Peace on earth?

When I was in college, I joined a group called, simply, World Peace Organization. We were a small group with fundamental goals. Our main objective was to bring about peace on earth.

Kids these days aren't as naively optimistic as we were then. Kids these days have seen bombings, massacres and times of seemingly endless war. More significantly, they've seen that our generation--a generation with our own share of political assassinations and war--was unable to change anything.

World peace. What a wonderful idea. And completely impossible.

We won't have world peace. Not in this lifetime. There will always be someone who stirs the pot and creates turmoil.

But we can work for peace. Starting with inner peace. Being satisfied with our own selves, while continuing to strive for improvement. Then we can move to peace within our families and our communities.

We can't have world peace. But we can do our best to live in peace, in our own little areas of the world.

By the way, I did find peace. I found Islam.

Enjoin what is right. . .

One of the most powerful stories I have ever heard was about the man who was punished because he did good but did not encourage good in others.

We cannot stand by and allow evil to triumph. We must do our part, whether in our families, our communities, our cities or our governments.

Machiavelli said that the end justifies the means. But for Muslims, the end means nothing. The end is with Allah. What matters is what we do to get there.

Be good. And encourage good. With your hearts, your tongues and your hands.

Democracy

Do you believe that democracy is important? Should a government be governed of the people, by the people and for the people?

Then don't let our leaders get away with using illegal methods to spy on the people.

Happy Holidays?

I haven't celebrated Christmas since I became a Muslim more than twenty years ago. But I can never escape the Christmas season. Crowds in the stores. Christmas songs on the radio. Heart-warming commercials on TV. Decorations. Sales. Sometimes it's enough to make me want to scream out, "Bah, humbug!"

Getting through the holidays is a special challenge for those of us who used to celebrate and no longer do. I will be teaming up with another convert to discuss "Surviving the Holidays" in a live dialogue on Islamonline.net.

If you have your own challenges for getting through the holiday season, please talk to us at www.islamonline.net. The dialogue will be held live this Tuesday night from 8 to 10 (Eastern).
Please check the website for GMT.

A Noble Ideal

Thank you for sharing that, Abu Muhammad.

What prevents us from striving for the noble ideal? Are we too busy? Too distracted by the obligations of life? Is mass entertainment to blame? Or are we just too lazy?

Believing men and believing women. Working together to make life easier. Worshipping. Cooperating. Giving. Caring. Sounds like too much work, doesn't it?

I've often heard it said that Islam is too much work. All that praying and fasting. Putting on a scarf every time you leave the house. Watching what you eat. Being careful of what you say.

But consider the alternative. Alienation. Exploitation of women. Obesity and other health issues. Courtroom battles. Addiction. Violence. Emptiness. Sounds great, right?

Muslims are not immune from these problems. We fall prey to everything modern society has to offer. But only when we don't practice Islam.

Don't settle. Keep striving for the best, the noble ideal.

Connections

One of the most interesting things about people is how much we need each other.

From birth to death, we yearn for connections with others. To belong and be a part of something. It is a basic human need.

So when we pray together, shoulder to shoulder, it is a very special experience. Connected to Allah. Connected to one another.

We have to work hard to maintain our connections. And we must remember to reach out to those who feel disconnected.

Brotherhood. Sisterhood. A major part of what Islam is all about.

My Website

Please check out my new website at:

http://jamilahkolocotronis.writerswebpages.com

Drop me a line or two. I look forward to hearing from you.

Patriotism

Does patriotism mean to blindly follow the leaders, doing whatever they tell you?

Or does patriotism mean standing up for what is right, even when the leaders are doing wrong?

Is patriotism about flags and parades?

Or is it about the greater good?

None of these statements is new. But I think people are starting to get the message.

Words

The sermon at today's prayer was about talking. The imam started by pointing out that Prophet Muhammad (S) was a man of few words. The Prophet's khutbahs were short and to the point. He spoke when necessary, and always in a positive manner.

I spend a great deal of time with words. Writing books. Writing emails. Reading websites, blogs, books, newspapers. Teaching. Not to mention conversation in general.

The sermon today made me think. In a world full of new and better ways to communicate, maybe we should spend more time being quiet.

What's Worse

Like I said, it's cold and slippery, and I'm ready for spring.

The only thing worse than winter weather is the person who complains all summer because he or she is hot. Please be quiet and let me enjoy it.



P.S.--I promise this is the last time (this week) I'll complain about the weather.

Winter

Winter doesn't officially start for another three weeks. This is not an encouraging thought.

Where I live, temperatures have been hovering in the 20s--the 30s if we're lucky. We've already had single-digit days. In short, it's cold.

Now we're facing another three months and three weeks until the official start of spring. And I've learned that when you live up north, the official start of spring doesn't mean much. Last year I was living in New England. We went straight from winter into summer. As I remember, everything was pretty much thawed out by June.

To me there are two logical approaches to winter. Move closer to the Equator, or hibernate.

At least there's the snow. White flakes to break up the monotony of a gray landscape.

If you need me I'll be under the covers, counting down the days.

Manners

I wrote a little on this topic earlier, and I just can't shake it.

I turned on the radio yesterday and heard commentary on George Will's recent column about the decline in manners. I disagree politically with George Will, but I admire his intellect. And on the manner of matters, we are definitely in agreement.

Except that it's not a product of the welfare state, as he asserted at one point. I believe it's a product of "self-esteeem."

Parents and teachers worry about how the little ones will be able to build strong self-esteem. Consequently, punishment is discouraged and children are praised for the slightest thing. That is the entitlement we face. And after a while, stickers and certificates aren't enough. The prizes have to be bigger, better. Otherwise our poor little darlings will be unhappy. And we simply cannot have that.

So far I have raised three kids to the point of high school graduation. All three of them have high self-esteem. They are able to go into new situations, meet new people, and handle themselves well. They are also able to open doors, say please and thank you, and consider the feelings of others. They didn't get that way by being constantly praised and coddled. They became the men they are through high expectations and hard work. Every one of my boys can cook and bake. They can sew and wash and iron their own clothes. All three have worked long hours to earn their spending money. One can take a computer apart and put it back together. He also knows how to speak and travel his way through Europe. Another is certified both as a photo technician and a forklift operator. He is also pursuing his goal of producing Islamic comic books. The third has served popcorn at a movie theatre and risen at four a.m. to bake muffins. A week ago we sent him to study in Malaysia, and he successfully traveled halfway around the world on his own.

I know that all of my sons will succeed in their pursuits, insha Allah, because they are both confident and polite. And they didn't get their self-esteem from meaningless pats on the back.

They earned it.

Profiling

Why is it that when a red-blooded American boy sets off a bomb or goes on a killng spree, he is merely a disturbed individual?

But when a young Muslim man commits an act of violence, he is a terrorist who represents all one-and-a-half billion Muslims in the world?

We used to call that racism.

