What Do You Give?
Do you volunteer?
Do you send in snacks?
Do you buy from the school fundraiser?
Do you offer help?
I’m not talking about giving money to panhandlers, but truly giving of yourself. Your time. Sometimes your money.
I’ve noticed that the concept of giving is different for people of different economic status, different religions, and different cultural backgrounds.
When I joined the Muslim community, I noticed that people didn’t volunteer much. I would hear people say that if they weren’t getting paid, they wouldn’t participate. For a very long time, I felt conflicted about this statement.
Yes, my time is worth money.
No, I don’t work for free.
But yes, I can give of my time in ways that pays back in non-monetary ways.
Ways that enrich my life.
Feed my soul.
Create ties and make ourselves visible.
Even though I wasn’t active in church growing up, I did have a period of time in my 20s where I was a regular church goer. I belonged. I was important. I was a valuable part of the church family and I contributed of my time more than anything else. I helped cook and serve at spaghetti dinners, I painted scenery for nativity plays, I unloaded boxes and sorted clothing for donations.
I missed that in my Muslim community.
For the first time in my almost 20 years of parallel membership, I was able to volunteer at an event at our Little Mosque Down the Street™. It was amazing. I felt necessary. I felt like this was my place too, and I was no longer a guest that was tolerated. I noticed though, that people were really surprised that I wanted to be there.
I have asked to participate in other events. I have ideas. I am encouraging my children to speak up and show up. I want to be involved so they feel comfortable being involved.
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Each year at Eid al Adha, the main part of the holiday observance is the slaughter of the lamb and the giving of the meat. You are meant to feed others. You are meant to do an act of charity.
For the past few years, we have been blessed with the ability to perform the udhaya (slaughter) and then complete the butchering at our home and donate 1/3 of the meat through our mosque. This year, we were not able to perform the udhaya ourselves, so we contributed to a community slaughter.
I wanted to make sure that even though we were unable to perform that specific act of charity, we participated in some other act of giving. I didn’t want to lose that essential part of the Eid. We needed to give, and give freely.
The general, loose guideline of giving zakat (charity) is that it should be in the amount equivalent to what you would spend on lunch for yourself at a restaurant. We chose Chipotle. Each one of our children agreed on the restaurant. They tallied their usual order and came to agree upon a figure.
Then we went to the grocery store. I talked to them about feeding families who need healthy food options. They soon figured out that they could get more food when they bought a box of pancake mix or a bag of rice than they did if they bought a box of cookies. In the end, each one of our children filled their shopping totes with ingredients to make several meals, equivalent to one meal at Chipotle.
On the day of the Eid, we drove to our local food pantry and donated that food to help feed the many families in our city who need extra help.
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When I began this blog, I did so because I didn’t know any women who had relationships like mine. I searched for interfaith marriages and found a lot of resources on Jewish & Christian families, but nothing like my own. When I searched for support on being married to a Muslim man, I found resources on conversion. How to get away from him. How to convert him to Christianity. How it was awful.
I began talking about my life as an act of charity. Reaching out to you so that you know you are not alone out there. You can be in love with a Muslim partner and be happy. Its possible.
I voluntarily respond to your questions. I offer support. I share resources and I tell you my stories.
I have recently been asked to join a large interfaith website called Patheos. The website is organized like a mobile of sorts. There is a main connection and spokes. On each spoke (or channel) there are different pendants (denominations), and from those pendants there are charms (blogs.) I will be writing as part of the Muslim Channel at Patheos.
Image by Michele Watson
I am thrilled to be able to make this move because I will be able to share our stories with more people, reaching out to where they are searching, letting them know they are not alone. So, MyIslamicLife will be moving to Patheos Muslim in the very near future. You won’t need to change your bookmarks if you don’t want to. I’ll still be writing the same content as I do here, talking about the same people and my life. My first post there will be an introduction to the new readers so they don’t get lost in what we all already know.
Thank you for coming along with me. I can’t wait to show you the new place.
Kristina
You, Be Safe
These days, my mind and heart are conflicted. I’m learning and growing as a white woman, who has been raised in a small-ish midwestern town, in a predominantly white environment. I never considered myself racist, but to be honest, I wasn’t cognizant of my privilege until I married Khaled.
