Shadia: Pakistani women work for peace

Last week in Irvine, I met real-life superwomen.

They manage to stay under the radar of extremists and have found a magical way to moderate, even eliminate, radicalism in some parts of their communities.

Amn-O-Nisa, or Women for Peace, is an organization made up of professional Pakistani women — lawyers, journalists, teachers — who come from different regions and are working to chip away at radicalism from its roots.

Eleven of the women were in Irvine last week at the home of Anila Ali, founder of the American Muslim Women's Empowerment Council, as part of a tour sponsored by the U.S. Embassy in Pakistan. The women were invited to Irvine by the council and the Irvine Pakistani Parents Assn.

Ali invited me to meet the women after I spoke at the council's second annual conference in Buena Park last month.

The women's visit to the United States included face time with members of Congress and officials from Homeland Security, with whom they shared their mission and expressed dissent for drone attacks — a tactic they said increases radicalism and in turn makes their job more difficult, according to Chairwoman Mossarat Qadeem.

"There was silence and nodding" to the group's concerns about drone attacks, Qadeem said.

Before the group moved on from Washington, D.C., to continue its tour, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton requested a meet-and-greet with the members.

Clinton expressed her support and respect for the group's work and mission, Qadeem said.

"Hillary Clinton said, 'I wanted to tell you in person I'm impressed by your mission,'" Qadeem said. "For us, it was quite encouraging."

But it is how they fight radicalism that is truly impressive.

The women use the Koran and the Prophet Muhammad's prophetic traditions, called Hadith, to reshape people's understanding of Islam.

They do it by getting the most important figures in the Middle East on their side: the mothers.

Qadeem said the mothers are the ones who suffer the most, and they're the ones who first notice signs of changes in their sons.

"We use the same Koranic verses, but with the true interpretation to sensitize them," she said.

It's difficult for some to imagine how the Koran and the Hadith can be used to de-radicalize extremists, so I asked the women to give me concrete examples.

"It's simple," Qadeem said. "The first word of the Koran is Iqra, meaning 'read.'"

There's also a Hadith where the prophet commands Muslims, men and women, to seek knowledge and education wherever they are, she said.

It comes down to education and educating young Muslims about the facts of Islam.

"When you look at the prophet's life, I don't know what has gone wrong with those people who commit violence in the name of Islam," Qadeem said.

The goals is to create a society that's intolerant to violence, a society where an extremist has no harbor.

Qadeem said they keep a low profile and are always careful about their word choice. The women, for example, never use the word peace, but the word tolerance.

Qadeem said a lot of people there don't recognize that extremism is not a normal situation. When you say peace, she said, they tell you they're peaceful.

I was so impressed by the women. I spoke with Huma Chughtai, a lawyer by training, and Naziha Syed Ali, a journalist who produced a documentary on education in the classroom.

Ali said textbooks are often riddled with inaccurate information about Islam in relation to the two other Abrahamic faiths.

It seems like a long road ahead, but to me they are real-life super heroes. Draped in their saris and traditional Pakistani costumes, they walked together with a sense of confidence and humbleness.

This is how a real difference is made — not by force, but by true leaders who are selfless, who are willing to put their lives in danger for the sake of humanity and for the sake of peace.

I was inspired by them, and I couldn't help but feel compelled to always work toward making a positive difference in my community and society. After all, it is what Islam teaches. And I felt proud to be a woman.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for Times Community News. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: God means love in Islam too

There are so many lies that get circulated online about Islam that are sometimes printed and repeated as if they're facts.

Some of them really amuse me, especially the one about how Muslims believe in the "Moon God, Allah." We know Allah is Arabic for God.

But the Moon God? Who is he? I've been a Muslim for 28 years and have never heard of him. If my community has been withholding a lunar deity from me, it's about time it fesses up!

Some of the lies point to ignorance, like the notion that Muslims believe in a different God than the Jews and Christians, or that Muslims are supposed to lie to and kill "infidels."

Did I ever tell you about my "infidel" friend of 11 years? I haven't killed him yet.

And some claims are mind-boggling, like the idea that the Muslims' God is not a loving God. Let me tell you, as in Christianity, he is indeed a loving God because he's the same God.

Once, while attending community college, I received one of those emails listing all the reasons Muslims and Islam are evil.

At the time, I had been looking for a topic for my English class paper and when I saw that email, I knew exactly what I was going to write about. Very convenient.

Needless to say, that paper didn't stop the mass emails, but it was hailed by my English professor, who gave me an A and said everyone should read it. Take that.