Generation Gap

I came of age in the early 1970s. My mother always said she was glad I wasn't born five years earlier. I missed some of the most exciting events of that era, such as burning bras, Woodstock and the 1968 Democratic convention. If I had been old enough, I might have been in the thick of it. As it turned out, I was only a spectator.

I do vividly remember one of the mantras of the time. "Don't trust anyone over thirty."

Anyone over thirty was old, last year, out-of-touch and out-of-date. Only the young were "hip" and "with it." The older generation had ruined the world. It was our job to change things. Ah, the optimism of youth.

I haven't seen thirty for quite a few years now, so I guess I'm "over the hill." The strange thing about my generation, though, is that we resist getting old. As I type this, I'm sitting on the floor, cross-legged, wearing a t-shirt. I wear glasses, but I refuse to wear the old lady chain around my neck. I'd rather just keep losing and looking for them. I still listen to the oldies on occasion, and right now I have rap on my CD player--Muslim rap of course. No Lawrence Welk for me.

Even though our generation didn't bring an end to war, poverty and pollution, we refused to get old. We will not "go gently into that good night." Look at all the wrinkled, balding and gray-haired rock stars still on tour.

We were also going to conquer the generation gap. Our children would feel comfortable talking to us about anything. We would stay young, and our children would appreciate our youthful perspective. They would never be embarrassed by us. We would always understand them.

Another fantasy, as ludicrous as the notion that the world could spontaneously break out in peace. Our children want, need to be separate from us. If we try to act like them, they are embarrassed. And there are times when we simply cannot understand.

I grew up in a time without internet, email, push-button phones or CDs. My children have a hard time imagining a life with typewriters, stationary, rotary phones and record players. (I have one. I have to show them how it works.)

In spite of all that, we need to communicate with our children. And they need to respect us for the experience and, hopefully, wisdom we've picked up along the way.

In September, my 19-year old went to visit my mother. She told me later that when he spoke with me on the phone it sounded like he was talking with a friend. I don't have to emulate his slang or preferred-clothing styles, and I certainly don't have to (don't want to) listen to his music.

But we have to communicate. I suspect many of our parents knew that all along. I know mine did.

Muslims and Real Life

When I started the Echoes Series, my goal was simple. I wanted to write books that would address the real-life concerns of American Muslims.

Actually, my initial objective was simpler than that. I wanted to tell the story of one American convert and the difficulties he faced. So often, we converts believe that reciting the shahadah will solve all of our problems. It does solve one problem--spiritual homelessness. But everything else takes work.

So I started with Joshua Adams. An Everyman for the 21st century. Bright, but not too ambituous. Friendly, but not careful with his relationships. Spiritual, but definitely not religious. Abandoned, alienated, detached. Adrift in the problems of 21st century America.

I exposed Joshua to Islam. Then I let him tell the rest of the story. The result was Echoes. The story of a 21st century Everyman who struggles every day of his life.

I intended to write only book about Joshua Adams, but a couple of my friends read my early drafts and asked me what comes next. I sat down and wrote Rebounding. The next chapter in Joshua's life.

When I am finished, insha Allah, the Echoes Series will have five books tracing the journey of Joshua Adams. A man who is transported from nobody to hero, and sometimes back again, through the turmoil of everyday life.

Joshua faces the same challenges we all face. Sometimes he wins. Sometimes he doesn't. His faith ebbs and flows. Which of us can say we are any different?

When my children were small, I looked for media portraying a sanitized version of life. Islam as superhero, erasing all the ills of the world.

I do still believe that Islam, when practiced truly and sincerely, can wipe out all our troubles. If we let it. But we're human. We make mistakes. Sometimes we turn away from Islam, away from Allah. We forget our faith.

As an ummah, we must acknowledge the difficulties of life. Islam is perfect. But people most certainly are not. Not even Muslims.

A Calling

When I was in 4th grade, my teacher told us to bring in a poem. Each student dutifully brought in a poem from a book. I went a step further and wrote my own. My teacher and parents raved about it. It wasn't really very good, but I guess it was okay for a 4th grader. Since that time, I have wanted to be a writer.

Each of us has a calling, I believe. Some love to work with numbers. Some crave contact with other people. From the scientist to the gardener, all of us can use our own talents and interests to improve the world we live in.

But not everyone enjoys working. Some go to jobs they hate, just to pay the bills. Some live and die this way, trudging to work to bring home a paycheck.

I always swore I would never be one of those. And, for the most part, I haven't. I've never been rich, and I doubt I ever will be. But I've almost always been happy in the work I do.

I love to write. I started with non-fiction, researching and writing about military jihad. A few years ago I gave in to my urge to write stories. Constructing people, families, whole worlds from nothing but my own imagination. Sometimes it sounds crazy. But it is so much fun.

I started my career as a novelist with a story about 9/11. That story needed to be written, Showing, I hope, that Muslims are normal people trying to live normal lives. We cry, we hope, we feel fear. There were many innocent people on 9/11. Some of them died in the planes and the towers. Some are still alive, struggling with the memories or the repercussions. Innocent People was my modest attempt to tell that story.

Work is important. But I hope that everyone can find his or her calling.

Thanks for a day of rest!

I promised myself I would write regularly, but my last post was eleven days ago. I try to keep my promises, but this time I failed miserably.

During the last eleven days, I've been running--both personally and professionally. Two kids leaving the nest. My conversion story posted online. Preparing a story for a contest. (It should be two, but I think I'll have to pass on one of thsem.) And still teaching.

Throughout the U.S., families are getting together over turkey and TV for an annual ritual called "Thanksgiving." I don't know how many actually give thanks today. It's a social holiday, for the most part. Being with family and friends. Watching parades and football. Endless football.

I won't discuss "Thanksgiving Day" from an historical perspective. It's too depressing. The hosts wound up being kicked out of their homes. Be careful who you invite to your feast.

In our home, this year, this day is a day of rest. No school. No work. Time to sleep late, read, browse the internet, delete old emails and, yes, for some in my family, a time for football.

In Islam, we don't set aside one day to give thanks. If we are living right, then we thank Allah every day for his mercy.

But it is nice to have an extra day or two off to catch up on my sleep!

Hidden Costs

I bought a new laptop today. I found the model I wanted in the Sunday ads. The price was reasonable, so I took advantage of the opportunity.

My husband and I walked into the store knowing the advertised price. By the time we walked out, we had paid much more. Taxes were part of it, of course. But most of the increase was due to sales based on rebates. Then, of course, we needed to resist as the salesman tried to persuade us to purchase an expensive extended warranty.

He was nice. I have no complaints. He was simply doing his job. But when I walked into the electronics store I had not been counting on the hidden costs.

Hidden costs are everywhere. Life has many surprises. A teenager gets into a car with some friends and ends up in the hospital. A woman believes him when he says he loves her, even though they just met. A middle-aged man takes time away from his family to work through his mid-life crisis, and when he returns he finds they don't want him. All cliches. But all true for hundreds, maybe thousands, every year.

Life has hidden costs. Be careful.

