applied for a job as a maid and went to Jordan to work for a Muslim family, who did not tell her anything about Islam. “I felt guilty and traitorous to the church. I was of the conviction that God shows the true path to those who seek to correct themselves and prayed for that,” she said.

 

Once I was cleaning the house, I found a book about monotheism and started reading it. “At that moment I realized that Allah Almighty has answered my prayer so quickly. Before that I didn’t know that monotheism was the basic creed of Islam. Nobody told me. So I kept reading and studying Islam,” she said.

 

She used to listen to the Qur’an although she did not understand it. She said she loved the sound of the words. After a few days, Maria told her employer that she wanted to convert to Islam. She said the Shahada and after finishing her contract applied for work in the Kingdom so she could visit the two holy mosques.

 

“I would like to advise every non-Muslim person to search for the truth themselves. They don’t need others to help them make up their minds, they can do this themselves through reading and learning,” she said.

 

Dania, a homecare assistant helping diabetic people, was born in a religious Catholic family in the Philippines. However, her family used to pray five times a day.

 

“My mother used to tell me that Jesus (peace be upon him) was only a prophet. He is neither God nor His son,” she said.

 

When she started working in Saudi Arabia in 1986, she found some correlation between her religious teachings and Islam. Her employers gave her books about Islam.

 

“I loved hearing the Azan, and I loved the Muslim way of praying. But still I needed time to know more,” she said.

 

In 1993 she returned to the Philippines as a non-Muslim. However, she had fallen in love with Islam.

 

One day, on the way to church Dania was involved in a motorbike accident and remained in hospital for three months.

 

After leaving hospital she was unable to walk for three months and had to do so with crutches. Her father was sick and her mother jobless.

 

She prayed that she would be cured fast so that she could support her family. Once she asked her Muslim neighbor to take her to the mosque, as she was planning to become a Muslim.

 

Just a few meters before she reached the mosque, Dania asked her neighbor to stop the car. She got out using her canes and prostrated. “My friend was very happy and said Allahu Akbar (God is Great),” she said.

 

Dania added that she came out of the mosque so elated that she was even able to walk without the crutches.

 

She came back to Saudi Arabia 1997 to work for a Saudi couple. The man was a scholar and would often give her books on Islam. In 2003, the sponsors went to Madinah and were hesitant to take her with them because she is non-Muslim. However, they finally took Dania with them. On reaching Madinah she told her sponsor’s wife that she wanted to become Muslim.

 

It was on a Friday when she said the Shahada and went to pray at the Holy Mosque in Madinah. On holiday to the Philippines, Dania was happy to tell her family and friends about her conversion.

 

Her mother was willing to listen and was actually thinking about Islam herself. Her friends were eager to find the true religion and she hopes that one day they will also become Muslim.

 

 

source

[N.O.R.F]

^^Thanks. A good read indeed.

 

I would like to advise every non-Muslim person to search for the truth themselves. They don’t need others to help them make up their minds, they can do this themselves through reading and learning

Hear Hear

[N.O.R.F]

Abdulraheem Green

[N.O.R.F]

The Chappelles

[Rahima]

^Interesting. JZK.

 

Thanks for continuing the effort northerner- i know some of us have lagged behind and for that we should be ashamed.

[N.O.R.F]

^^Welcome back.

[N.O.R.F]

Long read but worth reading!

 

Odyssey to Islam

 

By Dr. Moustafa Mould

May 26, 2005

 

An odyssey is a long, wandering journey. The word comes from Odysseus (in Latin, Ulysses) a hero of the Homeric epic poem, The Odyssey. His journey home took ten years and was fraught with many mishaps, detours, dangers and adventures. In retrospect, my road to Islam—my journey home—seems like an odyssey. As I look back over my life, from my early childhood up until I finally made shahadah, a journey of almost 40 years, it seems that there were many signs, many turning points, many incidents, some significant, some trivial, that were all preparing me for and pointing the way to Islam.

 

I grew up in Boston. It was very much a Catholic city, mostly Irish and Italian, with small but significant communities of blacks, Jews, Chinese, Greeks, Armenians and Christians Arabs, and in those days especially, each group had its own neighborhood. There were lots of Greek and Syrian restaurants, and I grew up loving Greek salad, shish kebob, lahm mishwi, kibbi, grape leaves, humus, anything with lamb, etc.

 

My family were mostly working-class, conservative Jews. My grandparents had fled the anti-Semitism and pogroms of czarist Russia around 1903. They and their families had found work in the sweatshops of the garment district, a few were in craft skills, and they were quite active in their labour unions. I was to become the first in my family to get a university degree. Our home was not strictly kosher, but we would never dream of eating pork. All the holidays and fasts were observed, and for years I went to the synagogue every Saturday and holiday with my father and uncle.

 

The synagogue we belonged to was conservative, close to orthodox but modernist: it was very traditional, but women were not totally segregated. I began "Madrasah" (Hebrew school) at age six. It was 1948, which saw the birth of the state of Israel, and Zionist propaganda filled the atmosphere, as did conversations and sermons about the Nazis and concentration camps, and there were many recent immigrant refugee survivors.