I basically fought those lies with facts using the Koran; prophetic traditions, called Hadith; and stories of Islam's prophets from Abraham to Muhammad.

I remember pausing when I came across the part of the email that read something like this: Muslims' God is not loving; none of his 99 names means love.

In Islam, God has 99 names. The names describe God's characteristics. Among them are the merciful, the protector, the gentle, the honorer, the first, the last, the guide, the grateful, the forgiving and Al Wadood, which means the loving.

I looked up what love means in the dictionary to remind myself. It means, among other things, feelings of devotion, mercy, compassion and kindness.

Muslims begin everything they do, whether it's work, eating, writing, speaking or reading the Koran, with the words, "In the name of God, the merciful, the mercy-giver."

How is one merciful, forgiving and compassionate but not loving?

There are numerous verses and words in the Koran associating God with love and describing the many ways he loves his people. They include describing God as one who loves those who are patient, kind, just, compassionate and merciful toward others.

And there are probably dozens, if not hundreds, of Hadith describing God's love and tendency to forgive his servants out of compassion and mercy for them.

One Hadith describes God as "gentle and loves gentleness. He gives to those displaying gentleness what he does not give to those displaying violence."

A woman was once running in despair, looking for her small child, whom she lost for a few seconds in the market. When she found him, she ran to him with tears of joy, hugging and kissing him as if he had been lost for ages. When the Prophet Muhammad saw her, he told those around him that God's love for his servants is much stronger than that woman's love for her child.

It's hard to imagine, but I believe it. Muslims are taught from a young age about God's love for his people.

I do get why some may think that for Muslims, God is not loving. But that's just not the case. God is loving, but not all people are.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for Times Community News. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Islam's influence on the Founding Fathers

Even though I wasn't born or raised here, there's a reason I feel at home in America.

America's principles align with Islam's teachings. In fact, America's principles are not just based on Judeo-Christian values, but Judeo-Christian-Islamic values. After all, the three religions share the same father, Abraham, and the same God.

After some research and a chat with a friend, who shared with me the work of a few authors and scholars, I'm convinced that this relationship and compatibility between Islam and America is not a coincidence.

It is because America's forefathers were influenced by Islam itself.

Hear me out.

There's no doubt that when the Founding Fathers were forming the Constitution, they relied heavily on thinkers like John Locke.

Thomas Jefferson, the main author of the Declaration of Independence, used the terms "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," which were taken directly from Locke's "Second Treatise of Civil Government," according to a comparative religion paper written by Zulfiqar Ali Shah, an Islamic scholar.

Locke's ideas were used to form the Constitution and heavily influenced figures like Thomas Paine, James Madison, Benjamin Franklin and John Adams.

You probably knew all of that. Locke was one of the political philosophers I studied in graduate school, and I often thought his ideas on human rights were in line with Islam's.

But what I didn't know is that Locke got many of his ideas from Islam and was often accused of being a Muslim by others, according to Shah. Apparently, accusing your opponents of being Muslim is not a new thing (ahem!).

Locke, as well as Jefferson, owned a copy of the Koran. Jefferson was the first president to host a Ramadan Iftar dinner at the White House, and, while campaigning for religious freedom in Virginia, he demanded that people recognize the religious rights of the "Mohamadan," the Jews and the "Pagan," according to a Library of Congress article by James H. Hutson, chief of the Manuscript Division.

Muslims were also part of this country from its inception.

"Readers may be surprised to learn that there may have been hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Muslims in the United States in 1776 — imported as slaves from areas of Africa where Islam flourished," Hutson wrote. "Although there is no evidence that the Founders were aware of the religious convictions of their bondsmen, it is clear that the Founding Fathers thought about the relationship of Islam to the new nation and were prepared to make a place for it in the republic."

Did you know that there's a statue of the Prophet Muhammad in the Supreme Court? It has been there for many years and no one is up in arms over it.

TheCouncil on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), however, petitioned the court to remove the statue in 1997. The organization argued that the statue's depiction of the prophet with a sword was not accurate, that Islam — fearing idol worship — discourages its followers from portraying prophets in photos or any other artistic forms. CAIR also said that pamphlets about the prophet handed out to tourists were inaccurate, according to an article in Mental Floss.

Then-Chief Justice William Rehnquist denied CAIR's request, saying the sword is depicted as a symbol of justice and that the statue wasn't intended for idol worship but to recognize the prophet "as an important figure in the history of law," according to Mental Floss.