Blaming Muslims

So what else is new? Something goes "boom" and all fingers point to Muslims. Islamic groups issue statements removing themselves from the violence. A video emerges of a man with a covered face taking responsibility for the latest attrocity. Everyone knows Muslims are violent, right?

After all these years of practicing Islam, when I hear the word "terrorist" my first thought is "Muslim." Why? Because I've been programmed to think that way, just like everyone else in the U.S. I know Muslims aren't terrorists, but I've been trained by the media to believe that we are.

When something goes boom, the response should not be to go after the nearest Muslim. The response should be to ask, Who benefits?

Muslims do not benefit from acts of terrorism. Never have. Every explosion creates a backlash against innocent Muslims. So why would any Muslim, even the most fanatic, be so stupid as to keep blowing things up?

And all that talk about Islam being a religion of peace? Well, it's true. If you don't believe me, spend a day with practicing Muslims. Watch them during the prayer. Listen to them greet their fellow Muslims. Better yet, look at their faces as they break the fast during Ramadan. You don't have to accept the teachings of Islam in order to recognize the peace.

There are over one-and-half billions of us on the earth, and not all practice the faith. Some are fanatics. Others are afraid of what the neighbors might say. Many more are simply too lazy. If they're too lazy to pray five times a day, why in the world would they want to go out setting off bombs?

Blaming Muslims. What a simple game. Anyone can play.

But can anyone tell me why Muslims would blow up hotels owned and occupied by Palestinians?

Making the Grade

I promised myself that I would get back into the habit of adding something new to my blog every day. I didn't promise myself what I would write in terms of either quantity or quality.

It's the end of the first quarter, and I have to turn in my grades tomorrow. I teach only part-time. Piece of cake, right?

Not for someone like me, who is challenged in terms of both organizational skills and mathematical prowess. Organization and number are what it's all about at report card time.

So I'm up late trying to decipher a quarter's worth of work, transforming each student's efforts into a single letter.

I do not like grading. I wish there was a better way.

In my fantasy world, I would return to a Socratic method of education. I am touching on that with my homeschooled high schooler. But it will never work in a classroom setting.

So I do my best to calculate the grades, knowing that a few points here or there make a world of difference to the student, and his or her parents.

There must be a better way!

Running

I won't write much tonight because it's nearly 10 p.m. and I still have so much to do.

Piles of dirty laundry. Stacks of ungraded papers. Swarms of unwritten stories.

We keep running and running, never reaching the finish line. But, like Sisyphus, we stay in the game. Pushing toward another deadline. Pushing toward the top.

One day it will end. And then what?

Will we be ready?

Small Deeds

It's the little things that count, right?

It's easy to have big plans. Dreams. Fantasies. Righting wrongs. Addressing injustice. Ending poverty. World peace.

Big dreams usually lead nowhere. They begin and end with the dreamer. Hurting no one. Helping none.

Big dreams are easy. But small deeds? Now there's a challenge.

Stopping to open a door, pull up a seat, yield in traffic. Thinking of others, not of self. Slowing down. Smiling. Sharing. A kind word. A pat on the back.

As I get older, I realize just how significant these small deeds can be. They are the mortar between the bricks. The seeds of world peace.

Minding Our Ps and Qs

These days I'm on a new crusade--though I really dislike using that word, with the linguistic and historic connotations involved. My new cause is. . .manners.

I grew up in the 60s. My mother, like most mothers of that era, taught me to "sit like a lady" and "act my age". The times of my childhood was just a step past "children should be seen and not heard." I remember whispering to my mother when I wanted something while visiting--even when we were at my grandmother's house. "Please" and "thank you" were part of my vocabulary. Outside the home, at least. When we were at home I could hit my sister (but not without rebuke) and plop down on the couch. But when we went out, I knew I had to behave.

Then came the 70s. It was small things at first. Easing of the dress codes at school, for instance. When I was in 9th grade, I met with the superintendent of our school district and asked him to consider letting girls wear jeans to school. Those days, we had a choice of either dresses or those horrible pastel-colored polyester pants suits. So, at first, it was just jeans. Now, of course, it's "anything goes." I've heard that the latest craze is wearing pajamas to school.

So in the 70s we did small things to challenge the establishment. Just a light easing of the rules and restrictions surrounding us. Contrary to what my sons' generation thinks, not all of us smoked pot. In fact, no one I knew did. We listened to our transistor radios, bought LPs and got really excited if our parents decided to buy a color TV. We lugged our books to school in our arms because bookbags hadn't been invented yet. We stayed up late to watch our favorite old movies because videos and DVDs were still decades away. We rebelled in small ways, like clapping at the streaker who ran across the football field. Some of us, those who were older, went out and protested the war. We were all happy when Nixon resigned. And once or twice I did actually write anti-war letters and send them to the White House. (I wanted to be on Nixon's enemy list.)

Most of us were good kids. We ate dinner with our parents, graduated from high school and went to college. And we always remembered to say "please" and "thank you".

Now I see that our small rebellions in the 70s led to much larger things. No more dress code. No more civic-mindedness. And no more manners.

There are still some "good" kids who remember to say "please" and "thank you". But for every good kid there seems to be five who demand their rights, expect adults to earn their respect and refuse to do anything until they know what's in it for them. I know they're out there. I teach some of them.

I don't want to return to "the good old days". The days when the White House was occupied by conservative (and somewhat paranoid) Republicans and the U.S. fought an unpopular war overseas. The days when anti-war protesters were arrested and black men were beaten by p0lice officers. No, in my days of middle-age I continue to hope for something better than that.

But I sure would like to return to a society where parents teach their children to be polite.

Eid Mubarak!

Ramadan has ended.

Sometimes it seemed to drag. Especially at five a.m. when I was trying to wake up and eat before the fast started.

Mostly, it went too fast. I wish I had more time. Time to read more, pray more.

Now it's back to everyday life. Hopefully, we'll all carry the lessons of Ramadan with us as we negotiate the challenges of surviving each day. Hopefully, we'll remember Ramadan. Hopefully, we'll remember Allah.

The month of fasting is over. Now the really hard work begins.

Eid Mubarak to all!

26 and counting!

Twenty-six years and a few days ago, according to the lunar calendar, I became a Muslim.

I didn't really know what I was doing at first. I studied Islam, and other religions, for five years before converting. But when the moment came, I just jumped in with both feet. And have never considered turning back.

Islam is the culmination of all my religious studies. Muslims believe that the Qur'an is the last revealed message. I see other religions as stepping stones to this final and complete revelation.

Ramadan is always special. But for me, the 19th of Ramadan holds special meaning. That was the day I took the leap into Islam. And I have never looked back.

The story of the day I converted is posted at www.Islamonline.net. Click on the link "Shahadah in Ramadan" for my story.

With all the conflict in the world, some people find it hard to believe that Islam is the religion of peace. But it's true. On a global scale, and on a personal level. My life has been far from perfect these last twenty-six years. But I do have peace.

Walking the Walk

I've been quiet these last several days, with good reason. It's Ramadan.