 

At that time there was still a lot of anti-Semitism in the U.S., especially in the South and the Midwest, but also in Boston. The Greeks, Syrians and Italians were fine, but the Boston Irish were a big problem, dating back to my parents’ generation in WWI and the 1920s. During my childhood I was often chased, spat on, insulted and beaten. They even held me down and pulled my pants down—in addition to the humiliation they wanted to see what a circumcision looked like.

 

My Hebrew teachers were two Israeli brothers, who were orthodox, and veterans of the 1948 war. From them I learned modern Hebrew and absorbed a lot of Zionist ideology along with the religious teachings. I became more religious and an avid Zionist. I believed that Jews needed their own country in case of another Hitler—those Irish kids were doing nothing to allay my fears and I did not feel "at home" in America. I decided I would go and spend my life on a kibbutz (communal farm).

 

My father was a musician and a cantor (prayer leader). He had a beautiful tenor voice, preferred the more traditional, rather oriental, melodies, and chanted the prayers with lots of huzn (sorrow) (when I learned that word recently I began to wonder if it might be related to Hebrew hazan = ‘cantor’). In our synagogue, the Torah reader used a very oriental sounding tajwid which I loved listening to. Believe it or not, I recently heard a friend reciting from the Qur’an and it sounded almost identical.

 

One thing that stands out clearly in my memory, even now during salah, is that in the Jewish prayers there are regular references to prostration (sujud). In fact, it is a custom in the more orthodox synagogues that during Yom Kippur, the holiest fast day and the equivalent of ‘Ashurah’, the cantor, on behalf of the congregation, actually makes sujud, while still chanting. This is no mean feat, and my father, with his powerful voice, did it extremely well. I remember thinking then that it would be really nice if we all actually did prostrate, instead of just bowing as a symbolic sujud.

 

Around the age of eight or nine, I chanced to discover a radio station that broadcast programs of the local ethnic communities. I began to listen to the Yiddish, Greek and Armenian ones, and especially to the Arabic Hour. I fell in love with the music and the sound of the language. Using the Hebrew I knew, I tried to understand the news and figure out the sound correspondences; I noticed the differences between hamzah and ‘ayn, kh and h, k and q, distinctions which modern Hebrew has lost. This greatly improved my Hebrew spelling and I won prizes in Hebrew class. I also remember helping my friends cheat during spelling tests by repeating the words under my breath in an "Arabic" accent.

 

By High School, I had discovered the Boston Public Library and its record section: besides classical, I discovered ethnic folk music from all over the world, but I especially gravitated to the Middle Eastern: Arabic, Turkish, Persian, then Indian-Pakistani. I learned to identify various regional styles, instruments and rhythms. I most loved the ‘oud, and I taught myself to play the dumbeg and accompany the recordings. Once, a group of Yemeni Jews came to Boston from Israel to perform folk songs and dances. I was fascinated by their appearance, costumes and music. They even pronounced Hebrew like me during a spelling test.

 

I mention all these little things because there is an undeniable cultural component to Islam: the language, the melodies of adhan and Qur’an, social interactions and other features, which are really quite exotic and strange to the average Westerner, including westernized Jews, but which, by the time I encountered them years later in a different context, were already very familiar and pleasant to me, even to the point of nostalgia, and which helped make Islam easier for me to accept and follow. More on that later.

 

My best friend in high school was also a strong influence on me. He read a lot of philosophy, poetry and religious literature. I didn’t care much for the first two, but I did read some of the religious writings, Hindu, Buddhist, Taoist—and the Qur’an. I noticed that its stories were quite similar to the Bible stories, but I felt it was anti-Jewish. I was quite impressed, though, by its depiction of Jesus as a prophet, not just a rabbi. I accepted that, and that became my answer to my Catholic classmates when they would ask me what I believed about Jesus. They seemed not too displeased by that.

 

I also attended an advanced "Madrasah", studying Jewish history, Hebrew, Torah, and added Aramaic and Talmud (Jewish fiqh); the languages, though were still my chief interest. Also around that time, age fifteen, I lost my faith, my belief in God. Earlier, I’d concluded that if God commands us to do certain things, how can I not do them; so I tried to be more orthodox. Then, one day I found myself saying, if God says to do all this I must; but what if there is no God? Do I believe in God? I really don’t know, maybe not, I guess not. And if God doesn’t exist, I don’t need to be doing all this stuff. And I stopped. You can well imagine how upset my father was.

 

Many people, particularly Roman Catholics and fundamentalist Protestants who grow up in a harsh religious environment, full of the threat of Hellfire and damnation, beaten by the nuns at school and made to feel guilty about things that are merely a part of fitrah (nature)—like their bodies—are happy to get out of the religion, become very anti-religion, and feel freed as if from a prison. My feeling was not like that; I felt sad, more like I’d suffered a loss, but there was nothing I could do; I knew it would be comforting to believe, but I couldn’t. Throughout the 60’s and 70’s I occasionally got these gnawing feelings and yearnings.

 

As Jeffrey Lang said in his book about his conversion to Islam, there is an emptiness and a loneliness that an atheist feels, which people of faith cannot understand. The world is absurd, an accident. Science has, or will have, all the answers, but life has no real meaning or significance. Death is final. You can have influence and an impact on the world through your children; you can do well, be remembered in the history books for hundreds, even thousands of years; when the sun dies mankind may colonize other star systems, maybe even other galaxies. But ultimately, even if it takes 15 Billion years, the universe itself will die, or collapse into a black hole or whatever, and the end is absolute nothingness, the only thing that is infinite is a void. Life, then, is meaningless and death frightening. Truth and morality can become relative, which may lead to moral confusion, hedonism, and worse. But instead of the contempt for religious people that many atheists claim to feel, I respected them, and often envied them the security, the certainty, the comfort they experienced.

