Okay seriously, how do the Zionists in the crowd listen to all these first hand stories about dead children and destroyed homes and not feel like pieces of shit.
Because that’s only half the story. Learn the history of Palestine and you will see it is the…
Don’t name your daughter Sumayyah if you’re not willing to let her make sacrifices for her beliefs. Don’t name your daughter Aisha if you’re going to tell her she can’t learn and become a scholar. Don’t name your daughter Nusaybah if you don’t want her to fight tooth and nail for what she believes in. Don’t name your daughter Maryam if you don’t expect greatness of character from her. Don’t name your daughter Aasiya if you’re not willing to let her be a part of the fight against oppressors. — Asmaa Hussein (via tmihijabi)
muslicastle asked: Tell me sth about Islam. I really interested in it, that's why I'm asking you. Weronika. :)
Hey :) Im really glad that you are interested in Islam! Well, there is a lot to tell about Islam, It would be really nice if you could send me a message about what you wanna know. But anyway, here is some basic facts you should know about Islam. In Islam we have 5 pillars, here they are:
1. Shahadah, profession of faith, is the first pillar of Islam. Muslims bear witness to the oneness of God by reciting the creed “There is no God but God and Muhammad is the Messenger of God.” This simple yet profound statement expresses a Muslim’s complete acceptance of and total commitment to Islam.
2. Salah, prayer, is the second pillar. The Islamic faith is based on the belief that individuals have a direct relationship with God. The world’s Muslims turn individually and collectively to Makkah, Islam’s holiest city, to offer five daily prayers at dawn, noon, mid-afternoon, sunset and evening. In addition, Friday congregational service is also required. Although salah can he performed alone, it is meritorious to perform it with another or with a group. It is permissible to pray at home, at work, or even outdoors; however it is recommended that Muslims perform salah in a mosque.
3. Zakat, almsgiving, is the third pillar. Social responsibility is considered part of one’s service to God; the obligatory act of zakat enshrines this duty. Zakat prescribes payment of fixed proportions of a Muslim’s possessions for the welfare of the entire community and in particular for its neediest members. It is equal to 2.5 percent of an individual’s total net worth, excluding obligations and family expenses.
4.Sawm, fasting during the holy month of Ramadan, is the fourth pillar of Islam. Ordained in the Holy Qur’an, the fast is an act of deep personal worship in which Muslims seek a richer perception of God. Fasting is also an exercise in self-control whereby one’s sensitivity is heightened to the sufferings of the poor. Ramadan, the month during which the Holy Qur’an was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad, begins with the sighting of the new moon, after which abstention from eating, drinking and other sensual pleasures is obligatory from dawn to sunset. Ramadanis also a joyful month. Muslims break their fast at sunset with a special meal, iftar, perform additional nocturnal worship, tarawih, after evening prayer; and throng the streets in moods that are festive and communal. The end of Ramadan is observed by three days of celebration called Eid Al-Fitr, the feast of the breaking of the fast. Customarily, it is a time for family reunion and the favored holiday for children who receive new clothing and gifts.
5. Hajj, the pilgrimage to Makkah, is the fifth pillar and the most significant manifestation of Islamic faith and unity in the world. For those Muslims who are physically and financially able to make the journey to Makkah, the Hajj is a once in a lifetime duty that is the peak of their religious life. The Hajj is a remarkable spiritual gathering of over two million Muslims from all over the world to the holy city. In performing the Hajj, a pilgrim follows the order of ritual that the Prophet Muhammad performed during his last pilgrimage.
The five pillars of Islam define the basic identity of Muslims - their faith, beliefs and practices - and bind together a worldwide community of believers into a fellowship of shared values and concerns.
As I said, if there is something specific you wanna know, just send me another message. I hope this made you wanna know more about Islam :) Have a blessed day!
“Your name is Tasbeeh. Don’t let them call you by anything else.”
My mother speaks to me in Arabic; the command sounds more forceful in her mother tongue, a Libyan dialect that is all sharp edges and hard, guttural sounds. I am seven years old and it has never occurred to me to disobey my mother. Until twelve years old, I would believe God gave her the supernatural ability to tell when I’m lying.
“Don’t let them give you an English nickname,” my mother insists once again, “I didn’t raise amreekan.”
My mother spits out this last word with venom. Amreekan. Americans. It sounds like a curse coming out of her mouth. Eight years in this country and she’s still not convinced she lives here. She wears her headscarf tightly around her neck, wades across the school lawn in long, floor-skimming skirts. Eight years in this country and her tongue refuses to bend and soften for the English language. It embarrasses me, her heavy Arab tongue, wrapping itself so forcefully around the clumsy syllables of English, strangling them out of their meaning.