I grew up as a Christian--a Lutheran, to be specific. My parents sent me to a parochial elementary school where I learned that one should be a good person, pray, be kind to others, remember God. Fine.

When I discovered Islam, I continued to be basically the same person I always was. Trying to be good, to be kind to others, praying, remembering God. But with an important difference.

As a Christian, I talked the talk. Now I'm walking.

Ramadan is the best time of year to illustrate the practicality of Islam. Many religious traditions recognize fasting as a desirable way to increase spirituality. Catholics and Buddhists fast. But Islam is the only religion which demands a full fasting, from food, water and sexual relations, from dawn to sunset for an entire month.

If I weren't a Muslim, I wouldn't fast. I wouldn't pray five times a day--many days, I wouldn't pray at all. I wouldn't remember God as much as I do now. I don't have the discipline.

Some people do. Monks, nuns and regular people who are so spiritually directed that they do not need any external prodding. I respect them for that.

But most people, like me, need a little extra encouragement to make us really practice our religion, even for one month out of the year.

And that's what is special about Ramadan.

Is Racism Universal?

I made a broad comment in my latest post, stating that racism is strictly an American problem.

I recognize that the comment was too broad. Now I would like to explain.

I know that prejudice of one type or another exists in nearly every society. My husband's aunt taught me that. "Tay" was a very special woman. Very sweet and gentle. She had no formal education, and she spent her life working to help the family and bring in the rice harvest in rural Thailand.

On the day I met "Tay", she took my hand and said, "Khow, khow." White. She had the naturally-brown skin of a Malay, and the naturally-formed rough brown skin of a farm laborer. She was impressed by my hands because they were the hands of the middle-class. White is good. White is rich enough not to have to work in the fields.

There are many examples of ethnic strife throughout the world. Most are politically- or economically-based. As in the case of my husband's aunt. White skin is better off. White skin doesn't perform manual labor.

But I have been a Muslim for over twenty-five years. And I can honestly say that racism does not exist in Islam.

That is not to say that racism does not exist among Muslims. Arabs discriminate against non-Arabs. Saudis think themselves better than Palestinians. A light-skinned South Asian may be more respected than a dark-skinned South Asian. Among those who don't know better.

But Islam does not recognize race. And I've been fortunate to meet a large number of Muslims who actively practice equality. Saying the prayers. Making the hajj. Shoulder to shoulder, with no distinction.

When racism does exist, in the U.S. or anywhere else in the world, it often has an economic base. The white man trying to hold on to his piece of the pie. Why do you think racism started in the first place? The white slave owner had to convince himself that he was doing God's work. The white soldier had to convince himself that God had given America the land from which he was evicting the Natives. And racism was a very convenient way for the rich white man to make sure the poor white man didn't turn on him. Imagine how different the history of this country would have been if the poor white man had allied himself with his darker brothers and sisters. The rich white man knew that.

I'm going to take a stab at religious "racism" too. The old Sunni v. Shiite, Protestant v. Catholic. These, too, are based in economics and politics. Religion is simply an excuse.

In my twenty-five years as a Muslim, I've never taken the time to categorize myself. I suppose I am a Sunni. As to further divisions, I don't even bother. It doesn't matter. As with all other divisions, the Sunni-Shiite thing is just one more distraction invented to take our minds away from what really matters.

For me, the worship of the one God, who created us all, is what matters.

What about you?

A question of race

When I think about racist attitudes, I like to remember how my grandmother handled racism.

She spent most of her life in a working-class, all-white neighborhood. As she became older, though, the family became more concerned about the growing crime rate where she lived and her daughters finally convinced her to move ten or fifteen miles across town to be closer to them. She was reluctant to move because the area where her daughters lived was integrated.

But she finally agreed. She found a nice little house, and the family got together to help her move in. More importantly, after the actually met some black people she completely changed her ideas about race. She was in her seventies, but not too old to learn something new about people. I've always been impressed by her change in attitude.

That was in the 1970s. Everything was changing. Some of us thought that we could bring racism to an end.

But now it's stronger than ever. I just read about the very unfortunate comment made by a radio talk show host. I won't repeat the comment. It was reprehensible. And very, very racist.

Why does this country have such a problem with race? It is not a universal problem. It is an American problem. And it's getting worse.

In the Qur'an, Allah said, "We have created you nations and tribes so that you may know each other, not that you may despise each other. The best of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous."

It's really is that simple. We are different. But the differences are not meant to overwhelm us. How boring would that be, anyway, if we were all alike?

And the best of any of us is he or she who is sincerely righteous.

Terrorism

Over the last few days I've seen more TV news reports about the threat of terrorism. Dark shadowy figures calling for the death of all Americans. Threats of violence and annihilation.

Meanwhile, terrorism seizes this nation on a daily basis. Child abuse. Spousal abuse. Drug abuse. Drive-by shootings. Workplace shootings. Road rage. Rape. Murder. Mayhem.

If I believed the official account, which I don't, then I would say that one terrorist attack committed by nineteen Arab men, four years ago, killed about three thousand people.

How many people have been victims of crime over the last four years? I don't have the statistics, but I would guess that it is much more than three thousand. In my city alone, the homicides for this year are nearing 100.

So who are the terrorists? Brown-skinned men who speak with accents? Or the quiet next-door neighbor who suddenly erupts and turns a gun on his family, his co-workers, himself. Women who wear scarves and pray five times a day? Or teenage girls who will do anything to support an addiction? Fathers and mothers who fast during the month of Ramadan? Or parents who beat and starve their children?

This country has many problems. International terrorism is the least of them.

Pride

Like many Americans, I have been anxiously watching the progress of Hurricane Rita and praying for those who live in the path of the storm.

The hurricane is never far from my mind. I thought of it when I read the following verse in the Qur'an tonight:

"Before you We sent Messengers to many nations, and We afflicted the nations with suffering and adversity, that they might learn humility." (6.42)

I don't intend to claim, as some have, that the hurricanes are punishment. This stance raises all sorts of ethical questions (Why would a loving God bring punishment against the poor?) which are far beyond my ability to address.

But I do look at the hurricanes as a reminder. A reminder to be humble.

The United States emerged from World War II as the undisputed leader of the world. By the time I was born, in the 50s, that standing had created a tremendous sense of pride. America was the first in everything, the best in everything, and Americans were the most fortunate people in the history of mankind. That was the message, anyway.

At times, there have been things to be proud of. A strong educational system. A good standard of living. Safety and security. There have also been things to be ashamed of. Laws defining people of color as second-class citizens. Enduring poverty. A war against Asians in the jungles and villages of their own country.

America is not the messiah of the world. It is not the only great power to ever have existed. But that was the message. And pride soon led to hubris.

It was hubris that sent American soldiers to conquer and dominate the people of Iraq. It is hubris every time the so-called president stresses the need to deliver democracy and Christianity to those poor brown-skinned people in other parts of the world. Sometimes at the point of a gun. In earlier days it was called the White Man's Burden.