 

I went overnight from almost orthodox to an atheist, though I still loved Jewish languages, culture, music, food, history. I was an "ethnic" Jew, and still a Zionist. Zionism was still largely a political philosophy, not so much a religious one. In fact, at that time there was still significant opposition to Zionism among many of the orthodox. The current religious, messianic type Zionism really didn’t develop until 1967–1973 when Israel seized Jerusalem. I also decided I wanted to be a historical linguist specializing in Semitic languages; but then the universities I chose didn’t accept me, and the one that did didn’t offer Arabic, or even linguistics.

 

At my university in the early 60’s, I came into contact with a wider variety of people. For the first time I knew a large numbers of Protestants, more blacks, and most of the few foreign students, a couple of were Muslim. I was no longer encountering anti-Semitism, and I was beginning to enjoy and appreciate the diversity of Americans and my exposure to the international students. By the end of my sophomore year I was eating bacon and pork chops; at the same time I helped organize and was the president of the campus chapter of the Student Zionist Organization. I was New England vice president in my senior year.

 

Many of us were politically left-wing, coming from working class families whose spectrum ranged from liberal democrat to communist. We were pro-labor and the American Civil Liberties Union, anti-McCarty, Nixon, the House Un-American Activities Committee. We revered Franklin D. Roosevelt, Hubert Humphrey and Adlai Stevenson. We were into labor Zionism and the kibbutzim. One thing I want to emphasize, because of the profound effect it had on me years later: at that time most Jews were still socialists or liberal democrats, many were still working class, not quite so successful as now. I clearly remember right-wing Herut party, their expansionist ideology and terrorist activities in the 40’s. We considered them fanatics and lunatics.

 

I took a seminar on the Middle East. At nineteen I thought I knew everything. My professor was Syrian, and I think a Muslim. I was going to teach him a few things. He was remarkably patient and tolerant with me, considering his obvious anti-zionist, anti-Israel position. His criticisms of my papers were objective and mild, mainly that they were too one sided. I began to pay more attention to the other side, and I realized how much propaganda I’d absorbed and how much information had been ignored, if not hidden from us. I didn’t get a very good grade, but I learned a great deal. Professor Haddad made much of the rest of my life, secular and religious, possible.

 

At the same time, I was becoming more and more involved in the civil rights and anti-Vietnam war movements. I joined the Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and the NAACP, and participated in sit-ins at lunch counters. I helped found our campus chapter of the then mildly radical Students for a Democratic Society (SDS). I majored in government, taking several courses in constitutional law and international relations. I went to Washington, D.C. in August, 1963, in the March on Washington and was standing about 60 feet from Dr. King when he made that wonderful speech.

 

I’d lost my faith at 15; by 22 I’d lost Zionism. I still had my ethnic heritage, though I’d begun to feel uncomfortable with the clannishness of many Jews. I felt like a normal American fighting for American causes. I prepared to be a social studies teacher, but the job market was not good. After two years of substituting, and a temporary position at my old high school, I joined the Peace Corps, for the adventure and idealism improved my job prospects later—and to avoid being drafted and sent to Vietnam. I was selected to go to Uganda, East Africa.

 

I was extremely happy in that beautiful country, living where the Nile flows out of Lake Victoria, teaching students who wanted to learn in a society where teachers were respected. I was learning new languages and cultures. I developed a taste for African and Indian-Pakistani cuisine. Since there wasn’t much else to do in a small, up-country town, I began going to Indian movies. I particularly liked Mohammed Rafi, the famous playback singers, especially his qawalis; he reminded me of my father’s cantorial music. I also enjoyed the Islamic, Omani Arab ambience I found on the coast: Mombasa, Dar ess-Salam, Zanzibar. It was the first time not in a Hollywood (or Bombay) movie that I heard the adhan. Even in the movies its plaintive melodies always sent a thrill through my body. I was learning two African languages, Swahili and Luganda. Swahili was a very easy one for me; over half its vocabulary is from Arabic and practically the same as Hebrew. But Swahili is a Bantu language, and I was fascinated by the similarities and differences between Swahili and Luganda. I made up my mind: here was my (last?) chance to do what I’d always wanted—linguistics—but now with Bantu instead of Semitic languages. I applied to graduate school.

 

I returned home through the Middle East and Europe—first stop Israel. It was 1969. I was no longer a zionist, but even so, I was surprised at how disappointed I was. I know that part of it was the culture shock of leaving a small, up-country African town, people and a job that I loved; still, I was surprised by the brusqueness and arrogance of the Israelis I met—much like the American stereotype of the French. From an archaeological and historical perspective it was a good experience, but I couldn’t get over how alienated I felt from the culture and from what were supposed to be my people.

 

I refused on principle to visit the West Bank—that was before they started building settlements—except for East Jerusalem; I couldn’t resist that. Standing at the wall of Solomon’s temple, the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa gave me an intense feeling I could not describe at the time. I can describe it now: I was sensing a feeling of holiness; it’s no wonder the Islamic name is Al-Quds. But it upset me a great deal to see first-hand the discrimination and second-class status of the Palestinians, even the citizens. I had grown up in an American subculture where Jews had always been in the forefront of civil rights, labor and civil liberties struggles. To me, what I found in Israel wasn’t Jewish.