Rehnquist, however, said he would ensure that the pamphlets would be corrected.
So how do Islam's principles align with America's?

The answer is they both call for a just system that suggests democracy.

The Koran never specifies which kind of a government people should establish, but lists certain principles and values that must be followed. These include the right to protection of life, human dignity, family, religion, education and property from harm or abuse in a system that is just to all, regardless of faith.

This is basically the definition of — wait for it — Sharia, Islam's code of ethics, conduct and belief.

Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyyah, one of Islam's early leading scholars, said, "The foundation of the Shariah is wisdom and the safeguarding of people's interests in this world and the next. In its entirety it is justice, mercy and wisdom. Every rule which transforms justice to tyranny, mercy to its opposite, the good to the evil, and wisdom to triviality does not belong to the Shariah."

Most Islamic scholars agree that Islam demands justice to be at the heart of any society, and it's evident in how the prophet conducted his affairs and forged treaties with what Muslims call the People of the Book: Jews and Christians.

The Koran is clear on the issue of diversity and states that it is part of God's divine wisdom. I'd be pretty bored if everyone looked like me, thought like me, believed like me and acted like me.

And this is why America's system closely resembles that of what God intended.

It is why this is my home.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for Times Community News. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Islam for enlightenment, liberation

There's been a storm of controversy in the Arab and Muslim community over a recent Foreign Policy magazine article.

The essay, "Why Do They Hate Us?", outlines the atrocities many Arab women suffer at the hands of men. In short, the writer posits that Arab men hate women.

That writer isn't me, though we share the same first name (Mona) and native and adopted (Egypt, the U.S.) countries. Her name is Mona Eltahawy.

As if we needed it, this article divided the Arab and Muslim-American community into two groups: those who hailed Eltahawy for her courage, and those who admonished her for being yet another writer appealing to Western sensibilities with a subjective, narrow, emotionally gripping list of atrocities directed toward women by Arab, Muslim men.

And then there's me, hanging out somewhere in the middle, playing devil's advocate.
On the one hand, I know what it's like to be in Eltahawy's position.

My mom was married off by my grandmother to a man 22 years her senior, a man she couldn't stand and never loved. He beat her, even as she carried me in the womb, and generally humiliated and embarrassed her until she divorced him in the Egyptian courts — not an easy thing to do in that era. I remain proud of her for breaking free.

Growing up, my uncles helped raise me. One, who regular readers know as "Uncle Beautiful," hit and emotionally abused me. He once punched me in the face, dislocating the bone above my left eyebrow. He also once beat me so hard that it was difficult for me to move afterward. And he sometimes allowed the neighbors' kids to watch as he hit me.

After moving to America, I spent a decade not speaking with him.

Like Eltahawy, I too can recite a list of tragedies and injustices toward Arab women, but I also have good memories of my uncle teaching, encouraging, believing in, empowering and defending me. As cruel as his hand could be, he took pride in my achievements, and, to this day, cheers me on in my career and in life.

He made it his responsibility to protect me. He enriched my life with books and stories. He served as a role model with his honest way of life and work ethics.

Does he hate me?

I don't think so.

Is he a product of a collective, cultural ignorance that allowed him to both beat and praise me, to be compassionate and decent, to be emotionally and physically cruel?

I am leaning that way.

Yes, the Arab culture is misogynistic, but the picture isn't as grim as Eltahawy makes it sound. There are bad men, but great ones as well. And there are many great women who have been working for decades to advance women's rights and have made a lot of progress, though it has come slowly.

Her article does nothing other than, once again, put the burden, albeit indirectly, on the West, suggesting that Occidental values are all that can save these ignorant, undemocratic cultures.

I think solutions can and should be found within the Middle East.

The fact is, women have been mistreated by men of all religions and cultures for thousands of years. Remember: America needed its own women's movement — and it wasn't that long ago.

Manhood in many Arab countries is often measured by how insensitive you are and your ability to control the fairer sex.

The problem is not Islam, as some so easily and conveniently believe. It is the result of many factors, including colonialism and subsequent dictatorships and authoritarian regimes that have created an extreme culture in every aspect of life, not just when it comes to women.

When all you're concerned about is where and how you're going to feed yourself and family each day, and how to stay off corrupt leaders' and dictators' radar, being good to women, children, animals or men, for that matter, is not a priority.

And certainly, looking up your religion's teachings and history is nowhere on the list. It's not as black and white as Eltahawy makes it sound.

