Why We Remember Hagar

By Jamillah Karim

ISNA photos courtesy of Bilal Mahmud

O Allah, honor us by making us the beloved community, and there is no honor except by You. And finally, in these special days, when the selected among our community prepare to walk in the footsteps of our mother Hajar, or Hagar, make us faithful and content with You, as was she when she faced the adversity of being left alone in a new land that You, O Allah, made her home and the home of Your beloved Muhammad, prayers and peace be upon him. And like her, O Allah, may we struggle for Your pleasure so that our children can be at home in this new land, thriving in this new land where the people of Muhammad will shine with your light and love. Ameen.

With this prayer I closed my Friday night speech at the 2016 Islamic Society of North America (ISNA) Convention. To close evoking Lady Hagar and her legacy was unusual. It is customary to close with prayers on our beloved Prophet and his family, but not customary to name individuals in his family. And when we remember the women in his blessed family by name, it is usually not Hagar that we name but the women immediately around him; women like Khadija, Fatima, and Aisha, may God be pleased with them all. And when we highlight these remarkable women of the Prophet’s family, it is most likely when the theme of the conference or speech relates to women.*

My speech was not about women. It was about American Muslims' becoming the beloved community, a community beloved in the hearts of the American people and beloved in the sense that Dr. Martin Luther King and his generation of freedom fighters imagined it: a community known for brotherhood and sisterhood across differences.

But even when the focus of my speech is not women or gender, I make it a point to highlight exemplary women, their struggles and their triumphs. Remembering Hagar at that moment in my speech flowed naturally for two reasons. One, that night marked the first day of Dhul-Hijjah, the Islamic month of the Hajj, a holy season for Muslims that would not even exist if not for the sacrifice and faith of Hagar. And two, Hagar gave birth to the prophetic line that would later produce the light of Muhammad in a land to which she was brought not by choice, as American Muslims have the honor to introduce the light and beauty of Muhammad in this land to which our ancestors were brought by force.

Hagar, the great foremother of the Prophet Muhammad, may God grant him blessings and peace, is the same Hagar of the Bible; however, the Islamic version of this story has its unique elements, which I believe enhance the ways in which Hagar’s legacy empower women. While the biblical version focuses on Sarah’s initiating Hagar’s involuntary parting from Prophet Ibraham’s household and subsequent transfer to the inhospitable desert, the Islamic version focuses on the dialogue that ensued between Hagar and Prophet Ibrahim as he proceeded to leave her and their baby, Isma’il, utterly alone:

“O Ibrahim! Where are you going, leaving us in this valley where there is no  person for company, nor anything for us to eat or drink?” She asked him many times, but Ibrahim wouldn’t look back at her. She then shouted, “Has God ordered you to do this?” He turned, replying, “Yes, I am leaving you in Allah’s care.” Content with this answer, she said, “I am satisfied to be with Allah. He will not neglect us.”  (Ayat Jamilah: Beautiful Signs, A Treasury of Islamic Wisdom for Children and Parents)

When Hagar ran out of the water she had brought, she had no milk to nurse her crying baby. She ran up the closest hill to look out for help, but there was no one. Back down the valley she went, only to scurry up the opposite hill. Again, no one in sight. Moved by her child’s sobs, she persistently ran between the two hills seven times in search of help before stopping to check on Isma’il, whom she left in the scant shade. Miraculously, she heard a voice to which she pleaded for help. It was the angel Gabriel. The angel of revelation struck the earth with his heel and water gushed forth. Hagar arranged the sand to contain the water that today we call the well of Zam Zam.   

Hagar’s act of faith marks the site out of which the city of Mecca grew. Through reliance on God, prayer, and struggle, Hagar’s hand’s shaped the ground upon which a faith community, later a coveted city, and ultimately a world civilization would shine its light on the world.  

Tariq Ramadan (L) and Yasir Fahmy (M)

Being the only female scholar on stage with three popular male religious scholars that Friday night reaffirmed for me why we must remember Hagar. Hagar has not been remembered to the measure that her great legacy calls us, and this imbalance is partly due to the fact that women scholars had not shared public platforms with men on any systematic basis until recently thanks to women’s activism and scholarly pursuits in the last decade or so.