 

The next ten years, ’69 - ’79, I spent in Los Angeles. I had missed 1968, one of the most important and turbulent years in modern American history. Though not surprised, I was very disheartened upon my return to the U.S. Blacks were separating from Whites by choice; SDS had become a bunch of raving Maoists, free speech was degenerating into filthy speech. I couldn’t be political again, except for an occasional anti-war or anti-Nixon demonstration. I was both attracted to and repelled by the hedonism of 70s California. I was tempted to indulge and half-heartedly did so, but—thank God for my fitrah and my good Jewish upbringing—I didn’t go very far; I mostly grew my hair and beard long. I was too absorbed in my studies, getting my doctorate, teaching, getting married then divorced, and looking for a decent academic position.

 

Two things during that decade are relevant tom this story. Briefly, the Likud government in Israel, the building of settlements and the brutal treatment of the Palestinians, not to mention its alliance with South Africa, revolted and infuriated me, and turned me from a non-zionist to a vocal anti-zionist. Even worse to me was the knee-jerk support of the American Jewish community, which I’d though would oppose Likud at least quietly. Didn’t we all agree just a few years before that Begin and his ilk were lunatics?!

 

Many of the settlers interviewed on the TV news were obviously American Jews. How could they have grown up in this country with these American—and Jewish—values, live through the civil rights revolution, and go do what they were doing there? There was more Jewish opposition in Israel than there was in the U.S. I felt betrayed, ashamed, disgusted. There were, of course—and are—other Jews who felt as I did, mainly those on the left, but only a few spoke out. Notable were I.F. Stone, a radical journalist and one of my heroes, and Noam Chomski, whose political writings on the Vietnam war and Palestine were as revolutionary as his theory of linguistics.

 

In 1979, recently divorced, unable to land a tenure-track position, and missing Africa, I returned as an assistant professor of linguistics at the University of Nairobi. My father has passed away just a couple of months before I was to leave. I became friends with several faculty members, particularly my department chairman and a history professor, both Muslims from Mombasa, and the Arabic professor, my Sudanese next-door neighbor. I often ate lunch in the faculty dining room with them, and out of respect for them (and embarrassment, because I knew they knew I was a Jew) I never ate pork when I was with them. Before long I stopped eating pork completely. We often discussed the Middle East, Islam and Judaism, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that they could be anti-Israel without being anti-Jewish; they were surprised that I could be a Jew and anti-Israel.

 

Having more time on my hand than I’d enjoyed in a long time, I decided to catch up on my ever-growing reading list. I re-read the Bible: the Old Testament to clarify some confusion about chronology in ancient history, the New Testament because I never had and I though I ought to.

 

I re-read the Qur’an. I knew nothing then of the early Islamic history. Sirah or Hadith, but I appreciated it more this time. I got that reaction again, though; why does it have to be so critical of the Jews; but, my memory recently refreshed, I recalled that the Torah itself and the rest of the Old Testament were equally critical, if not more so, than the Qur’an. But didn’t the Jews finally learn their lesson and truly become the People of the Book when they were expelled from Israel and Jerusalem the second time, and when the rabbis, synagogues and prayers replaced the priests, temple and sacrifices? What was it, then, about the Jews of Madinah; they were clearly reprehensible but they sounded so different from us European Jews, even from the Sephardi Jews of the time of the Caliphs; had they, like the Ethiopian and Chinese Jews, lacked the Talmud? I’m still curious about that. Anyway, that insight was later to prove to be a barrier removed.

 

Someone wise once said that if your faith is weak, just pretend to have faith, and that will strengthen it. Africans, whether Christian, Muslim or Pagan, are spiritual people. To be an atheist is incomprehensible and ridiculous to them. Knowing this, I never said I was an atheist when questioned—as I constantly was.

 

About my religion. I would reply that of course I believed in God, one God, but not in any particular religion. I was almost true, or at least what I wanted to believe if I could. I cannot say that I had a sudden flash of inspiration, like Paul on the road to Damascus, or a near-death experience (I did have two, but without religious effect). It seems to me that, just by saying it and pretending it, it gradually came back to me.

 

I’d become a deist, like another hero of mine, Thomas Jefferson. Maybe I would join the Unitarian Church, a popular group, especially in New England, which accepts Jesus as a prophet, and which includes many socially conscious, formerly Jewish and Trinitarian Christian, liberal intellectuals.

 

Another contributing factor was my joining at that time the Nairobi symphony orchestra/chorus. It was an amateur group but they were excellent. I’d gone with some friends to their Easter concert to hear them perform the Mozart Requiem – music for a funeral mass. That music, intensely religious, was gorgeous, sublime awe-inspiring and inspirational. It wasn’t only the beauty of the music, though it was a major part, but the message—glorifying God, speaking of death, resurrection, the final Judgment and eternal life—moved me to tears. The next day I went and signed up to sing in the chorus.