Not every Arab or Muslim man hates his wife. And they don't hate their mothers, sisters, daughters, granddaughters or nieces.

Instead of feeding the appetites of two opposing sides, why not find a way to educate men and women and make a real difference? Like Martin Luther King, who used religion to bring God-given rights to blacks, why not use religion — Islam, in this case — to empower the women of the Middle East and create a culture where women and men are working together for a better world?

We all know that the Torah and the Bible can and have been used to commit great injustices, and we also know that they can be used to bring people freedom, wisdom, compassion and enlightenment as well. It's the same story with the Koran and Islam.

The problem is a lot of Muslims are ignorant of the true teachings of their faith, which frowns upon the mistreatment of women.

None of Islam's greatest figures and stories existed without a woman. From Abraham to Muhammad, strong, empowered women were always at the heart of their existence.

More than 1,400 years ago, a 40-year-old businesswoman proposed marriage to her employee, a man 15 years her junior. He accepted. And she became his first wife — and boss.

That man was the Prophet Muhammad. They lived together for 25 years until she died.

Women, during the prophet's companions' time, voted, served in the military, gave to the mosques, worked and supported their husbands.

A feisty young woman wouldn't take no for an answer from the prophet. His second wife, Aisha, would question and challenge him to give her logical and reasonable answers. He would feed her with his own hands, help her with household chores and speak publicly of his love for her.

He died in her arms.

She delivered and shared with the Muslim community many of the prophet's traditions on marriage, family, children, women's rights and men's duties for women, and even held classes to teach the prophet's companions. This has made her, a woman, one of the most important figures of Islam.

These facts and many more should serve as a foundation to educate and empower every Muslim woman.
The revolutions happening across the Middle East are a good opportunity for women to liberate themselves if they use Islam for enlightenment and as a liberating tool, as it was intended to be.

Atrocities, such as the ones Eltahawy has listed, are less likely to happen in a society full of empowered women and educated men.

It's likely to take many years.

It took a decade for my relationship with Uncle Beautiful to change. We still sometimes disagree, but our disagreements are never contentious. They're respectful, and Islam is at the heart of our growth.

For Uncle Beautiful, evolving came as a result of his devotion to his faith and his desire to let it enlighten him. But not everyone is like Uncle Beautiful. And if change comes to gender roles in the Arab world, that's how it may have to happen — one enlightened man, and woman, at a time.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for Times Community News. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Passover a common belief for both Muslims, Jews

By now, you know that I'm a Muslim who mingles with Jews.

But the other day, I took it a step further and attended a Passover Seder at my friend Jazy's home. Seder is a ritual feast that marks the beginning of Passover.

Seder means order. The feast consists of various specific foods, prayers and the retelling of the story of the Prophet Moses (who is also a prophet in Islam) who liberated the Israelites from ancient Egypt's brutal Pharaoh.

Yes, even though I'm Egyptian and very proud of my country, its history and civilization, I know that Pharaoh was no good.

And that's why we believe God sent Moses to save the people of Israel from his brutality. We believe Pharaoh wanted to kill the newborn boys of Israel.

We believe Moses, as a child, was saved by a member of the Pharaoh household, where he was raised by Pharaoh's wife. Unlike Pharaoh, who wouldn't believe in God, we believe his wife was a woman of faith.

We also believe the story of Passover, which is when Moses was able to cross the sea with the people of Israel. And we believe God handed him the Torah.

If you're starting to question whether I'm really Muslim or Jewish, let me clarify: I am Muslim.

We just share the same stories. The story of Moses is one of the first stories I learned as a child. Uncle Beautiful taught it to me.

But why do we share the same stories?

I asked my favorite imam, Waleed Basyouni, who lives in Texas, that question. He is a frequent guest speaker, nationally and internationally. He is also a member of the Assembly of Muslim Jurists in America-Fatwa and Research Committee, and an advisor to numerous Islamic societies around the U.S.

Basyouni told me the answer is simple: We share the same God. Duh.

"It shows that our book wouldn't contradict the other books because they come from the same source," Basyouni said.

And the reason the Quran retells the story of Moses and others is because Moses has rights over us as Muslims, and the stories allow us to recognize other people's struggles.

"It teaches us that we should never be the oppressor in our lives," Basyouni said.

Even though Seder is traditionally held on the first night of Passover, the one I attended was just a day before the last night.

Jazy wanted to bring together some of her Jewish and non-Jewish friends to share in this ritual.
It was a potluck-style Seder.