So when given the platform on a stage with men whom the large audience adored, particularly the distinguished and beloved Tariq Ramadan, I couldn’t miss the opportunity to remember Lady Hagar. It was a moment of activism, to bring consciousness to the way women have contributed to this great religion.

Listening to Tariq Ramadan speak. In addition to women speakers, one of the ways in which ISNA seeks to increase women's presence on stage is to assign women moderators (the woman in green). The woman in black is the sign language interpreter.

And then there was another way that I hoped to raise consciousness by evoking Hagar that night. I was among the few African American Muslim main speakers at ISNA, which is organized and attended predominantly by nonblack Muslims, mostly immigrants and their American-born children. As much as I commit to telling women’s stories, I commit to highlighting the contributions of black Muslims, of African Muslims, to Islam, especially in front of this audience. By remembering Hagar, I remember not only a woman exemplar of our faith but also an African exemplar of our faith.

Zarinah Abdur Rahman (L)

The person who made me vividly see Hagar as a black woman larger than life was Sister Zarinah of the Atlanta Masjid of Al-Islam, a Warith Deen Mohammed mosque community. Sister Zarinah was partner with two men in a company that organized and led pilgrims’ travel on the Hajj. At least once a year, she spoke to the community during our Sunday service. In glowing terms, Sister Zarinah emphasized that it was an African woman who is the mother of our faith. When Sister Zarinah described Hagar’s incredible dash between the two hills in search of sustenance, we saw a woman who looked like us. Every pilgrim arriving in Mecca, man or woman, hajj season or off season, the first thing they must do, Sister Zarinah reminded us, is pay respect to God and His house by circling the Ka’ba, offer prayer at the station of Ibraham, and then honor a black woman by literally walking and running in her footsteps.

But in reality, the color of Hagar’s skin is a side point. Only because we live in a world where blackness and African descent are treated as second class that it becomes necessary to highlight her origins: Egypt says the Bible, and Upper Egypt (Nubia) specify other historical sources. African American women’s most compelling claim to Hagar is not her skin but her trial. As God tested her to survive in a foreign wilderness in dire circumstances without the protection, provision, and support of her husband, God tested our African foremothers with surviving in the devastating wilderness of America virtually without husbands. Here, their men’s manhood was beaten out of them. What could they could do when black women were raped by slaveholders? What could they do when their wives and children were sold to another plantation 200 miles away? When they attempted to do something, they met severe consequences. Black women watched as their men were whipped, and later as their men were lynched, and now we watch today as our men are executed in the streets.

And here is where Hagar’s story and our story as black women intersect so perfectly. Abraham loved Hagar dearly. Imagine how much it hurt him to leave Hagar in the wilderness. But remember, this is the same noble man who prepared to kill his son when God commanded that he do so. As much as it hurt, he understood that God’s decree was perfect and that he must fulfill it. Similarly, our men have always loved us dearly, but forces beyond their control have left black women in the predicament we still endure today.

At the same time, our situation is different from Hagar’s. Soon after Prophet Ibrahim left Hagar and his son, he stopped, turned to God and begged that God “fill some hearts among people with love towards them, and provide them with food, so that they may give thanks.” Abraham always remembered them in prayer and later returned to his family. He built a house for them and one dedicated to the worship of God, to which Muslims turn five times a day for prayer. The Zam Zam water attracted a wandering tribe that permanently established itself there. A faith community thrived and supported Hagar when Abraham was away.

African American women, on the other hand, continue to face systemic racism, which restricts many black men’s ability to take care of their families. Also, we live in a culture that promotes extramarital sex. Additionally, it is a culture that empowers women to be financially independent of men, a good thing given the predicament of our men. These three factors combined, however, put many black women in a perpetual state of singlehood that Hagar experienced only temporarily.