Even though he is fair, white people see him as ‘other.’ I struggle with this category. We joke about it, but it is always there. People ask him constantly where he is from. Our knee jerk reaction these days is to tell people we are from Sylvania, but then they look confused…”no, where are you originally from?”
The answer is always the same, Egypt. But I’ve been here for 30 years. You can see in their faces as they look at me and glance at our children they want to ask more questions, but most often, they don’t.
When we go to into Dearborn or the Muslim quarter of any major city, we are prepared to be looked at, questioned. I’ve learned to be ignored or followed..because I am the ‘other’ there. They ask me where I am from. Often, it is assumed I’m Syrian, and it is confusing when I open my mouth and out comes the voice of a midwestern girl. When we visit mosques during our travels, it is confusing to see us. We are stared at, they cautiously watch us to see if we know what we are doing. We know that in many arabic clothing shops, the prices go up because of me.
Our children are comfortable in their unique makeup. They pass for caucasian, white. Their skin is fair, their hair isn’t more than dark brown. They speak with midwestern, Ohio accents. They love the shock value when they tell people that they are half Egyptian. They love to walk into Muslim spaces and see the surprise when they feel at home and others expect them to feel out of place. They seek out Arabic food shops when they need a touchstone because Arabic style food, like kafta, kibbe, shawarma, hummos and rice are their comfort foods.
So, while I teach them of the privilege they have because of their skin, we are also teaching them to be careful because of their religion. Its a double edged line that isn’t easily navigated. In our every day life, if I needed legal help, I wouldn’t hesitate to call the police. I know that this trust I have in our police force is because of my privilege. My kids all feel the same. They would call the police. But would the police react the same to my ladies if they were wearing hijab? If my son decided to wear a kufi? It scares me that I don’t know.
I read the news and listen to what is being said by people who don’t share my privilege. I amplify and do my best to educate myself. Then I take this knowledge and share it with our kids. I want them to know that fine line they walk so they will be armed with as much knowledge as I have. I strive each day to do better, to listen better, to hear better and to say better.
A few weeks ago, we were in Cleveland for the day. We went on a Friday and as it is our custom, when we are in a new city on a Friday, we search for the local mosque. Khaled pulled up the app on his phone and it directed him to Masjid Uqbah. He called, asked if the mosque was Sunni or Shi’a and what time the Jummah was taking place. The Imam was very kind. He said that the mosque was Sunni, but would direct us to other mosques if we needed a different one. He told Khaled what time the Jummah began and that he would look for him after the prayer.
We are always excited when we find a mosque in the city we are in and it looks nice, clean and welcoming. I’m usually apprehensive because I don’t like the unknown. I hate being separated from Khaled, he’s my touchstone when I’m in a new environment.
We entered in the ‘women’s entrance’ along the side of the building after many people hurriedly told us we couldn’t enter the same door as the men. After entering, one of the ladies told us that we could stay downstairs (handicapped accessible area) or there was another area upstairs. We walked down the hallway, stopped at the restroom so the ladies could make wudu and then went upstairs.
The prayer was uneventful. It was as you would expect. Women and children scattered around, sitting on the floor. The wall overlooking the main prayer space was filled in with glass block and there was a small television hanging in front, broadcasting the sermon. We were looked at while we sat there listening to the khutbah. I was happy it was in English. The room was clean and most of the children were well behaved.
What set this mosque apart was what happened afterwards.
One of the women came up to me and smiled. She welcomed us to the mosque. She said she was happy to see us there. She offered me her hand to shake, and it was before I had a chance to stand. I stood up, shook her hand and then greeted her properly.
The warm, welcoming hug I received was the first true, pure hug I had ever had at a mosque. Her whole heart was there, welcoming us and sharing greetings of peace with us. It brought me to tears. I was so filled with the kindness this lady shared with me that as we made our way out of the room, I smiled and greeted the other women. As I walked to the door, another woman grasped my hand, pulled me into a hug and held me. She told me, “be safe out there.”
This woman. This beautiful black, muslim woman told me, a privilege having, non-Muslim woman to be safe. In that moment, as tears came down my face, I looked deep into her eyes, touched her cheek and told her, “You. Be Safe.”