Wherever there's a potluck situation going on anywhere, I make my specialty, baklava, or — and this happens most of the time — I ask my mom to make an amazing dish called "macarona bashamel." Yes, bashamel is a French word, but we've taken it. My mom, Shadia, makes bashamel sauce from scratch.

But Jazy kept saying to make sure that whatever I brought didn't have meat mixed with dairy. "Kosher rules," she kept saying.

The dish I wanted to bring has meat, eggs, flower and milk. I didn't think that was going to work, so I brought something else after hanging out at the grocery store for a while. "Is this kosher?" I asked myself. "No, it's not. Well, maybe it is."

I was the only Muslim at Seder, but no one could tell. (Talk about successfully infiltrating a group.)

Even though there were many people I hadn't met before that night, there were several who were close to me. I felt at home with my good friends Jazy, Babak, Josh, Becky and Farahnaz.

As it got late, only a few of us remained. My friends and I starting talking about our religions, and we began exchanging what we were taught about the prophets Abraham and Moses. It was comforting how our stories were pretty much the same.

Then Jazy, with her lawyer smartness, asked a question: If we believe in the story of Passover, why don't we Muslims celebrate it?

I mean, it would make sense.

I didn't have an answer, but said I'd ask.

In fact, we do.

When the Prophet Muhammad migrated to the city of Medina and learned that the Jews celebrated Passover, he asked them why, Basyouni said.

When they told him, the prophet said in this case Muslims must celebrate it as well, because Moses has rights over us, Basyouni said.

The prophet then began fasting on that day, the day of Ashora, and ordered all Muslims to fast as well.

Ashora is the 10th day of the first month of the Muslim lunar calendar, and it's different from the Ashora celebrated by Shiites.

My mom and Uncle Beautiful are among the Muslims I know who fast on that day each year.
And now that I know, I too will start fasting in commemoration of Moses' success over Pharaoh, and in sisterhood and brotherhood with my Jewish friends.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for Times Community News. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Play shows us all sides of the conflict

The Palestinian-Israeli conflict was one of the first crises I knew about growing up.

And if you're Middle Eastern, Muslim or Jewish, the conflict is probably one of those things you can't escape.
I would love to be able to tell you exactly what I think. But I won't.

Instead I'll tell you this: I've studied it extensively, read about it, written grad school papers about it and know each side. There are more than just two.

I encourage you to set your emotions aside and find a good, objective source to read about each side. Then make up your own mind.

When I heard about a play in Los Angeles regarding the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, I was hesitant to watch it or write about it at all. But several people told me it was a good show.

I thought using "Sarah's War" to write about the conflict would be a way to address it without making it about politics.

The play, produced by Freedom Theatre West, is about a 23-year-old American woman who decides to join the International Solidarity Movement in the Palestinian Territories. She first goes to her uncle, who's Jewish, to ask for monetary support, but he passionately refuses, cites rocket attacks on Israelis and tells her to go to medical school or find another way to make a positive difference in the world.

She goes anyway.

Sarah's story is not fictional. There was a woman named Rachel Corrie who once decided to join the International Solidarity Movement in the Palestinian Territories.

In Gaza, Sarah faces Israelis, who view her as a terrorist sympathizer, and Palestinians, who believe she's a spy.

And that's where I noticed the great service this play is doing for audiences, and also for those who might see only one side of the conflict.

One character is an Israeli Defense Forces soldier who wants to be a teacher and feels conflicted about serving, but has also lost his father in a suicide bombing. His friend, a religious Jew, warns him not to enlist and tells him that once in, there's no going back.

He tries to get approval to serve in a less sensitive area, but that request is turned down by his superior, who tells him his options are very limited and they include military prison.

Then there's Sarah, who's tormented over the 8-year-old Palestinian girl and many others like her who get killed by the Israeli military, the bulldozers that keep taking down Palestinian homes and, of course, the olive trees.

There's also the young Palestinian woman who doesn't understand why Sarah would risk her life and tells her that over there, they're like ghosts whose lives don't matter to the outside world.

There are Sarah's parents who have to deal with what happened to her.

There's the elderly Palestinian woman who wants to help, but trembles in fear when the bombs start.
There are also those, from each side, who are used to everything as is.

It was hard for me not to sympathize with each one of those characters. I know that each one of them lives.
It's why this conflict is not a matter of black and white.

But I do think there is a way to solve it, if we put our emotions aside, don't use the conflict for political gain and start understanding that those in the middle of it, on each side, are human beings who deserve a home and deserve to live without fear.