Many studies have noted this crisis: “Black women are only half as likely as white women to be married, and more than two times as likely as white women never to marry….[As for those fortunate enough to marry], eventually, more than two out of every three black marriages will dissolve.” (Is Marriage for White People: How the African American Marriage Decline Affects Everyone)

Given this hardship, “Hagar Lives” hopes to inspire black women to claim Hagar, especially in the moment that she understood that her trial was beyond Abraham--when Abraham answered that God told him to leave her there alone. We aspire to be like Hagar in the moment when she realized her struggle was between her and her Lord. It is what God decreed for her, not what Prophet Ibrahim wanted for her, and so it was the moment to fully give her heart and limbs to God.

Although we aim to recognize that our trial is what God has decreed for us in His perfect wisdom and strive to see it as an opportunity to grow closer to Him, we also understand that our struggle demands that we fight injustices and hold ourselves, our husbands, our communities, and those in power accountable, particularly those perpetuating anti-black racism. And it is here too where the Islamic version of Hagar’s story provides some powerful instruction.

Unique to the Islamic version of Hagar’s story is that it required more than prayer for Gabriel to appear and miraculously produce water. It required effort, work and struggle on the part of Hagar. She did more than pray for help in the depths of the desert. She persistently searched, even though, attempt after attempt, she saw no one in sight on the hilltops of Safa and Marwa. God loves for us to ask from Him through prayer, but He also loves for us to strive for His sake. It was Hagar’s exertion for which she is remembered and saluted every time a pilgrim enters the sacred precincts.

“Hagar Lives” seeks to tell a variety of stories of African American women’s struggles and triumphs in their Hagar-like moments. Certainly there are stories of men who have abandoned us in ways that are not acceptable, but too there are stories of men who left us to God in their pursuit of that which pleases God. There are stories in which we as women showed the wisdom and grace of Hagar from the start of our relationships, and others where we made bad decisions and acted not with a complete faith in God, and still God came running with assistance when we called. And finally, there are stories that show Muslim women’s personal choices as resistance to racial injustices and disparities in this country, and others that show us moved simply by the sheer force of survival, or the basic need for a man’s touch, or for God’s love and the love of His Beloveds.     

If you would like to contribute to "Hagar Lives," contact us: hajarlives@gmail.com.

*Tayyibah Taylor, may Allah have mercy on her, was the first person I remember bringing my attention to the ways in which women speakers were always asked or expected to speak on women’s issues or the “women’s panel.”  She saw Azizah magazine as a long needed correction to confining women’s interests, ideas, and concerns to a woman’s column or to the occasional conference talk.  She organized and spoke regularly at ISNA, pushing for more women speakers. She would have been delighted to see my following in her footsteps speaking as a woman at a session not focused on "women's issues."

     

A Prayer for Love and a New Destiny: A Tribute to My Mama

By Ayisha Karim

For my mother, Marjorie Shukriyyah Karim, and my loves, present and future; and for all the beautiful ones searching for true, deep intimacy

Lately, I’ve been replaying this memory in my head, a memory that involves my mother but immediately reveals me in a similar space and predicament.

We’re in the hotel room getting dressed for the culminating event of the retreat—the banquet where the community’s leading imam on (the topic of) “marriage” will speak, as well as an experienced star couple. The women will be dressed to the nines, an unspoken scarf-wrapping competition would ensue. The most fortunate and diva-ish among them would don their Sanriq dresses that made both men and women turn heads. In fact, I’m pretty sure that my mom was wearing a Sanriq Indian outfit, and it was just when she had reached the final part of the dressing process, pinning her Indian-inspired headpiece in an Afro-centric style, that it seemed all of the beautiful anticipation for this event came to a screeching halt and a wave of reality, grief, pain, heartbreak, uncertainty, and fear took over the mood in that room. My mother broke down; she began crying: a soft, sweet cry, but a cry nonetheless, mixing tears with the dark kohl she delicately drew around her dark brown eyes. Upon noticing, I insensitively asked, “Mom, what’s going on? Why are you crying?” (as in, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!” says the reckless, naive teenager). Before my mother could explain, a more compassionate voice spoke, her friend: “She’ll be okay; let me talk to her… ‘Marjorie,’” following my mom to the bathroom. Surely I had a good idea of the emotions behind her sudden cry; yet I refused to validate them, risking my idealistic view of my own future marriage, despite how drastically different and unstable my own example had been.

