Community

R-O-C-K-S-T-A-R, is what I thought when I first saw Sheikh Hamza Yusuf speak at a Islamic Society of North America (ISNA) conference in Chicago. I was in awe, not just of his words, but by size of the crowd. This was not your average local halaqah (gathering) – this was a crowd of thousands who had traveled from all over the United States to attend the conference and to see Yusuf.

Growing up in the West, there are few holiday traditions that Muslim kids share with their classmates. They do not participate in the, “Whatcha get from Santa?” discussions or “What did the Easter Bunny bring you?” conversations. After Halloween, though, I remember being in the thick of the candy bartering sessions, and I wanted my children to enjoy the same sense of belonging and participation. But my three children all attended an Islamic school and it never occurred to me that the school may view Halloween as anything but innocuous fun.

A photograph in the “Toronto Star” shows three rows of young Muslim females, all students at Valley Park Middle school, prostrating their heads in unison on a crisp white sheet in the school cafeteria as they say one of the five daily prayers. A short distance behind them, are eight girls wearing modest clothing and neatly wrapped headscarves who sit quietly, conspicuous in their observation, rather than active participation, in the communal prayer.

After reading the news of 60 masked men, armed with iron rods, who barged into an all-girls high school in Rawalpindi, Pakistan, to enforce their vision of female modesty, I asked myself this question: what right do these “keepers-of-faith” have to rigorously impose Islamic morals on other people? I asked myself the same question when I read the news that Saudi morality police—acting as “God’s agents” on earth to prevent sin—beat up a woman and a man accompanying her on suspicion of dating. They turned out to be related.

I was married to the perfect monster. I met him at 19 and was immediately charmed by his chivalrous and mild-mannered temperament. Within a year we married and he continued to shower me with affection, opening doors for me, combing my hair, running my bath water, and many times even bathing me. Along with tending to me in these small, sweet ways, he also taught me how to accept romantic love from a man since I had never experienced it before. This blissful honeymoon stage lasted less than a year.

“Mommy Diaries” is the newest addition to Altmuslimah; mothers from around the country with children–toddlers, teenagers or even married sons and daughters—will share their stories on parenting. The series will feature reflections about mothering, both its day-to-day adventures and its big-picture concerns, from a Muslim American perspective.