I have a picture on my Facebook with a Palestinian boy and an Israeli boy walking shoulder to shoulder.
A few years ago, I tagged my friends and wrote this under the photo:

"I've tagged my friends in this picture because I believe that in all of us there's hope for peace between the Israelis and the Palestinians. Hope that a Palestinian can walk shoulder to shoulder with an Israeli. Hope that their children will live a peaceful life full of sharing and friendship. A long life. A deserving life. A life where they can dream under the falling stars and fulfill their dreams. I'm optimistic and I believe I will see it happening in my lifetime. I hope all of you believe, too."

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for Times Community News. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Passionate music where Middle East meets the West

Music runs through my blood like the Nile River runs through Egypt.

And if you know anything about Middle Easterners, Egyptians especially, you know we love our music.

My mom, Shadia, loves the songs and music of Egypt's oldest legends — Oum Kalthoum, Abdel Halim Hafez and Nagat, among many others. Use YouTube to find videos of Abdel Halim Hafez when you get a chance. You won't understand a word, but you'll love it anyway.

Some of my favorite singers died long before I was born, but I and many others love them because their music transcends the ages.

And I credit my mom for exposing me, though maybe accidentally, to great music.

For some outsiders, the Middle East offers nothing but trouble, dictatorships, extremism, oppression and war, but the Middle East I know has much more: great entertainment and food, rich history and cultures, kind and sincere people.

I love Western music, too. One of my favorite hobbies, aside from shopping, is singing. I sing in both Arabic and English.

But I've always thought of Western and Middle Eastern music as totally separate, not for mixing.

Until just two Saturdays ago, when I experienced something amazing at the Segerstrom Center for the Arts in Costa Mesa. It left me a changed person, mesmerized and more hopeful than ever about the world in which we live in.

Yes, a few hours of music did that to me.

But it wasn't just any music — it was the perfect merging of the Middle East and West.

When my friend and colleague Bradley Zint, who writes the "Classically Trained" column for Times Community News, told me that this year's American Composers Festival put on by the Pacific Symphony is celebrating Nowruz, the Persian New Year, I told him I already wrote about Nowruz in one of my columns and that I didn't plan on writing about it again in the near future.

Brad insisted I check it out. He said it would be a shame if I didn't attend this one-of-a-kind festival and write about it.

I decided to attend with my friend Lauren Williams, who covers courts and crime for the Daily Pilot. Brad was right. It would've been a shame to miss it.

The four-day music festival debuted a new work by American composer Richard Danielpour, a New Yorker of Persian and Jewish ancestry. His "Toward a Season of Peace" is a seven-movement oratorio in Hebrew, Farsi, Arabic, Aramaic and English. It was sung by soprano Hila Plitmann and the Pacific Chorale. The piece was conducted by Pacific Symphony Music Director Carl St.Clair.

The festival also featured "Kodaly: Dances of Galanta," conducted by Farhad Mechkat, who was once the principal conductor of the Tehran Symphony Orchestra, and the Shams Ensemble, a traditional Sufi and classical Persian music group. The festival was presented in collaboration with Farhang Foundation, which works to celebrate and promote the study and research of Iranian art and culture.

When Shams Ensemble began playing, I found myself being transformed to a world far away, a world where Shahrazad was telling one of her stories as people gathered around her to listen while the Shams played in the background.

But I also wondered why St.Clair was standing there quietly.

Then he started raising his arms and the orchestra followed, playing along with Shams.

Lauren and I looked at each other at the same moment and said, "Wow!"

"It was really special to hear these ancient instruments used with such passion accompanied with a full orchestra," Lauren later said. "I would have thought the traditional Persian instruments wouldn't blend together with the orchestral ones, but they added this depth and cultural richness that was incredible."

It really was incredible; my heart was beating with the music. And it dawned on me: If our music could be mixed so flawlessly, why do some of us tend to focus on our differences instead of our commonality?

Before that night, I had never experienced something so eye-opening, so passionate like the Middle East and sincere like the West.

You should be jealous, oh so jealous, if you didn't experience it.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for Times Community News. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: There will be 'Love, Inshallah'

For Middle Easterners, reputation is everything.

And while I embrace a lot of my culture's characteristics, this is one of those things I don't care for as much.

For me, reputation is important, but being real about what you feel, think or experience is more important than what someone might think of you for it.

But for my mom, grandma, aunt and uncles — and pretty much most of the Middle Easterners who come before me and my generation — it's about what others think of you.