The memory dates back 15 to 20 years at the Nikkah Retreat (“nikaah” translated as marriage or wedding; the retreat: a marriage conference expounding upon the virtues and necessities of successful marriages in African American Muslim communities). My sister and I, college and high school aged, accompanied my mom and her dear friend, who was already married but wanted tips on improving her own and adding some peace, joy, and dignity to it.

I never questioned my mom about that moment. I can only speculate as to the cause of her sudden tears. And as I’ve been crying a lot lately, randomly, rather insensibly, my guesses may be spot on. You see, it turns out that as far as relationships with men go, my mom and I have a few big things in common.  Trust me, I was surprised too when I realized this. In particular, she and I both found ourselves divorced with children around the age of 36. It has been over 25 years since my mother divorced and she has yet to marry again. Will this be my fate? I pray to God that it is not.

There are also major differences between our journeys, giving me hope that my destiny will play out differently. The main differences relate to the age of our children at the time of divorce and the level of education we’d attained. Three of my mother’s children were teenagers, and I was pre-teen. My two children were both preschool age. My mother had recently finished her undergraduate degree while working and raising the four of us. In contrast, I had just completed my master’s degree, after working nearly ten years in my field, when God blessed me to carry my first child.

But as I chart my way through life after divorce, I keep coming back to that moment in the hotel room that makes it feel as though I have become the same woman with tears in her eyes. Why was Mama crying? Why have I been crying so much lately? Sure, I’m sleep deprived and hungry during the Ramadan fast, which can bring any young mother doing it alone to tears. But there is something much more familiar about those tears.

Wait, perhaps…let me spell it out: heartbreak, longing, fear, misunderstanding, and years of disappointment, all jumbled up together. All, believe it or not, inevitably leading towards this fierce, unshakable love “rooted in God.” Yes, a healing, tranquil, certain, steady, beautiful, transcendent, divine Love. The heartbreak and the satisfying closeness to God, my mother and I both share at once.  But, Dear God, in a plea for our destinies to differ, can’t I be blessed with that type of love in human form in this realm as well.

"And among His signs is this, that He created for you mates from among yourselves, that you may dwell in tranquility with them, and He has put Love and Mercy between your (hearts), verily in that are signs for those who reflect” (Qur’an 30:21).

Yes, I think I know good and well why my mom was crying that day. As she prepared for the gala of the Nikkah Marriage Retreat, she must have had flashbacks of the prominent experiences of her heart felt on this sometimes painful journey of life. Sure, the other retreat participants would admire how well put together she was. They would admire her immaculately wrapped headpiece, her common pleasantries, her winning smile, her undeniable sweetness. The same sweetness that my father alludes to, after glancing at me endearingly—with a dose of nostalgia and regret--and says, “Isha, you remind me so much of your mama.”

But would others be able to ascertain the status of her heart? Would they pick up on how fragile her heart was? Would they ever know how sincere was its longing and pure its core, despite its scar?

And NO, she wasn’t looking for a man to provide financially for her. Mama had just landed a job in corporate when she divorced and was well on her way to the middle class. And NO, she wasn’t trying to beat her “biological clock,” hoping to find the best man to father her children. She was ready to start a wiser, golden chapter of her life. And NO, she wasn’t looking to love anyone else’s man either, even though Muslims criterion for carrying out productive lives—the Qur’an—highlights polygyny as an honored, acceptable lifestyle. (Don’t nobody want your man, anyway!) 

And she surely wasn’t looking to just satisfy her physical needs. YES, she was simply trying to fulfill a station that’s considered half of her religion, a whopping 50%! 

But would others even consider her sincere desire to seek marriage for the pleasure of Allah when they observed her at the gala? Surely, God is the only One who truly knows the secret wishes of our hearts, but what my mom needed that evening was reassurance that others would look deeper and truly see the pure longing of her heart. My mother went there that night with hopes of possibly finding a mate who, as Yasmin Mogahed describes, “takes care of, guards, protects, and cherishes your heart.” I imagine it was almost impossible for her, in that moment, to imagine that she was even close to receiving that type of love and protection.