We went down stairs to retrieve our shoes and I tried to collect myself. Once we got there, I looked around and realized that I was the only white woman there. I greeted everyone I made eye contact with and whispered to them, after Salaams, Be Safe.
It is my greatest wish and hope that the rampant violence ends. That we continue to level the playing field. That people, no matter what race or religion they practice are seen as good until they prove otherwise.
Until then, Be Safe.
Compromise is the Key
As Ramadan approached this year, I was asked back to be a contributor to Interfaith Ramadan. I was given several topics to address, but this was the question that I chose:
Raising children in an interfaith household – compromises, difficulties, advantages etc
I sat down to write my submission, but this was the piece that came out. It didn’t seem very Ramadan, so I set it aside and forged ahead with something that was more topic appropriate. You can find my Interfaith Ramadan piece here.
Now, its time to share this piece.
When I fell in love with my husband, I didn’t know he was Muslim. When he asked me to be his wife, I didn’t know that our differences far outweighed our similarities. When we married, I didn’t know that the leap I was taking was so much larger. And when we started our family, I didn’t know that raising Muslim children would redefine my entire life.
I knew, deep in my heart that being in this relationship with Khaled was the catalyst for major challenges in my life, and it was terrifying and exhilarating. My love for him and my trust in who were both were at our cores surpassed my fear. I jumped into a life that would be a journey of learning, growth, pushing outside of the box and making a square peg fit into a mandala shaped hole.
Along this journey, we have found ways to separate the trees from the forest and compromise where it is really important, we choose our battles wisely, and present a united team on all fronts.
Last night, our daughter was invited to stay the night at her friend’s house. This in itself isn’t an unusual occurrence in a child’s life. But what you don’t see under the guise of a simple request to venture forth and bond with her close friend is a careful web of rules and compromises that Khaled and I navigated when this question first came up many years ago.
In Khaled’s childhood, you didn’t spend the night with friends. Cousins? Yes. But people who are not blood relatives? No.
In my childhood, there were always friends sleeping over or I was gone to their houses. I wasn’t close with my cousins. We never really had much in common so my friends became my extended family.
I didn’t think it was a big deal. He did.
Where do we tease this seemingly black and white issue apart to come to a compromise?
What are the larger issues at play here?
Where are we comfortable?
How can we make this work?
In the end, we came to a compromise. It works for our family. It allows for deep ties to develop and adventures to happen within the framework of Islam, American and Egyptian Culture. Our children all know the guidelines and they are not negotiable.
This is a nugget of gold that I share when I’m asked how we make it work. Even the most simple topics become a negotiation, and something that you can figure out if both people are willing to be flexible. Once you come to an agreement of how to handle the question at hand, whether you are following the rules of one culture and religion over the other, or you have smashed everything together and come up with a recipe all your own, parenting in an interfaith family is much easier, and your children will come out the winners.
Happy Tuesday my friends.
Kristina
Ramadan Kids Club
This year, The Little Mosque Down the Street™ organized an event that took place four days a week for the smallest Muslims, called Ramadan Kids Club. They worked in cooperation with another Mosque, and for two hours each day, the kids listened to a story, sang some songs and did an activity.
I was invited to provide the activity one day. Here are the pictures. Enjoy!
Islamic Life Hack – The Wudu Cling
When I agreed to marry Khaled and raise our future children Muslim, I didn’t understand all of the minute, tiny details of difference that would surface between my upbringing and his.
Aside from the big glaring differences, his – being brought up in a different country, his parents married from a young age and staying together, the apartment in which he grew up, the extended family unit of support he always knew would be there, and his strong religious identity.
Mine – from Ohio, still live in the same general area, parents divorced, craftsman style home in a blue collar neighborhood, despite the large extended family, we were on our own, and a wishy washy religious identity that grew stronger as I aged.
Overcoming these differences has been a growing, stretching and learning experience. Some on my part, some on his. Sometimes there is a clear cut way to deal with an issue, and sometimes we compromise.
In all of this muddling through life, learning how to grow and adapt, I have devised short cut methods for myself to piece together the Islamic knowledge that every Muslim mother has and passes along to her children. Sometimes I realize the hacks are there, and sometimes I don’t.