My mom, Shadia, and I have this conversation a lot.

It usually goes like this: "Who cares what people think?!"

"I don't care what people think; you just have to consider the consequences," my mom usually responds.

"Really? Hmm."

Though modesty is one of the characteristics of a good Muslim, I think modesty and the need to reserve one's reputation are often confused. And this obsession over reputation and the refusal to speak up publicly about valid issues never provides a forum for finding solutions.

I've noticed that the more sheltered or rural the society tends to be, the more its members care about their reputation. I think it's because sometimes they believe it's all they have. And a lot of times, that's actually the case.

Enter the young-and-upcoming, educated Middle Eastern generation, especially the one growing up in America and Westernized nations, and clashes between the young and old are inevitable.

I say this because there are times when certain issues like dating, romance, love and all sort of things that come with it, are often considered taboo. Talking about them is almost nonexistent in our community, and not talking about them leaves a huge void and many unsolved problems.

A few weeks ago, my friends Michelle Samani (Meesh), Jasmine Duel (Jazy) and I decided to visit a place our mothers — I know mine for sure — wouldn't approve of: A bookstore on Sunset Boulevard.

No, silly. The issue isn't that we were at a bookstore. It's what was going on there: a book reading of "Love, Inshallah." Inshallah means "God willing," and it's something Muslims say a lot because everything happens by the will of God.

The book is an anthology of 25 stories by Muslim women who shatter the glass ceiling of stereotypes with their experiences. It's a collection of the "secret love lives of American Muslim women."

Some of the writers were there reading parts of their stories. The place was packed with people, and I have to be honest when I say that, as some of the racier parts were being read, I felt a bit self-conscious of my surroundings.

I bought the book. Don't tell my mother.

Those secrets include a lesbian who was married to a man and struggling to fit in her community (she ended up asking for a divorce), co-wives (the thought makes me cringe), converts to Islam, finding a husband, being Shia or Sunni, and not conforming to the Islamic ideals when it comes to dating.

The thing is, those issues have to be addressed at some point, and because our elders and community leaders aren't doing much about it, you're going to have books like "Love, Inshallah." (At least one story was a bit too explicit, though, and I don't know if that was really needed.)

Jazy, who is Jewish-Persian, Meesh and I have had many talks about what it's like to be Middle Eastern when it comes to dating. When I once said that I feel my pool is too small because I'm Muslim in America, Jazy — who, like Meesh, is a lawyer — put me in my place.

"Excuse me! Your pool has 1.5 billion people in it," she said. "My pool has, like, 12 million. I have a little Jacuzzi; you have a whole ocean."

Point taken, Jazy.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for Times Community News. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Celebrating Persian new year in CdM

'Twas the night before the last Wednesday of the year — pretty much Tuesday, bear with me.

It was a night when families and friends gather 'round the fire, sharing food, drinks and desserts, welcoming in the new year with open arms, happy thoughts and warm wishes.

They sing and dance. And they jump over the fire, which is believed to inhale away the yellow color of illness and sadness and replace it with the red color of flames, which symbolizes health and wellness in all aspects.

Sounds ancient and non-Western, doesn't it?

It is.

And it all went down Tuesday night at Corona del Mar State Beach, and I was in the middle of it. And judging from the City Council's Tuesday decision to remove the storied fire rings, it could be the last celebration I attend in CdM.

Chaharshanbeh Soori, or the Festival of Fire, is an ancient Persian tradition that dates to the Zoroastrian era. The festival takes place the night (Tuesday) before the last Wednesday of the year — that's how they say it — leading to Norooz, which is the beginning of the Persian spring new year. Yes, it's a bit complicated, as Middle Easterners can be (ahem).

This year, Norooz begins around 10 p.m. Monday.

Tuesday is the first day of the spring new year, and the celebration goes on for 13 days. Chaharshanbeh Soori, as it was explained to me by friends, allows Persians the chance to prepare for the new year, letting go of all the bad and welcoming the good. It's a cultural holiday, and all Persians celebrate it, regardless of their religious affiliation.

Persian families roll out what's called Sofreh Haft Seen, a dining room table full of seven items that start with the letter 'C' in Farsi. Some of those items are Persian rice and whitefish, coins, garlic and sprouts.

Although I've been to Norooz picnics and celebrations in the past, this was my first Chaharshanbeh Soori.

The council's decision marked the end of the Mashadi family and friends' 22-year-long tradition of celebrating Chaharshanbeh Soori at Corona del Mar State Beach.