Now America is being reminded of our weaknesses. We are not supermen. We are not gods. We are no better or worse than others who have lived before us, or those who share the planet with us now. We are humans. And we must remember the One Who created us.

It is not Mother Nature. It is the One God.

If we remember Him, and remember that we are accountable to Him, then I think we may have a way out of all this mess. But if we continue in our hubris, deeming ourselves as the creators and determiners of fate, then I think that this is only the beginning.

"A word to the wise is sufficient." Let's be wise, and be humble.

Through the Looking Glass

Often during the last four years I have been reminded of the ancient Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times."

I haven't posted for the last week or so because my life has been far too interesting. Between the fast pace of current events and my own daily struggle to teach middle schoolers, I have been far too befuddled to be able to put my thoughts together into a cohesive format.

But what got me today was something small. A mere footnote to the real drama of the world.

NASA is temporarily shut down because of the evacuation. NASA, the people who only last week were talking about missions to the moon and Mars. They can conquer space, but they can't continue operations on our own planet when unusual forces strike.

That's not all. While NASA is shut down, Russia will be running the international space station.

Russia?

I grew up during the Cold War. Arms race. Space race. Evil commies. Imminent nuclear attack.

Thirty years ago, who could have imagined that the U.S. would have to depend on Russia? For the continuation of the space program, of all things.

Like many others, I got tired of the Cold War. I didn't like always being on edge, waiting for the next shoe to drop. I think that's why we are all a little tired of hearing about the War on Terror. One on-going conflict per lifetime, please.

But the announcement from NASA has given me hope. Today's enemies, tomorrow's allies.

Who will the U.S. turn to thirty years from now? Iran?

The Other America

In 1970, when I was in ninth grade, an enlightened teacher introduced me to a ground-breaking book. The Other America, written by Michael Harrington in the early 1960s, shocked a nation with an image of poverty amid affluence and prompted the Kennedy-Johnson War on Poverty. I know I was shocked when I first read Harrington's book. I lived in a middle-class suburb, and had never realized the extent of povery in this land.

In the 1970s, everything was changing. The old order would be overthrown. Poverty and racism would become distant memories. Our leaders would work to end air and water pollution, and no president would ever again commit U.S. troops to an unjust war.

That's what we thought. We were so young and naive.

The nation has been shocked in the last two weeks to discover the extent of poverty in New Orleans. New Orleans meant Mardi Gras and the French Quarter. Fun and more fun. No one outside of New Orleans saw the other side of the city. The poor side.

A common reaction for middle-class Americans is to blame the poor. They just need to work harder. If they weren't so picky about what jobs they were willing to take, they could pull themselves up by their bootstraps.

But most of America's poor are working poor. The wages paid by corporate America are not enough to support a family. This is the reality. When my 21-year old son was working as a forklift operator for one of those warehouse clubs, he told me about the other men who worked there. Men who had wives and children to support. I know my son's paycheck would not have been enough to take care of a family. Fortunately, he was only working to get money for college. Most workers are not that fortunate.

There is an Other America. We can continue to ignore the facts, or we can get to work helping our fellow citizens.

Isn't that more patriotic than blowing things up?

Hard Times

I could talk about my experience of getting back into the classroom after a three-year absence. Trying to learn the routine, memorize student's names and faces, etc. But I won't.

Life has been so much easier for me this week, because every time I began to feel even a little tired or stressed, I remembered the people of the Gulf coast.

No homes. Missing friends and family members. Difficult living conditions. Lack of food and water. Death.

I think I can manage my little daily challenges.

Remember to give generously to the survivors of Hurricane Katrina. Money. Food. Shelter. Prayers.

May Allah help them all.

Back to School

I have very little time to write these days, because it's time to go back to school.

I taught for twelve years before I "retired" in order to pursue my writing career. For the past three years I have concentrated on my writing, and homeschooling one of my sons. But this year I'm back in the classroom, teaching classes in social studies, reading and language arts to middle school students. I hope I'm ready.

When I first met my husband, I was surprised at how seriously he spoke about education. I was a typical American kid who often hated school, but kept going because it was expected and, besides, I'm not a quitter. Much of my school career was about putting one foot ahead of the other. But my husband actually enjoyed going to school. He had learned how to enjoy learning. I have always enjoyed learning too. Just not in school.

I think attitudes about education in this country have become worse--or at least stranger. Politicians blame teachers and implement standardized multiple-choice tests to measure the abilities of the students. Even though any educator will tell you that doing well on a standardized multiple-choice test with a number 2 lead pencil only shows that the student is good at taking standardized multiple-choice tests. There are many levels, many aspects of intellect which simply cannot be measured by filling in ovals with a number 2 lead pencil.

Meanwhile, parents compete with each other to make sure their kid is smarter than anyone else's. Even if they have to do their kid's science project for him. And kids don't really care. Most of them jump through the hoops, doing what is expected so they can be allowed to get back to their video games. The few who do care either get good grades in spite of the politicans and parents, or drop out, either mentally or physically, because school does not meet their needs.

My own philosophy is to let kids be kids. Encourage them to learn, but don't force it. Provide materials and experiences for learning, but don't nag. Don't compete with other parents. Let your kid work at his or her own pace. It is very unlikely that your kid will be a bum. He may take longer to finish his degree, or he may not earn quite as much as the neighbor's kid. But if he is fulfilled, and if he worships his Creator sincerely, then who cares?

Of course, my own children have taken advantage of my laissez faire approach. They concentrate more on learning new skills than getting top grades. They obey their parents, most of the time. They like one another, most of the time. They have friends. They pray. And they know I will give them room to explore and become the men they are meant to be.

I don't believe in letting kids be lazy. My boys have to pull their weight around the house, and they need to finish their homework. But we need to ease up a little. I believe all of our kids will learn much more if they are not forced to learn.

My kids may never win the Nobel prize. They may never be ambassadors, diplomats, millionaires. So what?

As long as they are good people, and true believers, that's all I need from them.

Keeping the FaithAugust 23. 2005 12:00AM

Thank you, Pam Sacks, for this very nice article about me and my family. And Joshua.