In 2011, I decided to improve on one of My Islamic Life Hacks that wasn’t really cutting the mustard.
I was sick of the soggy bits of paper and smeared ink, the unclear reminders and tape residue on my mirror from the wudu cheat sheet we had in the bathroom.
After a good amount of research and with the help of my family and my graphic designer, Ian, we developed The Wudu Cling. The Wudu Cling is a repositionable, water resistant, chemical resistant, mirror cling that clearly illustrates the steps of making wudu. It is a gentle reminder of what to do next, so you don’t forget one of the steps while you are learning.
The Wudu Cling has been well received over the last five years, selling in England, Australia, Spain, Germany, France and from the East coast of the United States to the West. The Wudu Cling has made its way to Canada and Puerto Rico.
The Wudu Cling currently hangs in homes, mosques and schools all over the world, helping children and converts prepare for prayer.
Over the last five years of selling The Wudu Cling, I’ve had requests for copies in different languages, and for adjustments in the wording used on the cling.
This Spring, we went back to the drawing board and are pleased to announce that we have an updated design.
I am so excited to be able to offer this new and improved design to you that I can’t wait for it to arrive! Starting today, you can pre-order your very own New Wudu Cling at the pre-sale price. Go now, order and tell your friends.
What About Jell-o Salad?
A few weeks ago, we had an abundance of fruit that needed to be used, and I was all smoothie’d out. Kate and I searched through our trusty Blue Book* trying to find out what we could make with the bananas and mangos we had on hand.
She came upon a recipe I had printed out for Jell-o Jigglers. I know they are probably second nature to some of you, but I don’t have a great memory for recipes. The ones I reuse over and over, I print out.
Then we had the idea of making Jell-o Salad. You know, the kind using a fancy pan with the fruit suspended in the sweet gelatin. PLUS we wanted to layer the whole thing with different flavors and fruit.
I looked up how to make a jello salad with the fruit, carefully avoiding the pineapple and kiwi that the box mentions not to use and we got our bundt pan from the pantry. Apparently, now that I’m searching for supporting documentation, I wasn’t supposed to use mango either, but I did.
So, we took two of the big boxes of strawberry and mixed it up in one bowl and then two small boxes of berry blue and mixed those up in another, both using the quick set directions. Then, chopped up the fruit and waited for everything to become soft set or egg-white consistency.
We sprayed the pan and poured the jello into the mold, mixing in the fruit and layering as appropriate. You can find all the directions here.
We waited patiently and then was rewarded with a beautiful jello salad! It was a little loose, so I’m not sure if it was because of the mango or if I need to reduce the amount of water I used. Regardless, it was beautiful because it came out of the pan in 1 piece, and it was delicious.
I was so proud of my new accomplishment that I wanted to share it with my community at the weekly iftar dinners. If you remember, our Little Mosque Down the Street™ holds weekly community iftars on Saturday nights, and everyone brings a dessert (or two) to share.
I didn’t unleash my new recipe this last week because I was really excited about trying out Ina Garten’s Mocha Icebox Cake recipe. Plus, I was really busy this last week and it is SO easy. We had them both made in 45 minutes.
We went to the iftar and the Mocha Icebox Cakes were an absolute HIT. I ended up sitting with two ladies that I feel really comfortable with and we got to talking about the food and desserts in particular. I mentioned my new accomplishment and that I wanted to bring jello salad next weekend, but I wasn’t sure because its JELLO. Y’no, gelatin.
Then both sympathized with me. Yeah, I don’t want to be that girl who has to bring home her dessert because it didn’t pass muster.
But Khaled and I were at the grocery store picking up some odds and ends yesterday and one of those items was jello. Then I noticed that many of the boxes have a Κ on the label. That Κ denotes that the item fulfills the Kosher requirements of not having Pork ingredients.
While that is good enough for me, I didn’t want to share this info with you unless I looked a little further.
So I found this website that talks about Islamic Dietary Laws and Kosher symbols. Specifically:
The letter “K” indicates that the food is Kosher-that is, it also complies with Jewish dietary laws and has been processed under the direction of a rabbi. The Hebrew word “Kosher” means permitted according to Torah Law.
When you see these letters, they mean that the product does not contain anything from an animal or pork origin. But it still may contain alcohol. So please check labels.