 

For the next three years I sang other masterpieces: masses, requiems, oratorios—Beethoven, Brahms, Bach, Verdi. It is all Christian, and some of it of course makes reference to Jesus as divine, but those words had no effect on me; I was just helping make beautiful music. But the parts that spoke of God did touch me deeply and helped me gradually regain my faith and belief in Him. Of course today I would not sing such things as "I know that my redeemer liveth," but consider the beauty and power of "The Lord God Omnipotent reigneth, and he shall reign forever and ever. Hallelujah (=’Alhamdulillah’)."

 

Then I fell in love. She was Somali, intelligent, witty, charming, and a young widow with two handsome young sons. Her English was very limited then, and my somali was non-existent, but we could communicate quite easily in Swahili. We discussed marriage, but there were a few practical problems.

 

I knew I could not stay much longer at the university of Nairobi; they were trying to Africanize it as quickly a possible, and to them I was just another white foreigner. Before I got much older I needed a new job, probably a new career, maybe with the State Department or a non-profit agency. From her point of view the obstacle was simply I was a not a Muslim. I had mistakenly though that any Muslim could marry one of the People of the Book; she set me straight on that very quickly; men yes, women, no.

 

She was telling me about Islam, and I’d learned some things from my colleagues and others. I already believed in the One God. The Creator of the universe and all that is in it; I already believed in the Islamic concepts of tawhid and shirk and avoiding belief or trust in anything like astrology or palmistry; I’d long believed that Jesus was one of the prophets. I believed that Muhammad (pbuh) was a prophet and a messenger, and it had long ceased to be relevant to me that Muhammad (pbuh) was not a Jewish prophet.

 

I’d stopped eating pork; I didn’t gamble, I rarely drank anything besides a glass of wine with an occasional gourmet dinner. I was, since my Peace Corps days, already more comfortable with African and Islamic notions of modesty, child rearing, etc. than with the "sexual revolution", and the me-ism and disintegrating families of the ‘70s and ‘80s America. There didn’t seem to be much to prevent me from becoming a Muslim. I was so close, so what, in 1983, was the problem?

 

In fact there were two. First, there was the matter of my identity and my heritage. I imagine that it is not so traumatic for a Christian to change from one religion to another. If a German Catholic becomes a Lutheran, or even a Jew or Muslim, he remains a German. I certainly felt like an American first and a Jew second—I could never consider myself Russian. But in America, nation of immigrants, even the most acculturated attach some importance to their families’ national or ethnic origins. Even though I had no desire to deal with Jews as Jews or as a community, I was reluctant to lose that identity.

 

The second obstacle was my family. Though not orthodox, most were strongly traditional, all pro-Israel, some were avid zionists; many considered Arabs as enemies, and I expected they would also consider Muslims as enemies. I feared they would disown me as crazy, even traitorous. Worst of all, because I still loved them, they would be hurt. First things first: I left that problem up in the air, and when my contract expired I did not renew it, but returned to the States hoping to find another job, preferably back in East Africa.

 

It was terribly hard. I had no home, no income, not even an interview suit. I invested in a wool suit, three ties and a winter coat—it was my first winter in twenty years—got books on how to write a resume and a SF171, and stayed with a friend in Washington, trying all the government agencies, consulting firms and PVOs that had anything to do with Africa, until my many ran out. I had to return to Boston and stay with my sister, where I had food and shelter, but it was far from where the jobs might be. In addition, I was going through a severe case of culture shock. So there I was: broke in Reaganomic America, in the winter, in culture shock on top of a mid-life crisis, in love—and on anti-depressants.

 

I can joke now, but the pain and fear were unbearable then. For the first time in my adult life I began to pray. I prayed often and hard. I vowed that, if I could get back to Africa and marry my beloved, I would declare my submission to Allah and become a Muslim.

 

I got a really awful temporary job in a warehouse that at least paid for food, bus fares and dry cleaning, then a better, but embarrassing one as a receptionist in the counseling office at a local college. I could see that the four yuppie psychologists figured me for some 42-year-old loser, and I pretty much agreed with them. Out of embarrassment I didn’t tell anything about myself, but when the phone wasn’t ringing off the hook with students panicking over mid-terms, I was reading job notices and typing applications letters. I found that a government agency was hiring ESL teachers for Egypt—close enough—and I applied immediately. A week later another agency I’d applied to six months earlier invited me to D.C. for interviews.

 

As soon as I got to Washington I called about the ESL jobs to see if I could get an interview, "as long as I’m in Town." The jobs were already filled! Can I meet you anyway, in case something comes up later? OK, four o’clock? Great. She apologized—my resume had been misplaced—and would definitely keep me in mind. Thank you , delighted to meet you. As I was leaving, she said hesitantly, "By the way, there is one position opening soon, but it’s in Somalia."

 

"Somalia!" I nearly shouted, "That’s wonderful!"

 

"Is it?" she asked incredulously.

 

"Sure, I’d love to go there. I’m already familiar with the culture and the religion," I said aloud, but thinking to myself how it’s only an hour from Mogadishu to Nairobi, and how maybe I’d get to meet my future family in-laws. I told her my references, all of whom she knew personally. She would call them, and as far as she was concerned if I wanted the job I could probably have it.

 

I finished up my interviews at the other agency. They even showed me the cubicle in windowless office where I would probably be working, and I returned to Boston, elated. I might even have a choice, praise God. But what a choice it was: a one year renewable contract at a hot, dusty—but African—hardship post on the Indian Ocean, or a career civil service job with a pension plan in a windowless office in northern Virginia.