August 23. 2005 12:00AMKeeping the faithMuslim writer reaches out to young men of Islam through novel
By Pamela H. Sacks TELEGRAM & GAZETTE STAFFpsacks@telegram.com
Jamilah Kolocotronis was teaching social studies when she heard about the 9-11 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.“When I found out, I said, ‘Please don’t let Muslims be involved,’ ”
Ms. Kolocotronis said, giving voice to a vivid and painful recollection.Ms. Kolocotronis and her husband, a native of Thailand, are Muslims who have six sons ranging in age from 9 to 23. Even before 9-11, their three older boys, all teenagers at the time, had long felt they were treated with opprobrium. Muslim extremists had been in the news since the bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993. “Everyone blames us,” they would say. “Everyone thinks we are terrorists.”
Ms. Kolocotronis, who lived with her family in Worcester from July 2004 until a few weeks ago, is of Greek descent. She converted from Christianity to Islam when she was 23.
As a white woman, coping with prejudice was a new experience.Yet on the day the Twin Towers fell, Ms. Kolocotronis, who wears a hijab, or headscarf, fully understood her sons’ ordeal.“I felt I could not go out, even though I was only a mile from home,” she said. “They talked a lot about the anger on TV. I stayed inside for four days and then took my two older sons with me as bodyguards.”When the mother and sons stepped out the door on Sept. 15, 2001, they were taken aback at how well they were treated.“I had no bad experiences,” Ms. Kolocotronis said. “People were even more intentionally polite than usual.”
Over the last four years, however, the pressures on American Muslims have only increased. The conflict between Israelis and Palestinians has ground on. The war in Afghanistan was punctuated by a terrorist attack in October 2002 that killed 180 people in a nightclub in Bali. The fighting in Iraq got under way in the spring of 2003; last month, 57 people were killed in suicide bombings in London.“If I go out shopping today and people start staring at me, I’ll turn on the radio right away to see what happened,” Ms. Kolocotronis, 49, said a few days ago from her new home in Milwaukee. “Still overall, you get a lot of the kindness, at the bank and the store. But sometimes you do feel like running.”
Ms. Kolocotronis has chosen to react to events in another way. She has become a novelist, with the specific intention of helping young Muslim men.Her first book, “Innocent People,” was about the life of a Muslim family in the year after 9-11 Ms. Kolocotronis writes about a mother and her five sons. They receive harassing phone calls, and someone throws a rock through the window of the father’s restaurant. At the same time, a Catholic school sends a banner and warm words of support to the children’s Muslim school. Ms. Kolocotronis includes an incident based on something that actually happened to her: The town librarian called to say, “You must be having a hard time. What can I do?”
As the story unfolds, the mother talks to her sons about how they can change the perception of Muslims, just as Ms. Kolocotronis and her husband, Abdul-Munim Jitmoud, have done with their children. “We would ask, ‘What good manners can we have to show people who we really are?’ ” she said.
As an American and a mother of boys, she worried when she heard talk about young men overseas getting involved in terrorism. She concluded that she could, perhaps, offer guidance to young American Muslims, bolstering their Islamic identity to give them the strength to overcome challenges from within and from the world at large.Those thoughts led to her second novel, “Echoes” (Heliographica, $15.95), which was published early this summer. It is the first of a five-part series
Ms. Kolocotronis plans to write about the life of Joshua Adams, a troubled young man from a broken home who drinks, smokes marijuana and gets his high school girlfriend pregnant He marries her. After they have three children, he walks out.Joshua is taken in by Muslim friends, and he converts. He is introduced to a Muslim girl and falls in love. As he fights his old habits and confronts past mistakes, different Muslim men are always present to offer guidance and help. Still, as Ms. Kolocotronis puts it, “Change does not come easily. Joshua must deal with the echoes of his past.” Gradually, he realizes fulfillment comes from dedication to God and caring for others.
Ms. Kolocotronis emphasizes the sense of community in Islam, that an important part of the faith is to support and care for one another, as opposed to being caught up in personal needs and goals that can be a source of alienation. “You pray shoulder to shoulder,” she said. “When you greet, you shake hands.”
A photograph of Mrs. Kolocotronis with her family shows a woman with an open, cheerful demeanor — one who seems to have found her place in life. During a lengthy phone interview, she talked quickly and often laughed at herself. Her legal name is Linda Jitmoud. She was born Linda Kolocotronis and took Jamilah as her Muslim name. Jamilah Kolocotronis is her pen name; she prefers to use it in public forums.As a young woman, she was a devout Lutheran. She met her future husband while studying religion and philosophy at Truman State University in Missouri. “I was strongly Christian, and I tried to convert him at first,” she said. “I asked him to come to church with me, and he brought a copy of the Qu’ran. I was really embarrassed.”
Believing she wanted to be a Lutheran minister, she entered a seminary in Chicago, but was soon disillusioned and returned to Missouri. After she carefully studied the Qu’ran, it came to her in a flash one hot and muggy that night that she wanted to convert. She dashed off to a little mosque that Mr. Jitmoud and two other Muslim men had formed.“I said I was thinking about being Muslim,” she said. “They immediately gave me the confession of faith. I decided to give it a year, and by the end of the year, I was completely convinced.”
After she and her husband were married, she followed in Mr. Jitmoud’s footsteps and entered a doctoral program in social science education at Ball State University in Indiana. He worked at odd jobs to support their growing family so that his wife could complete her studies.Now, Mr. Jitmoud administers Muslim schools while his wife teaches and writes.
The family has lived in Seattle, the Midwest and Thailand. They were in Kansas City for 12 years before Mr. Jitmoud became principal of Alhuda, a Muslim school in Worcester.The Jitmouds found Worcester’s Muslim community to be welcoming and generous. But Massachusetts was less to their liking. “I was surprised at the provincialism,” Ms. Kolocotronis remarked. “I would have thought it was very progressive. Most people don’t realize there’s a life outside of Massachusetts.”And the drivers are rude, she said, laughing. “I was really happy when the Boston Red Sox won the World Series because everyone was polite for two weeks.”
As a doctoral candidate, Ms. Kolocotronis focused her research on Islamic jihad, or, the struggle against injustice. She started with the taking of American hostages in 1979 in Iran. She looked at jihad in Pakistan, Iran, Egypt and Afghanistan during the 1980s In studying the religious roots of jihad, she said she learned it is meant to be used only as a defense against aggression. “We don’t just go out and attack,” she said. “There is no killing or destruction of property, no death by fire or bombs of any kind. One prophet said, ‘Don’t even harm trees.’ ”
Faith is a common subject in the family. The Jitmouds’ eldest son is in France studying Arabic. He married a Spanish woman he met in class and will become a father in five months. The other children are at home.
A Muslim, Ms. Kolocotronis said, is someone who obeys God.“I can say that 9-11 was not done by Muslims,” Ms. Kolocotronis said with conviction. “Whatever the political motivation, they couldn’t have done it in God’s name. They were not Muslims in the sense of acting in Islam. I wonder how much they believed.“I guess none of us can know.”

Back to Joshua

I seem to be jumping all over the place. One day Joshua, the next day current events. I'm a social studies teacher. so current events is what I do. Even though I'm not in the classroom right now, I always take time out for current events.

It's not all as unrelated as it seems. Joshua Adams is apolitical. He doesn't care. He's been so busy enjoying life that he's never paid much attention to the news. And I think that would describe the majority of people. Especially young people, who often have more important things to do than watch or read the news.

The teacher in me wants to lecture everyone about the importance of keeping current on current events. But the teacher in me also understands the apathy.

Later Joshua will come to care very much about current events. But only when it affects his life. And I think that's how most of us are. We are so busy living our lives that we don't take time out to consider the broad spectrum of issues. And I must confess that there are many issues on which I am nearly ignorant. I gave up trying to follow the Social Security debate, for instance, months ago. I just assume that it won't be there by the time I'm old enough to collect on it. :)

What do you think the most important issue is? The war in Iraq? The high cost of gas? The need for alternative sources of energy? The housing bubble? Palestine? The Iraqi constitution? Keeping our kids safe?