But why had my mother drawn such a depressing conclusion? Why would the prospect of a compassionate, understanding love seem so unattainable in that moment?

This question points to another way our stories, although strikingly similar, differ. When my parents divorced when I was 10 years old, life seemed to get better, not worse. I saw the whole transition as a move up as we moved into a larger home. And though I no longer shared a residence with my father, I still had many examples of upstanding, God-fearing (African-American) men in my school and masjid community who looked after me as if I was their own. And, of course, I maintained regular access to the men in my family, including my paternal grandfather, a beloved dentist in the Black Atlanta community, and uncles who were leaders and role models in their communities.

At my paternal grandparents' home. I was a baby.

My mother, on the other hand, recalls a childhood where her father, an army veteran, suffered from mental illness and encountered severe discrimination as a Black man in the '50s and '60s, struggling to provide for his family, which explains my mother’s childhood memories of living on welfare. Later, my mother married a man from an educated, middle-class background and sincerely striving to live a life dedicated to God and his people, but who--God forgive my beloved father—abandoned her on several levels over the course of the fifteen years of marriage. 

In contrast, my marriage of fifteen years was mostly filled with happiness, luxuries, and productivity—perhaps making the form of abandonment (and coldness) that I experienced at the very end so shocking and off-setting.

The good part about the dissolution of my “model” marriage--or so it appeared--was the extremity of it all, which had me crawling right back to the One who blessed me with those sweet times at the beginning. I crawled back ever so humbly and thankfully, as raw as I was willing to become, with the level of strength necessary to adequately submit and surrender, in hopes of receiving the blessings and miracles waiting on the other side. This, for sure, is where my and my mother’s stories meet again, for my father’s abandonment is where my mother’s fierce turning to God, and to God alone, began.

This turning to God for intimacy when all else seems to go wrong reminds me of one of my and my Mama’s favorite songs by Anita Baker, “Body and Soul.”  Anita was singing about a man, but I think of God now when I hear her song.

Now, once I could turn away

From everything I feel today

But now, I wanna walk through Your door

I've wasted too much time

Living for what wasn't mine

And then came the day I found You

And now I want nothing less

I've found a Love that is truly blessed

It feels good to love You INSIDE <3.

Like my mother, I’ve turned to God completely, yet still, I want our stories to progress differently.  My mother seems to have grown content with a life of devotion, sacrifice, and service to her children and a Merciful, Loving God who saw her through life’s tests that some couldn’t even imagine living through. My life journey, experiences, hopes, and insights point me toward a strikingly different future of love and intimacy, insha’allah.

Keep in mind that my mother is a first-generation American Muslim. New to the religion, her generation struggled to implement the high standards the Qur’an and the example of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, called them to in terms of marriage and family life. The collective consciousness of my generation of African-American Muslim women lends itself more generously and fearlessly to a myriad of possibilities of what love and intimacy can look like on this earthly, human sphere. I personally strive for a love that transcends my understood need for financial and material provisions to one that satisfies my spiritual, emotional, sociocultural, and intellectual needs. Full blown, passionate, lawful intimacy is what I speak of, is what I strive for.  

As proclaimed in The Gayan by Inayat Khan, “When the heart breaks, it gives birth to the soul.” Indeed, our hearts have been broken and have suffered their share of betrayal. Our souls wish to shine, flourish, and be seen and embraced fully.

Don't leave me out in the cold

Just love me, body and soul

#HagarLoves #HagarLives

Coming Out As a Divorced Muslim Woman in the African American Community

By Ayisha Karim

Alhamdulillah.  I am very truly happy for you!  So now I ask you to do something that may be hard- pray for your brother and forgive.  I know this period of time has possibly made it hard to see, but he is a good man and a good father. While this may be the best situation, it will also be a cause of suffering for a good man.  He may need that trial but that is up to Allah not us. Also- Allah put you through a big test/hardship and I know you have been pondering and contemplating but think hard on how this struggle is suppose to teach you & improve you- make you a better person, woman, wife, Muslim.  Love you my dear.  Have a beautiful day!