 

Two weeks later, she called to offer me the job of English program director in Mogadishu, would I take it, I had 48 hours to think it over. Everyone said it was a no-brainer; I should take the career job with pension in Washington, otherwise I’d be back to square one in a year or two. I argued that I was an Africanist, the experience would help me and I’d make good contacts. I accepted the job and starting getting my shots. A couple of weeks later the other agency sent me a brief note, no explanation, informing me I did not get the windowless job.

 

Alhamdulillah, Allahu ‘alim. I could so easily have ended up with neither, but Allah had guided me to the right decision. I was employed. I was a person. I might even getting married. I gave my notice at the college, and on the last day I typed a letter to the psychologists informing them that I was leaving to take up a position as a project direct at the United States Embassy in Somalia, signed M. Mould, Ph.D.

 

Of course I "had to" stop off in Nairobi for a few days on my way to Mogadishu. We had a tearful reunion and tried to make some future plans. I’d been hired as a single man, no chance of benefits or housing for a family, and I had no idea what Somalia or my job would be like or how long I would be there. For the time being, I’d remain a single man in Nairobi. Maybe I could visit often, and there was always the phone. Maybe she could come and visit her family, whom she hadn’t seen since childhood.

 

The job was interesting, a little teaching, but mostly administration and management, and dealing with embassy officials. Most of my own students were senior government officials and a few of them became good friends. Outside of work was a whole different story. The culture and atmosphere in urban Somalia is more Middle Eastern than African. During my seven years in Uganda and Kenya I knew the languages, people were open and friendly, and I never had trouble adjusting or getting around; I’d always felt completely at home. Mogadishu gave me culture shock. I didn’t know the language, no one knew Swahili, educated Somalis knew Italian, not English. All the signs were in Somali. The worst thing was communications. Home phones were overcrowded, sweltering post office. Only telegraph service was usually efficient. The mail was totally unreliable except for the diplomatic pouch. It was impossible to contact Nairobi.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I was quite happy there, enjoying the sights and smells, the Italian and Somali food, my views of the ocean, which was within walking distance of my house and my office, discovering a new culture. I was living downtown, in one of the older sections, behind the Italian embassy, and I was awakened early morning by a beautiful adhan from the loudspeaker of a nearby mosque. We worked a Muslim schedule: Sunday – Thursday, 7 – 3. On Fridays I would walk around and often found myself outside a little mosque behind the American Embassy, and while myrrh and frankincense drifted from the doorways in the alleys I would stop and listen to the sounds of Jumu’ah.

 

The first thing I noticed was the murmuring of many voices as men read from the Qur’an while waiting for the imam to give the khutbah. I was instantly transported back in my mind to my old synagogue and the identical susurrus of old men reading from the Psalms (Zabur) at the start of morning prayers. It gave me a comfortable and comforting feeling of nostalgia. A little while later, walking back the other way, I would hear the imam reciting a surah. It sounded much like the Torah readings I’d enjoyed on Saturday mornings, again comforting and nostalgic. Not that it made me want to return to any synagogue; rather, it made Islam feel more comfortable and familiar to me.

 

I’m a linguist, and had been a specialist in field research. I found a book on beginning Italian and, there being no grammar in English on Somali, I hired myself a tutor, who was a better friend than a teacher. I quickly learned the greetings, common nouns, and verbs, kinship terms, numbers and telling time. Some of the vocabulary, borrowed from Arabic, was just like Swahili and Hebrew. Somali is also very distantly related to Semitic languages. The grammar was something else, though, really hard to figure out, and as I got busier and more tired at work, our lessons turned more to conversations about culture, politics and religion. He was knowledgeable enough to distinguish between genuine Islam and some prevalent aspects of indigenous, pre-Islamic culture and superstition that had bothered me.

 

Before long, he offered to bring a shaikh to my home so that I could make the shahada. Despite my vow I still felt hesitation, thinking of my family. But they were ten thousand miles away, my fiancee a few hundred, and I was living in, being touched by and feeling comfortable with this Muslim society. I had good friends and colleagues, and it was clear to me that much of their goodness was due to Islam. I asked him to bring the shaikh and he did. He questioned me about my beliefs, and I told him I’d been a Jew, not a Christian (no problems with the trinity), and that I’d long ago given up pork, alcohol, gambling and zina, and after he was convinced that I understood what I was about to say and knew the five pillars, I declared the shahadah. My fiancee had suggested the name Mustafa, which I liked very much.

 

After all the hesitation and procrastination I felt enormous relief, and a restored sense of belonging that I’d missed more than I’d realized. All my Somali friends were of course delighted and very supportive. They began calling me seedi (‘brother-in-law’). As soon as I could get away I bought some gold jewellery and flew to Nairobi. To get married I had to go to the office of the chief qadi and declare the shahadah again, with witnesses, in order to get an official certificate of conversion, there being no such thing in Somalia.

 

We went to the qadi and made our nikah[editor’s note: nikah means marriage]. A couple of days later I had to fly back to Mogadishu and my work. Less than a year later, at 43, I was overjoyed and blessed by Allah to become the father of a wonderful Muslim baby boy. I flew to Nairobi, and after a brief discussion we agreed on my wife’s suggestion for a name. Now I even had a kunya (nick name); I was Abu Khalid, and he was named after the great Companion, Khalid Ibn Al-Walid.