HUZZAH!!!
I searched a little further, and found a secondary source:
Is it Kosher and Pareve?
“JELL-O Brand gelatin is certified as Kosher by a recognized orthodox Rabbi as per enclosed RESPONSUM. In addition to being Kosher, Jell-O is also Pareve, and can be eaten with either a meat meal or a dairy meal.”
So, this is lovely information. This means I’m going to be bringing some jello salad to an iftar in the near future.
Of course there will be some who will see my dish and pass over it because they don’t know what we know.
For those of you still unconvinced about the whole Kosher jello debate, I found this brand right below the Jell-o brand, nearest the store brand boxes.
Bakol Jel Dessert. I bought a few boxes to try out. If it works just the same, I might use this brand and bring the boxes with me.
*Blue Book is the blue 3 ring binder where I store all of my most beloved recipes, printed out from the internet and shared from trusted foodie friends.
Suhoor Today
Today was the first day of fasting. Like many others, I thought that fasting was supposed to begin on Tuesday. I didn’t find out until Sunday and we had plans to be away from home all day.
This morning for suhoor, we had bacon waffles, scrambled eggs, strawberries, blueberries, big glasses of milk and water.
The bacon waffles were inspired by an episode of Trisha Yearwood’s cooking show I overheard on Saturday. 
Click here if you want to follow Trisha’s recipe.
We eat Maple Leaf Duck Bacon when we want that smoky, crispy element to our meals. I thought Trisha’s recipe was flawed in that there could be some pieces of the waffle that lacked the bacon flavor. I decided to chop up the raw bacon and proceed with her instructions of placing it on the waffle iron to cook before adding the waffle batter.
Incidentally, the waffle recipes I use are from Williams Sonoma for wheat and King Arthur for gluten free.
I made them fresh yesterday and then put the leftovers in the freezer. I learned earlier this year that I could put the leftover pancakes and waffles on a sheet pan and freeze them individually and then re-heat them in the microwave for 30 seconds for instant breakfasts that my kids Love.
Tonight, we are having pot roast panini, tossed salad and fruit. Dates, mango juice and lots of water will accompany our meal.
I’ve also started reading The Wild Diet by Abel James so I’m sure I’ll be switching things up and trying new recipes this month as I learn more about eating cleaner.
What did you eat today?
Planning the Next Month
It seems like everything I read these days online is about the election candidates, Ramadan or college.
Seriously! I’m done with the election already. Whatever democrat is the nominee, that’s who I’m voting for. Boom. Done Deal. Next!
Ramadan? Well, honestly I’ve been thinking about and planning for Ramadan for 3 months now. Searching for new breakfast ideas, shopping for Eid abayas, thinking about celebrating the Eid, hosting an iftar or two. Inviting non-Muslims to participate in some small way. Now, it will be here in a week and I’m already done.
I’m a planner. I don’t do spur of the moment. Not usually, ever. Two weeks ago I sat down with my family and talked about last year’s Ramadan. What did you like? What did you hate? What do you want to do differently?
They love the colorful dishes we use. Our decorations. Eating together and then spending the hour or two afterwards just being together.
They didn’t have any complaints.
I suggested inviting someone over for iftar. Mr & Mrs. Imam moved to another state, so they won’t be coming this year. Who should we invite? Lets plan it now before its too late. Community iftars every Saturday – Yes.
Taraweeh at the mosque? Friday and Saturday – Maybe.
Next weekend our little mosque down the street is having its first open house. I was invited to join the planning committee last week. Yes, it was late in the process and everything had already been decided, but I was asked to participate. So, I said yes. I had already invited my good friend to the open house so I knew I would be there. Now, I’ll be there in an official capacity, representing the mosque and being a resource to other visitors.
This week I’m working on wrapping up Spring Cleaning. I started late this year because of outside commitments and now I still have quite a bit left. I feel like I’m on a deadline, even if its self imposed. I guess that helps me to stay focused.
Why am I reading about colleges? Well, Mr. Fox is getting to be that age and we need to go on college visits. He’s got a few ideas about his top pics but we haven’t been on any tours or visits yet. Those also need to be planned for the upcoming weeks so he will know where to apply in the fall.