Ayisha on 'Arafat

The above note is a text from a dear friend, a mutual friend of both me and my ex-husband. It came the morning after I sent out a mass text/ fb post, hinting at a personal victory: the judge’s rulings in my trying court, divorce trial. While I understand my friend’s wise advice, it stung me deep to the core. And what, might you ask, led to this initial sting: 1) the small time lapse between my sharing this personal victory and her response to pray for him, OR 2) the fact that it was coming from a female—I imagined a female friend would side with her girlfriend. Perhaps, more pressing than either reason above, it magnified in my mind how the man seems to always get the upper hand, the benefit of the doubt, the second chances within the cultures and communities with which I mostly associate: African-American and Muslim.

Question: Do not women have feelings, and even egos that need stroking, too, giving us full credence to cry out, to FIGHT, to share our stories, to get people to see where we, women, are coming from?? Can’t I share my story with full confidence that God is also with me every step of the way? And is it possible that I too am a “good” woman, and God had me go through this as a means to elevate me to a more peaceful and productive state of being, living, and loving. Couldn’t this all be a gift that God gives to yet another sincere servant?

While the Qur’an, in its discussion of divorce, speaks to the rights men have over women, God also says that, “women shall have similar rights to the rights against them.” I know that this statement of rights is followed up with, “And men have a degree over them.” However, many commentators interpret this as a degree of kindness and responsibility:

“Ibn ‘Abbas is reported to have said, ‘This degree is a reference to men’s encouraging good relations and their generosity toward women in wealth and virtuous behavior, which means that the one possessing the upper hand must be biased against himself”(The Study Quran).

Further, God speaks of parting on peaceful, “equitable” terms:

“It is not lawful for you (men), to take back any of your gifts (from your wives).”  

“When you divorce women, and they fulfill the term of their (Iddat), either take them back on equitable terms or set them free on equitable terms; but do not take them back to injure them, (or) to take undue advantage; if any one does that; he wrongs his own soul.”

Had my friend even considered how I, the woman, had been treated in this divorce, whether or not I received the rights that are divinely sanctioned for me? Had she considered whether the divorce proceedings were peaceful and just; whether certain gifts that had been given to me during the good times of our marriage been taken from me or withheld to spite me? Perhaps most painful to consider: Had she considered the possibility that I had been abandoned, left to rely on my family?

Instead of considering all these possibilities of a woman being denied her divine rights, my friend was more inclined to think of the feelings of the husband. Unfortunately, this tendency to prioritize men’s egos is not unlike that of many Muslim women, especially happily-married women, and definitely not unlike that of many Muslim men. Many empathize: Oh, it’s so hard being a married man in this society. True. Dare add sentiments about the plight of being a "Black Man in America": Don’t you realize how hard it is for a Black man to be the type of provider [qawwam] he wants to be in this society? Oh, his ego is so fragile; we must, as women, protect his ego and be a comfort to him as he fights against a society that sees him as a threat and fights against discrimination, racism, white privilege, inequality, etc.

*Trust me, God has made me keenly aware of this struggle as the loyal daughter, sister, friend, former lover, and now mother of the Black American man. I’m also grateful for the work of scholars such as Coates, Dr. West, and my cousin Dr. Winters (Duke University) for bringing light to this struggle. Not to be mistaken, a sista is down for the cause; yet and still, I choose God first, and God demands men to protect the rights of women as a sacred duty as my sister Dr. Karim discusses here. Second, I choose the richness of life. I choose to live a full, satisfying life, and growing up, my mother taught me that Ayisha means full of life.

Many of these same men and women, who focus on protecting men, use the following Qur’anic verse to justify their thoughts:

“Men are “qawwamun” in relation to women, according to what God has favored some over others and according to what they spend from their wealth. Righteous women are ‘qanitat’, guarding the unseen according to what God has guarded” (4:34).