But she is fierce and fearless. I have never heard her apologize to anyone. She will hold up long grocery lines checking and double-checking the receipt in case they’re trying to cheat us. My humiliation is heavy enough for the both of us. My English is not. Sometimes I step away, so people don’t know we’re together but my dark hair and skin betray me as a member of her tribe.
On my first day of school, my mother presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Your name is Tasbeeh,” she says again, like I’ve forgotten. “Tasbeeh.”
Roll call is the worst part of my day. After a long list of Brittanys, Jonathans, Ashleys, and Yen-but-call-me-Jens, the teacher rests on my name in silence. She squints. She has never seen this combination of letters strung together in this order before. They are incomprehensible. What is this h doing at the end? Maybe it is a typo.
“Tasbeeh,” I mutter, with my hand half up in the air. “Tasbeeh.”
“Do you go by anything else?”
“No,” I say. “Just Tasbeeh. Tas-beeh.”
“Tazbee. All right. Alex?”
She moves on before I can correct her. She said it wrong. She said it so wrong. I have never heard my name said so ugly before, like it’s a burden. Her entire face contorts as she says it, like she is expelling a distasteful thing from her mouth. She avoids saying it for the rest of the day, but she has already baptized me with this new name. It is the name everyone knows me by, now, for the next six years I am in elementary school. “Tazbee,” a name with no grace, no meaning, no history; it belongs in no language.
“Tazbee,” says one of the students on the playground, later. “Like Tazmanian Devil?” Everyone laughs. I laugh too. It is funny, if you think about it.
I do not correct anyone for years. One day, in third grade, a plane flies above our school.
“Your dad up there, Bin Laden?” The voice comes from behind. It is dripping in derision.
“My name is Tazbee,” I say. I said it in this heavy English accent, so he may know who I am. I am American. But when I turn around they are gone.
I go to middle school far, far away. It is a 30-minute drive from our house. It’s a beautiful set of buildings located a few blocks off the beach. I have never in my life seen so many blond people, so many colored irises. This is a school full of Ashtons and Penelopes, Patricks and Sophias. Beautiful names that belong to beautiful faces. The kind of names that promise a lifetime of social triumph.
I am one of two headscarved girls at this new school. We are assigned the same gym class. We are the only ones in sweatpants and long-sleeved undershirts. We are both dreading roll call. When the gym teacher pauses at my name, I am already red with humiliation.
“How do I say your name?” she asks.
“Tazbee,” I say.
“Can I just call you Tess?”
I want to say yes. Call me Tess. But my mother will know, somehow. She will see it written in my eyes. God will whisper it in her ear. Her disappointment will overwhelm me.
“No,” I say, “Please call me Tazbee.”
I don’t hear her say it for the rest of the year.
My history teacher calls me Tashbah for the entire year. It does not matter how often I correct her, she reverts to that misshapen sneeze of a word. It is the ugliest conglomeration of sounds I have ever heard.
When my mother comes to parents’ night, she corrects her angrily, “Tasbeeh. Her name is Tasbeeh.” My history teacher grimaces. I want the world to swallow me up.
My college professors don’t even bother. I will only know them for a few months of the year. They smother my name in their mouths. It is a hindrance for their tongues. They hand me papers silently. One of them mumbles it unintelligibly whenever he calls on my hand. Another just calls me “T.”
My name is a burden. My name is a burden. My name is a burden. I am a burden.
On the radio I hear a story about a tribe in some remote, rural place that has no name for the color blue. They do not know what the color blue is. It has no name so it does not exist. It does not exist because it has no name.
At the start of a new semester, I walk into a math class. My teacher is blond and blue-eyed. I don’t remember his name. When he comes to mine on the roll call, he takes the requisite pause. I hold my breath.
“How do I pronounce your name?” he asks.
I say, “Just call me Tess.”
“Is that how it’s pronounced?”
I say, “No one’s ever been able to pronounce it.”
“That’s probably because they didn’t want to try,” he said. “What is your name?”
When I say my name, it feels like redemption. I have never said it this way before. Tasbeeh. He repeats it back to me several times until he’s got it. It is difficult for his American tongue. His has none of the strength, none of the force of my mother’s. But he gets it, eventually, and it sounds beautiful. I have never heard it sound so beautiful. I have never felt so deserving of a name. My name feels like a crown.
“Thank you for my name, mama.”
When the barista asks me my name, sharpie poised above the coffee cup, I tell him: “My name is Tasbeeh. It’s a tough t clinging to a soft a, which melts into a silky ssss, which loosely hugs the b, and the rest of my name is a hard whisper — eeh. Tasbeeh. My name is Tasbeeh. Hold it in your mouth until it becomes a prayer. My name is a valuable undertaking. My name requires your rapt attention. Say my name in one swift note – Tasbeeeeeeeh – sand let the h heat your throat like cinnamon. Tasbeeh. My name is an endeavor. My name is a song. Tasbeeh. It means giving glory to God. Tasbeeh. Wrap your tongue around my name, unravel it with the music of your voice, and give God what he is due.” — Tasbeeh Herwees, The Names They Gave Me (via prettypeachpeonies)
(Source: rabbrakha, via freedominlibya)
There’s still hope, and you know in your heart there is still hope.