It all so much more complicated than when I thought about college. When I was that age, my school counselor wasn’t talking to me about making my application look good with volunteering and diversifying my interests. In fact, I don’t remember ever talking to my school counselor. I graduated high school, that summer I took the ACT – once. And applied at the local university.
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The Wudu Cling focus group is moving along nicely. I will most likely be announcing the new design soon. This process has been really interesting. Color schemes, word choices, layout…in each change, the design grows and morphs into something just a little better.
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Has your summer started already? School ended last Friday and I’m already in the summer mode. I didn’t sleep in today, but got up and made coffee, then started some laundry and did a few chores. But I’m writing from my room instead of the kitchen.
What plans do you have for the next month?
Getting Excited
These days my life is a lot more mundane than over the top Islamic. I work. My husband works. My people go to school. They have friends. We grocery shop, we do yard work, we clean the house. Rinse, repeat.
I’ve been living this Islamic Life for going on almost 20 years now. Sometimes I forget what parts of my life are Islamic and what isn’t anymore. Then I talk to my friend and mention something and she tells me that its unique to my life. Not usual. Or I get a message from another friend about navigating a tween relationship between a boy and a Muslim girl.
I just roll with it.
What gets me excited though? I LOVE watching Quantico. I started watching because I’m a crime drama junkie. No, not like NCIS. Like old school Law & Order. Like Numbers. Like The Good Wife. I was also intrigued because the main character is a strong, female person of color. In the supporting cast there is a Muslim character, a gay man, an Israeli, 2 blonde country club types, a smattering of good looking men and the FBI.
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I DVR’d the show because I have a few that I watch every week, and then I bank new shows for when I’m sick or my shows are on hiatus (Bones, Greys Anatomy.) So, I’m not up to date. As of last week, I just finished the New Years Eve episode. Let me tell you. That was amazing. After that episode, I went and tracked down Yasmine Al Massri on Instagram.
Yasmine is the actress who plays the Muslim twins on Quantico. She is amazing. I love how the writers have shown two sisters, one who is conservative and wears hijab full time, the other who is is liberal and does not. They don’t go into great detail about the religion of the characters, it isn’t the main focus, but they do touch on it as needed.
(Photo Credit: Quanticogifs Tumblr)
Also, the characters are supposed to be from Dearborn. And I love it when writers mention places that I’m familiar with in their shows (Supernatural!) I don’t know where the story will lead as the mystery of the bomber unravels, but I hope that they don’t flake out and make the Muslim characters out to be the bad guys. The writers of Quantico have a chance to change opinion about Muslims by entrusting their characters to fight a good fight on the side of the truth. To be on the winning team, and not be that stereotypical trope.
You know what else got me excited? Seeing Ibtihaj Muhammad make Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People of the year. I also follow Ibtihaj on Instagram (its my new favorite social media) and when she shared her picture from the Time article, I was filled with pride. Its tricky, because as a non-Muslim woman, I instantly questioned why I was so proud. Its not like I have any influence on her one way or the other. I didn’t contribute anything to her success. She doesn’t even know me. But I am a fan. I am a feminist. My daughters are Muslim. I search constantly for strong, feminist Muslims that I can share with my girls as women to admire.
(Photo Credit: Time.com/Fencer)
I shared Ibtihaj’s picture on Instagram and then when our copy of Time Magazine arrived over the weekend, I took a picture of the article and posted it on Facebook. I wanted to share with the people in my circle that this amazing thing happened. I wanted to amplify that a Muslim Woman of Color is representing The USA in Rio this summer’s Olympic games. We will be watching. We will plan a watch party. Just like when Kate and Will got married, we will be watching.
There is another little thing (actually BIG) that got me excited. The Wudu Cling is now being sold online in Canada at Kaamilah Online. For the last 5 years, I’ve been marketing The Wudu Cling on my own, selling through Etsy and Ebay. I reached out to Mosque bookstores all over the USA and even Noor Art. We ran a giveaway on WoodTurtle’s blog. No one wanted to carry The Wudu Cling.