 

You are probably wondering if I told my family about my converting to Islam, and the answer is, not for quite some time. Of course I told my family about my marriage and they were neither surprised or upset.

 

I was a middle-aged man who ought to know what he was doing, and they were mainly happy for the sake of my happiness. When Khalid was born they were positively delighted and were most eager to meet him and his mother. When Khalid was a little over a year old, I went to Boston on my vacation and brought my wife and son with me. The two boys, Ali and Yusuf, were away at a Muslim boarding school in north-eastern Kenya.

 

The reception was as warm and loving as anyone could wish for and we had a great visit. There’s no question that a baby, especially a grandson, has a most salutary and beneficial effect on people. My wife had brought little gifts for my mother, sister and aunts, and they all had little gifts for her. I suppose they all assumed, as I had once done, that Muslim can marry a Jew or Christian. They knew my wife and our sons were Muslims, that Khalid was being raised as a Muslim, and they had no problem with that. They knew I hadn’t been a practicing Jew for nearly thirty years, and I’d married a non-Jew before. I’d decided that if they asked I wouldn’t lie, and if they didn’t I’d just wait for a more opportune time—some other time. A few years ago they finally asked me and I told them. I cannot say they were pleased, but neither were they surprised, angry or cold to me, and we still have warm, loving relationships.

 

Another year, another contract went by, and then I lost my job. Like the new Pharaoh "who knew not Joseph", a new director came, who saw no value in the English programs and decided to end them. I kind of saw it coming and had applied for a similar job in Yemen, so I didn’t fight it very hard, but in the end the job in San`a fell through, and, as my family had predicted, I was back to square one—well, not quite.

 

In 1988, leaving my family in Nairobi, I returned to the States alone and jobless. It was again vary tough (winter, too), but this time I had some savings, new skills and a stronger resume, I knew better how to job-hunt; I knew my way around Washington and had a few contacts. I still had the suit. Best of all, I had my faith instead of anti-depressants. I quickly got a couple of part-time teaching jobs and a job in a men’s store. The teaching jobs dried up, so I sold suits full-time for over three years, always looking for a better job, but finally—it took two years—I managed to bring my family over and we did our best, trusting in Allah.

 

Then, four years ago, a Muslim neighbor told us about a new Islamic institute that had recently opened, where they were looking for an English teacher. I immediately called, made an appointment and met the director. By the grace of Allah I was hired to teach some of the staff and do some editorial work. Ironically, I am now in a cubicle in a windowless office in northern Virginia, but what a difference! I am in an Islamic environment, surrounded and inspired by good Muslim brothers, many of them excellent scholars and all of whom I love and respect very much, and whom I learn from daily. And what is my job? To read books on Islam, to edit manuscripts on Islam, to write about what I read. In essence, I am being paid to study Qur’an, Hadith, `aqidah, Fiqh, Sirah, Islamic history and Arabic. I thank and praise Allah every day for leading me to Islam and for showering me with all these blessings. Alhamdulillah, ash-shukrulillahi Rabbil-‘alamin.

 

Here

[Ms DD]

I normally visit an Islamic forum and a brother posted his story there:

 

As salamualikum

 

I have been logging on for a few days now and am happy to tell people about my journey to Islam.

 

As a kid i was raised mainly by my grandparents. My dad was a drug addicted alchoholic and mum passed away when i was only a few months old. My grandparents were fairly old fashioned as a result of this parenting i grew up with very similar values that an everyday born muslim may have for example - i never drank alcohol ( a combination of not wanting to be like my father and not wanting to upset the grandparents). My grandparents were very strong catholics, i on the other hand was never really comfortable with certain things in the bible.

 

My main issue with catholism was trinity, it never really made sense to me - i believed in one god and i couldnt understand why if god is so powerful cant we go directly to him and pray? why do we have to pray to him through another person?

 

For several years i struggled with these issues and didnt really associate with any religion. I knew i believed in one god but that was it.

 

When i was in my last year of high school a new girl came to our school. At first we didnt really talk or anything but she was friends with my friends and i would see her at social occasions outside of school. This is when i really bagan to notice her. She never drank, was always modest and respectful and seemed to have similar values to me.

 

Fast forward a few months and high school was almost finised. I dont know what you guys call it in other counties but in australia we have a "leavers" week after high schhol finishes - this basically means everyone gets together and goes away for a week and gets really drunk, parties - celebrates the end of high school/exams.

 

So i asked this particular girl if she was coming to "leavers" she said no. when i insisted that she come she told me that she is a muslim and that it was ramadan and she didnt really drink or go to parties.

 

Well i was suprised!! for the next few months i oftern thought about this conversation. I started questioning my own beliefs and searching for answers in other religions. I talked to a mormon friend and he gave me his bible - after reading it i still had the same issues as before - when i told my mormon friend this he laughed and said " you should be a muslim" he then gave me a copy of the quran.

 

That was the turning point in my life - i started reading the quran and i couldnt put it down, it was the most incredible amazing scripture i had ever read. All my questions were answered without even having to speak to a muslim!

 

After i finised reading the quran i decided to try and contact the muslim sister from high school to see if she could help me. She was the only muslim i knew! So i called her and she invited me over and introduced me to her brothers and father. For a few months i tried to learn as much as i could by going to the Masjid, asking questions and reading.