Give me your feedback. What should we be concerned about? And what should we do about it?

Motherhood and Apple Pie

When I was growing up, there was a saying. "As American as motherhood and apple pie."

So what's happened to this country?

A mother has a son. She carries him in her womb, gives birth to him, feeds, clothes and nurtures him for twenty-four years. When the son is a man, he decides to join the armed forces. He tells his mother that recruiters promised he would never be sent overseas. But he is. And he is killed.

The mother now decides to take a stand against the war which killed her son. The war which continues to kill sons, daughters and Iraqi civilians daily. The war which was started based on the lie of weapons of mass destruction.

A mother stands for peace, in the shadow of her son's death. As American as. . .

But hold the presses. The war president, the one who was supposedly elected because he represents traditional values, refuses to meet with her. His supporters deride her in the media. Some have even decided to show up in person and tell her how terribly unpatriotic she is.

But she's a mother. What is so unpatriotic about that?

The same people who oppose this mother, Cindy Sheehan, also oppose Islam. Islam, they say, lacks values. They label Muslims as being uncivilized.

Who is uncivilized? Muslims, who value mothers?

Or the ones who taunt and insult a mother who mourns for her son.

What's Wrong With Peace, Part II

War is glory. Peace is weakness.

War creates respect. Peace creates disdain.

War. Flags flying, bands playing, soldiers marching in fresh uniforms.

Peace. A bunch of long-hairs sitting around playing guitars and smoking weed.

War makes our nation stronger. Peace shows our enemies how weak we are.

Or, as George Orwell put it, War is peace. Meaning there can be no peace without war. War without end.

Is that the truth? Or just the media-packaged truth?

Prophet Muhammad (S) taught us how to treat our enemies well. There are many examples of this. The greatest example occured in the Conquest of Makkah. Ten thousand Muslims marched into the city from which they had been exiled, and later banned. But there was no bloodbath. No massacre. Only forgiveness.

Prophet Muhammad (S) did not use napalm or depleted uranium to conquer his enemies. He used the truth. And truth won out over falsehood. It always will.

Right now falsehood is in the lead. Might makes right. War. Good. Peace. Bad.

But truth always wins out in the end. It just takes time. It just needs patience.

And that's the greatest thing about peace. Peace is patient. Waiting for the time when men are ready to stop acting like beasts. And sometimes it happens.

It happened many times during the life of Prophet Muhammad (S). What about now?

Pray for peace.

What's wrong with peace?

Assalaamu alaikum. Peace be with you. Muslims greet one another this way, wishing each other peace.

"Peace I leave with you. My peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives do I give unto you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." According to the Gospel of John, Jesus spoke these words to his disciples soon before he left them.

Peace is good. On the surface, I don't think anyone would dispute that. But why do so many people resist peace?

We can start with the resistance against Islam. Islam brings peace to the believer. Peace can be seen in the face of a true believer. But so many try to defame Islam, and find fault with the beliefs and the practices. Pray five times a day? Who has the time? Fast during Ramadan? Do you want to starve yourself? Cover your head? Why would a woman want to enslave herself like that? And I could go on. We've all heard it. The resistance to the beliefs and practices dictated by Allah. Sometimes we hear it from non-Muslims. And sometimes we also hear it from those who claim to be Muslims.

Follow Islam and have peace. It really is that simple. Not that life will never be difficult again. Living is a struggle. But living through Islam, and making our decisions and actions conform to the Word of Allah, brings inner peace. The kind of peace that makes it easy to live with yourself. I'm sure you know what I mean.

We need to tell everyone to stop resisting. Give in to the natural peace revealed to us by Allah. Accept it. Submit. Life will be so much easier.

Once we have the inner peace, we need to work on peace between people. I'll address that in my next post, insha Allah.

More About Joshua

Who is Joshua Adams? Someone I knew in high school? My next door neighbor?

Joshua Adams, the one I've been talking about, is the starring character in the Echoes Series.

The first book, Echoes, introduces Joshua. His life. His thoughts. His problems.

He is a white male, Chicago born and raised, twenty-three years old when he accepts Islam. He expects Islam to be the answer to all of his problems. He doesn't realize that submission takes effort. Echoes is the story of Joshua's jihad al nafs. The struggle against his self and his desires.

In many ways, Joshua is the all-American boy. At least the darker side. He is good looking enough to be attractive to women, and that's fine with him. He likes to spend time with his friends. When he was in high school, drinking and smoking pot were his main forms of recreation. He argues with his mother and fights with his brothers. He sometimes longs for attention from his absentee father. Just an all-American boy.

Until he accepted Islam, Joshua was completely self-centered. If it worked for him, fine. If not, forget about it. That attitude included all aspects of his life. His girlfriends. His jobs. His grades. His family.

Through Islam, Joshua learned that there are other people who matter. He realized that he had an obligation to care about them, and not only about himself. That was a big lesson for a spoiled all-American boy.

Do Muslims always understand that? Do we realize that it's not always about "ME"? Sometimes not. Sometimes we get caught up in our own needs, our own agenda.

This attitude is dangerous. At best, it will cause us to become alienated from our Muslim brothers and sisters. At worst, it will divide the ummah.

But the ummah is already divided, isn't it? On every continent, in every country, every city, there are examples of Muslim against Muslim. Each fighting for what he or she claims to be right. Each caught up in "ME".

Maybe we should start taking care of that. Maybe we should start with ourselves.

Maybe we should start now.

Change

Do you remember Joshua Adams? Joshua tried to change. He embraced Islam, gave up his vices and tried to live a new life. What Joshua learned is that people don't so easily forget. The way he had treated his mother, brothers, ex-wife, children, couldn't be wiped out so simply.

That's life. But still, we seem to be surprised that change requires work. What have you changed in the last year? Your job? Your marital status? Your home? Your habits? Or have you only changed your socks?

The hardest part about change is the resistance. No one resists changing socks, so that's easy. But very few changes go that smoothly.

Have you tried to change yourself? The way you think about things. If so, I know you've caught yourself a hundred times, lapsing into your old ways. You resist change. It takes an active struggle to overcome that resistance.

When change involves other people, it is so much harder. School starts and the kids have to change their bedtimes. The house needs a new look and you want to change the furniture. Someone in your family has a really annoying habit that you simply cannot stand one more day. You get the picture.

So what if we want to change a society? We want to end racism, sexism, economic exploitation. We want fairness, equal opportunity, peace.

Some think it can be accomplished by force. That works, for a while. But not for long. Change cannot be forced. It must blossom.

In the first months after I became a Muslim, I thought about everything I needed to learn and felt overwhelmed by it all. Someone told me, It took twenty-three years for the Qur'an to be revealed, so don't expect to learn everything overnight. It's been twenty-five years now, and I am still learning.