But now, finally, this invaluable product is finding traction. I’m happy to say that the first print run is selling out and I’m preparing for a re-launch. I’m looking for a focus group to vet my design changes to before I send off The Wudu Cling to the printer for the second edition. Want to get in on the group? I’m limiting it to 50 people, so if you want in, tell me now. I’d love to have you.
Panic Settles in like a Haze
Last weekend, I had a dream that caused me to wake in a panic.
I was grocery shopping with my husband at local neighborhood market that is right around the corner from our home, a store that we frequent on a weekly basis.
I was shopping for smoothie ingredients. I wanted specific fruits and vegetables and asked the employees to find them for me while I was at the counter. (In this dream, the fruit and veggie department was linked with a smoothie bar…like a deli counter.) We stood at the counter and chatted with the attendants while they found the items I requested. My husband chatted intermittently with us, texting and responding to phone calls while I created my smoothie.
During his phone call, he stepped away from the counter, away from me so his phone conversation wouldn’t interrupt my conversation. When he returned, the manager of the store and multiple security personnel approached us and told my husband that he wasn’t welcome in the store. He needed to leave. We began explaining that we were loyal, frequent customers to the shop and we lived right around the corner from this location and the manager didn’t want to listen. The volume and intensity increased. We weren’t finished shopping and there was no reason for anyone to ask us to leave.
And then the manager said that Khaled didn’t belong here. He needed to leave and go back to his country. He said he didn’t want our kind in his store. He didn’t need our money. I stood between my husband and the security guards and tried to protect him from their hurtful words, from the damaging things they were yelling at him. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect him and before the dream ended, I woke up in a panic.
My heart was racing, my skin was flushed, I was crying and shaking.
I have been closely watching the election proceedings. Not so closely that I am consumed by them entirely, but close enough that I know the gist of what is happening. I’ve watched a few debates. I read a few things a day. I looked forward to Ohio’s Primary.
I made sure I knew what day our Primary was taking place. I looked up all of the laws on voter ID and the times our polling places were open. I shared the information on Facebook. I made sure that I planned on voting today.
This morning, I briefly thought about keeping our children home from school. I thought about contacting the school to ask if they needed extra volunteers to come in and direct voters to the Gym. Then I stopped and thought about the location of the gym in relation to all of the other classrooms and I prayed.
I set aside time, leaving early for my workout so I could stop at my polling place and vote on my way. At 9:00 I drove to my polling place. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw no less than 20 Vote for TR**P signs. I didn’t see more than 1 sign for each of the other candidates, except for the person running for representative that lives in our neighborhood.
I voted. Everyone was cheerful. There was a buzz of excitement inside the polling venue. We have a lot of the same people working our location every election, so they recognize us. People were happy to see us voting.
And then I left to go to my Cardio Drumming class and as I drove through the city, I saw that every intersection was blanketed with those Vote for TR**P signs. My heart rate became elevated. I felt my breathing quicken. My palms were moist on the steering wheel.
Every time I saw one of those signs, it was like someone whispering into my ear, “You Don’t Belong Here, Go Away.”
By the time I got to class, my mind had wandered to what will happen in our neighborhood when the election draws nearer. Our neighborhood is quite diverse. We have no less than 10 Muslim families in our direct neighborhood, 1 street away on either side of our home. We have Syrian, Lebanese, Palestinian, Egyptian, Indian, South Asian, Asian and black families that live all within this 1 mile radius. We also have quite a few conservative Republicans on our street. I know this because over the past 10 years, we’ve seen the yard sign proof of their voting choices.
What will we do if one of our neighbors has one of those Vote for TR**P signs in their yard? I can’t really continue our friendly, neighborhood banter when I know that they support someone who wants to whitewash America. Will we continue to feel welcome in our own home? Feel safe?
Today, when our children came home from school, we talked about the day and they asked me if I voted. I told them I had, but then Pea came and hugged me.
She asked, “If TR**P becomes President, will we have to move to Canada?”
I told her no, but in my mind I thought, ‘God, I hope not.’
On the way home from running errands tonight, again, I drove through those intersections and felt the same tension and panic rise up in the back of my shoulders and neck.
I can only protect us from so much. My children, my husband and I are constantly aware that this hatred is looming like a haze of pollution. I fear it will only get thicker over the next several months. I pray that my family and all of America can recover from this election.
My Islamic Life 