 

A little while later i took my shahada - that was almost 5 years ago and i never looked back

 

( ps- the girl from high shool became my wife a couple of years after i said my shahada)

 

My familes reaction is another long story that i will talk about on another day inshallah.

 

Jazzakallah for reading my post.

In a second post he wrote

 

As salamualaykum

 

My grandparents were initally very worried about me when i accepted Islam, i gave then a few phamplets to read just so the knew the basic belief/lifestyle of muslims and also about the common aspects of Islam & christianity. After reading these articles they were happy and accepting of my decision to embrace Islam. They felt that we all believe in one god we just do it in diffrent ways. ( They also said they had talked to the local priest and he had assured them that i could still go into heaven as long as they prayed extra hard for me! for real! )

 

I became a muslim a few months after 9/11 so the rest of my family was convinced that i was going to run off and join the taliban! they were extremely hostile. I am the youngest of my siblings by many years so its not often that i am taken very seriously. They thought id was a phase i was going through. It was an extremely difficult time - most of my friends didnt understand either.

 

My father was disgusted that i had "turned my back on my fore fathers". So funnily enough the religious members of my family (grandparents) accepted it straight away and the athiests (siblings and father) hated it.

 

This behaviour continued over a 2 year period and i wont lie it was an extremly testing time

alhumdulilah my faith in Allah got me through. During ramadan they would constantly beg me to eat despite my many attempts to explain the reasoning behind it. My brother even got my grandmother to beg me to eat everyday!! imagine brothers and sister! the lady who not only raised my mother but me too! crying and begging me to eat when i was fasting.

 

I was kicked out of the family home for trying to practise Islam

 

Due to the negative behaviour of my family i decided for every ones peace of mind not to talk to them about religion anymore. I still practised the same just not in front of them. At least this way i would not loose them totally.

 

The turning point came when i decided to marry. Upon meeting my wifes family my family became understanding about Islam. They saw how real muslims behave and that they are really good people so alhumdulilah they began to look past thier steretypes about muslims.

 

My father even admitted to my wife that when he was young he had fallen for a muslimah who had rejected him and this was part of the reason for his hostility!

 

These days relations with my siblings remain akward and fake at best but thigns have come a long way since 5 years ago and inshallah Allah will soften thier hearts in years to come.

[N.O.R.F]

The Story of the New Convert to Islam

Jamila from Portugal

 

 

Jacqueline is a Portuguese young woman from Lisbon. She converted to Islam and changed her name to Jamila. “I’ve always felt a strong distaste and a deep aversion toward certain rituals based on belief in images and statues” says Jamila. “Such conduct left my soul severely empty; I was never satisfied.” Jamila, a student who counts on help from her parents to finish her studies, was unable to reveal what was in her heart, mind, and soul, as her father was Buddhist and her mother was Christian. In addition, she dared not say, even jokingly, what was in her mind and soul, as she believed that some priests, clergymen and women, and fanatic Catholics would not let her choose another religion.

 

“It was during my visit to the United Arab Emirates, at Dubai’s festival time, that I experienced a difference in life, people, and society, far from what I had imagined before. I felt the spirit and beauty of Islam everywhere,” says Jamila. “Then in my search for the truth, I started to ask for books that could introduce me to Islam as it should be known. I also looked up other books dealing with the theme of the Trinity, especially those written by Thomas Aquinas, who was a great organizer of that doctrine, and considering that Christianity is my mother’s religion,” explains Jamila. “As for the doctrine of the Buddhist father, it is absolute paganism.” After reading many books about Islam, Jamila found the rightful doctrine: There is no God but Allah. She knew then the true faith based on the Oneness of Allah and on the rejection of the Trinity and paganism, as there is in both an obvious corruption of the truth and an aggression against the Creator’s greatness.

 

Jamila goes on to say that, from the very first moment she considered converting to Islam, personal problems surrounded her. She was alone and needed to provide for herself. She only had one Muslim friend who lived with her, but who was also poor and living under difficult conditions trying to find opportunities for work since she had become her family’s sole provider after her father’s death.

 

Such is the situation of Jamila, an immigrant in the path of Allah, prepared to testify that there is no God but Allah and that Mohammad is His slave and prophet. She has endured all of these difficulties to become a Muslim. “Yes, it was a long path to reach Islam, but I can confirm the depth of my religious feelings together with my solid reasons. I am also certain that Allah (Subanahu wa Ta’la/ Glory to Him, He is High above all) watches over us, so when a person travels on the path of Allah, he/she will receive, in the end, fulfillment of his/her heart’s desires. It fills me with honor, pride and dignity, that I know the five daily prayers, fasting and zakat (to give to charity). Through Islam, I also know honesty, which is a very spiritual element that penetrates the heart and purifies the soul, whether in prayer, dealing with others, friendship and work, or in direct contact with God. Islam is a universal religion, a religion of piety, faith and knowledge of oneself. This can be seen in the modesty and humility of Muslims and in the spirit of the family that ties them together. I have also learned how to speak Arabic and to read the Holy Qur’an in Arabic. I thank God Almighty for guiding me onto the straight path, by making me a Muslim who believes in His Oneness and joins not with Him any false god.

http://www.dicd.gov.ae/vEnglish/showpage.jsp?objectID=7506