I think, somehow, that Joshua might be able to change the way his family thinks of him. But it won't be fast, and it won't be easy. He must continually deal with the echoes of his past.

I think you will probably be able to change whatever really bothers you in your personal life. Just don't expect any shortcuts.

And I think, if we try hard enough, we may be able to change society. More peace, less hatred. But it won't happen soon, and it won't happen at all unless we all work together and refuse to surrender.

So let's get started!

A Mother

I keep meaning to write more about Joshua, but so much is happening in the news that I just can't ignore.

Down in Texas right now, there is a David v. Goliath kind of struggle going on. A mother, Cindy Sheehan, lost her son in the Iraq War. She went down to Crawford, Texas to demand a personal meeting with Bush. Bush has said repeatedly how much he appreciates the sacrifice of the men and women in the armed services, and their families. This is his time to prove it.

But so far he refuses to meet with her. She is camped outside of his ranch. Her cause is growing, and there are now military families from across the country who are traveling to Texas to join her.

A mother's love. She proudly sent her son to serve his country. But that was before she knew he was headed into an unjust war. Before he went to his death, fighting for nothing more than the misguided vision of a short-sighted administration. Not to defend his country. Simply to advance the selfish agenda of some very selfish people. People who will not send their own children to fight. People who sit back and watch their income grow as a result of the war.

About 1800 American troops have died so far in this war. Including five who died today. Anywhere from 20,000 to 100,000 Iraqi civilians have been killed. Cities have been destroyed, including many mosques. The land has been contaminated by depleted uranium. A society, in the cradle of civilization, has been brought down.

Why? Cheaper gas prices? Safety for Americans? Freedom for Iraqis? It hasn't happened.

Cindy Sheehan, and all of the other mothers and fathers who unknowingly sent their children to fight in a corrupt cause, deserve to be heard. President Bush, are you listening?

Being a Muslimah

I just read the news about a Muslim woman being shoved and verbally abused by three men in a pick-up truck. She is eight months pregnant.

A week or so ago I read that a brother in London, who is a scholar, advised Muslim women to remove their hijabs so that they would not be harassed.

My question is not, why was this woman wearing a scarf when she knew we live in a potentially hostile environment? My question is, what can the Muslim men do to protect the women who choose to wear their scarves in accordance with the law of Allah?

Muslim women must constantly face the world as Muslims, because of our scarves. Muslim men can pretend to be anything they want. Muhammad can be Mo and Yusuf can be Joe. They can dress in tight jeans and loud t-shirts. Sometimes there's the small problem of an accent, but other than that they can blend in.

I've talked with teenage Muslim girls who bristle at the ayah where Allah says he gave men a degree over women. I'm not a scholar, but I've never seen this ayah as saying that men are superior to women. That interpretation would be inconsistent with other verses in the Qur'an. I've always understood that verse to mean that men have natural physical strength, and are unencumbured with difficulties such as the monthly period and pregnancy. Therefore, Allah expects them to use this physical advantage to help women.

This is what I've taught my sons. All six of them. Sometimes they think I'm being too harsh. They don't understand how difficult it can be to be a woman. Especially a mother. They don't know how much strength they have. I've tried to tell them, but I don't think they realize it yet.

My oldest might come to realize it five months from now when his wife gives birth to their first child, insha Allah. When he sees her struggle, I think he'll become much wiser than he is now.

Allah gave men a degree over women. Not so they can be bossy or abusive. So they can help us.

And Allah decreed the hijab for women. When Allah made that requirement, didn't He already know how much difficulty Muslim woman would sometimes face?

We all must be strong. We women must be strong enough to stand up in the face of adversity, and help each other through difficult times. I wish I could go to Virginia right now to hug that sister who was harassed.

We must also strengthen our men. Recognize the leadership of our husbands. Promote leadership in our sons. Communicate with them. Let them know our side of the story.

May Allah help us all.

Death

We all belong to Allah, and to Allah we will all return.

Two deaths dominate the headlines today. In the world of network news, it is the death of Peter Jennings. Reporter. Anchorman. Someone who has delivered news, good and bad, to a generation of Americans.

In the Islamic world, it is the death of Ahmed Deedat. Muslim. Scholar. Someone who has worked for several decades to deliver the message of Islam to the world.

Peter Jennings was a familiar face to all throughout the U.S. His easy manner. His commitment to his work.

Ahmed Deedat was a familiar name to Muslims throughout the world. His famous debates. His commitment to Islam.

Many others have died in the last twenty-four hours. They remain unknown to all except their families and friends. They were somebody's children, somebody's parents. Some were kind and loving. Some were evil and self-centered. All are dead. All must now prepare to face Allah, with nothing more than their faith and their deeds.

All of us will die one day. How will we be remembered? What will we take with us when we go to meet Allah?

Ahmed Deedat is creditted with bringing countless people to Islam. This is his legacy. Each of us must ask, What will my legacy be?

May Allah bless the soul of Br. Ahmed Deedat, and bring comfort to those who loved him.

Echoes of. . .

Peace is natural. Conflict is not. And yet most of our lives are full of conflict. Man, or woman, against nature. Against others. Against self.

What if a person, who had lived most of his life in conflict, tried to build a fortress of peace? Would that conflict subside on its own, or would he be required to do more than simply yearn for it to end?

We could ask Joshua Adams. His first five months were peaceful. After that, unending conflict. With his father. His mother. His brothers. His teachers. His classmates. His wife. Himself.

One day he decided to end the conflict. It wasn't the first time he had decided that. The other times, he contemplated suicide. But he could never follow through. This time, he withdrew. He pulled himself away from all the chaos in his life and crawled into a hole, metaphorically speaking, to wait it out.

By the time he emerged, he had found peace. Through Islam.

But he learned that the conflict was still waiting for him. He had changed. Everyone else had not.

So what comes next? What happens when someone is ready to change the world, but the world is not ready to be changed?

Echoes of Peace

Peace and blessings to all who read this.

I'm not sure where to start. Do I talk about myself? If so, do I mention my family first, or my career interests, or my writing? Do I talk about world events? Or do I play it safe and talk about the weather?

I suppose I have to start "In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful".

I became a Muslim over twenty-five years ago, and my conversion is the single most important event of my life. Becoming a Muslim changed the way I think about the world. It changed the way I think about food, clothing, you name it. Most of all, becoming a Muslim brought me peace.

These days all we hear about is war. If it's not the war in Iraq or the war in Afghanistan, it's the war on drugs, terrorism, whatever. And war references are everywhere. In sports. In the toy aisle of any store. Even the weatherman talks about how two fronts are battling it out.

But what is war? As the song says, "What is it good for? Absolutely nothing."

Peace is what gets us from day to day. We can find peace in drugs, prescription or otherwise. Or we can look for a genuine peace through faith. I've always believed in the real deal.

So while the headlines blare news of the latest battlefront casualties or the latest drive-by shooting, we need to remember to look for the peace.