“Qawwamun” is usually translated as maintainers and “qanitat” as devoutly obedient, understood first as obedient to Allah, and most traditional interpreters would also add, obedient to husbands. Indeed this verse does suggest that men have an important sacred role that women should honor and respect. And too many of us seem to think that honoring men should come at the expense of overlooking women’s needs. In this case, we are denying the Qur’an’s clear demand for men to maintain justice in their dealings with women.

Another possibility is that we need to see v. 4:34 in a new light. Kecia Ali, a fellow Duke alumna and Islamic scholar addresses a certain ambiguity in this verse, and uncovers an aspect of it, which many fail to consider when viewing the man/husband as the one with the advantage:

“The most important element in re-readings of this verse is the focus on male support of women. If men are qawwamun in part ‘because of what’ they spend on women, then their role is dependent on their exercise of financial responsibility. If men no longer support women, then they lose any resultant authority. (Thus, in a family where both husband and wife contribute to the household expenses, the husband would not be the wife’s qawwam.)” (Sexual Ethics and Islam)

Regardless of whether or not you agree with Ali’s stance, my initial feelings and concerns still hold. I fear that if we so quickly come to the defense of the Muslim man and his rights, or even see men and women as equally vulnerable without recognizing that men have a greater responsibility to be kind--which implies that women have a greater chance of being wronged--,we risk overlooking, downplaying, and even dismissing the  status of women in marriage and divorce. In simple terms, we leave very little room for compassion.

Even more, we further isolate Muslim women, suppress their voices, discourage the telling of their stories, and at worst, we send virtuous, striving women looking for more satisfying alternatives outside their faith of Islam. At times, this is done unconsciously as we allow our speech and actions to be guided by our wounds and scars, lingering from slavery and racism, stemming from the “dominant group’s legacy of greed, exploitation, lies, and denial,” to use my sister’s words.

During this beautiful month of Ramadan, let us return to a focus on the heart and its purification. Believing women need a constant cleansing of the heart to be the nurturing, compassionate, and caring individuals that God intended us to be. Perhaps our storytelling and sharing of major life experiences are healthy, productive ways to remove the darkness and impurities trapped in our hearts, blocking us from becoming better Muslims, better human beings, and better mu’minat, believing women.

#HagarLives

Hagar Lives Through Us

We Are Hagar:

Ayisha Karim is a native of Atlanta, GA, where she lives with her two children and is surrounded by her loving extended family. She is a high school math teacher, working at one of Atlanta’s favorite private schools, and occasionally serves as a diversity practitioner. Ayisha is an active Muslim woman and primarily attends the Atlanta Masjid of Al-Islam of East Atlanta, where she grew up and attended W.D. Mohammed High. She studied at Duke University and Teachers College @ Columbia University.

She enjoys listening to music, painting, reading, traveling, and engaging in spiritually-heightening conversations.  

She is currently reading: Americanah, Born A Crime, and Reclaim Your Heart.

Jamillah Karim is a writer, scholar, activist. See her professional profile here. She has high hopes to be with God, to be in the company of the Prophet Muhammad and God's favored servants who act with beauty, such as Hagar, may Allah grant them peace and blessings, to maintain a healthy, loving family, to contribute to her community, and to write with God's grace with each stroke of the pen.

When Prophet Ibrahim brought Hajar to the desert and began to depart, she called out to him about the dire hardship that his actions would place upon her and their nursing child: “Where are you going leaving us alone in this valley where there are no inhabitants, food, or drink?” She asked this question several times with no response from her husband. Finally, she asked, “Did Allah command you to do this?” When he answered yes, she responded, “Allah will not neglect us.” The way in which Hajar’s distress in the face of an extremely difficult situation changed once she realized that the source of the difficulty was from Allah, not her husband, indicates her rida, or contentment with Allah.

Many of you know the rest of her story. If you do not, we will share in a later post. We are Hagar because we live her unique struggle, we strive to be among those satisfied and happy with Allah in all states, and we seek to leave behind a great legacy as did our mother Hagar, may God have peace on her forever.