No matter what problem you are facing right now, no matter how painful or hard it is, you know there is hope for a better tomorrow, because you know in your heart, that Allaah Azza Wa Jall doesn’t burden a soul more than it can bear.
Sometimes we face challenges and tests in our lives that seem impossible to be solved or withstand at, but Alhamdulillaah we always find Allaah Azza Wa Jall at our side. It’s just sometimes we tend not to recognize what we always had, and that is Allaah Azza Wa Jall being with us, in every step we make. Subhan’Allaah.
There is no luck in life, everything happens through the Will, the Qadr of Allaah Azza Wa Jall. If a bullet shot for you was to pass by you, it is no luck but His Qadr.
In life, we stumble, we fall and then we SHOULD get up and stand again. Failure is not a reason for us to turn away from Him, rather a portal that we should get into so we could understand His Qadr and learn to accept reality and deal with it, it is a doorway closer to Him, if only we had a heart that accepts every failure that this life throws at us.
Sometimes all we have to do is just ask, ask of Him, in our prayers.
Its fascinating how when we have all the sources in this world, we tend to forget who was the One who Willed for us to have that sources, who have Provided that sources for us, and yet when a calamity, a test, a hardship comes at us and all these sources slowly fades, taken away from us, then we slowly regard, recognize and remember him, why?
Why does the heart get blinded with so much luxuries of this world that it can’t see no more? How can a heart stay clean when it remembers not even the word Alhamdulillaah?
My brothers and sisters in Islam, i come again to you, asking you and telling you that there is hope for each and everyone of us, we can always repent and if anything we can always change to the better us, as long as we sincerely call upon Him, Allaah Azza Wa Jall will forgive us, because He is Ar Rahmaan, Ar Raheem and guide us because He is Al Haadi as well.
"Call upon me, I will respond to you." 40:60
So why can’t we call upon Him? Is it because you think you have sinned too much? Is it not more shameful that He whom you displease everyday of your life, call upon you 5 times a day and you just turn your back on Him? Is that not more shameful?
We are weak, we will make mistakes, no one is perfect, no son of Adaam Alaihi Salaam has not committed a sin. So how come we are not ashamed on committing sins yet ashamed on asking forgiveness from Him?
Listen, the prayer is a gift from Allaah Azza Wa Jall. It is the best method of showing gratitude and asking forgiveness from Him.
Learn to fill your heart with much gratitude for Allaah Azza Wa Jall, make your eyes see what is better and what is right, let your ears hear no evil but hear only what is haqq and let not your tongue utter a word of disrespect to others or defamation to anyone rather let it speak of what your religion says, of what is good and what is better and let it be sealed in silence at times when anger emerges in and from you.
Indeed, a heart of a believer never gets tired of asking and repenting for it knows that His Lord never gets tired of giving and forgiving.
So don’t give up yet.
You’re a Muslim, we don’t give up.
We accept, face and deal with every hardship & test this life throws at us, with complete obedience, patience and tolerance for the sake of Allaah Azza Wa Jall.
and we pray that Allaah Azza Wa Jall fills our heart with such gratitude that we are able to see the good in every situation and with that our lamps of hope are enlightened with flames that shall guide to the path towards him.
One of my greatest fears
Like, 90% of all Muslim boys
Give this a chance, maybe it will change your thinking for today. :-)
(Source: lanaatdelrey, via thebeautyofislam)
It is an obligation upon the husband to provide for his wife, even if she has a good salary, because his providing for her is in return for the pleasure which he gets from her - even though his income may be little, unless the woman is good-natured and is indulgent towards her husband regarding provision, then the matter is up to her. — Shaykh Uthaymeen [Fatwaa islamiyyah, Darussalam volume 5, pages 183/4] (via dawah-tu-salafiyyah)
Sad moment when non-Muslims understand the entire concept of hijab better than Muslims.
Makes us look bad
THIS! He said the truth! It´s not always the others wo want to destroy us. Someimes we as Muslim destroy ourselves,too. Really, just imagine that you wear “hot” clothes and someone wants to convert and asks what´s the concept of Hijab. Do you really say it Safes you from gazes? No!
space after the comma
what the concept of hijab is*
(Source: walkwithmetojannah, via bageltard)
The shoe of a terrorist killed in Hangu, Pakistan.
Thank you President Obama, the world is safe now!