I parked next to Morteza Mashadi and his brother, Majid, their respective wives and children. I watched as they greeted friends and pulled wood and pots of food out of their car. I decided, "They seem nice. I'll talk to them."

I know Farsi, so I greeted them that way. "Saalom (Hi)," I said. "Cheetori? (How are you?)" — and that's all I needed to start the conversation.

I introduced myself and told them it was my first Chaharshanbeh Soori, and as we walked together closer to the beach, there were other family members and friends doing the same thing: starting fires, sitting around it and greeting each other.

I talked to the wives of the brothers, Samira and Katauon. The latter asked me if I was married or if I have a Persian boyfriend because of the necklace I wore (I don't), and they told me more about their tradition. None of that was surprising. I'm Egyptian, and I understand our kind of women.

I originally planned on walking around and talking to more people, but the Mashadi family made me feel at home.

"Sit, Mona, sit," Morteza said.

I "Taarof'ed" a little. "No, thank you. I'm OK standing," I replied.

"Come on, sit," Majid said. I Taarof'ed some more.

"I'm really OK. I sat all day today at the office."

"Sit, Mona," Morteza said again.

I sat.

What is "Taarof," you ask? I'll tell you.

Taarof is a Middle Eastern tradition that is difficult for Westerners to understand. It also exists in Egyptian and all Arab cultures. I asked my mom what you call it in Arabic, and the closest thing we could come up with is "Ozoom." Growing up, you watch your mothers and fathers, uncles, aunts and friends do it. And you just do it, too.

Basically, say you're at a restaurant and you're getting ready to pay for your meal, and the owner says, "Don't worry about it. This is your restaurant." If you didn't know better, you'd say, "Oh, OK. thank you." Then you walk away.

Word to the wise: Don't walk away. Because in reality, the owner isn't serious about you walking away without paying. It's the nice thing to do, aka Taarof/Ozoom.

I wasn't serious about not sitting down, but I was Taarofing. And because I'm Americanized, and I don't have the patience to go back and forth, I sat after the third request.

Taarof/Ozoom can take a while.

You should see my mom and aunt Taaroofing/Ozooming each other at a restaurant when it's time to pay the bill. This doesn't always mean that the person Taarofing you isn't serious about it. It's just a thing we do.

OK, back to Chaharshanbeh Soori. There were foods like soup, tea and nuts, and also music, dancing, and crossing and jumping over the fire. I did it too.

But the family had to turn off the music at the request of Newport Beach police officers, who said no one is allowed to play music. The officers were nice, though, and they even spoke in Farsi.

But before the music was turned off, Morteza said, "Show us your skills, Mona!" I Taarof'ed, of course. What did you expect?

Then I shimmied my shoulders with the other women to the music.

A friend of the family said, "Are you sure you're not Persian? There's some Persian there."

In fact, I'm Persian. An honorary Persian.

Muslims don't believe in past lives, but I kind of do a little (shhhh!). I was Shahrazad in my past life. I still tell stories in this life.

Norooz Mubarak. Or, to translate, have a blessed Norooz.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Extremists don't speak for everyone

A variety of things enrage me about some so-called Muslims.

Sometimes those things are so atrocious that I can't fathom how these people (or governments) count themselves as Muslim.

You might know what I'm talking about.

It's the violent protests over the Koran burnings.

It's the burning of churches and death threats over newspaper caricatures of the Prophet Muhammad.

It's the laughable lawsuits like the one filed against an Egyptian businessman for posting a picture on Twitter of Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse with a beard and a head cover.

It's a popular Egyptian actor getting jailed for defaming Islam.

It's so-called "honor killings."

And most loathsome of all: deforming and burning women's faces with acid.

If I were to reach out to the people who commit such acts, I would say: Go find another copy of the Koran. Open it up. Read what it says.

And then I would ask, Why don't you follow what it says? For once.

I would then tell them that killing innocents is impermissible in Islam, despite what some of these "Muslims" claim.

These acts are detested in God's eyes, not encouraged by him or the Koran.

Keep reading, I would say.

The Koran will tell you that God's punishment for unjust and criminal activities is so grave, escaping them is impossible.

But to the non-Muslims, I would say something else:

First of all, some of those who act this way can't even read. It's sad. But it's the reality.

I can see why each of these incidents come off like more of the same from these "crazy 'mooslems' out there."

I can see why it gives the impression that all Muslims subscribe to this behavior.

But they are not all the same, and, most important, these are the behaviors of a minority, an uneducated, knee-deep-in-their-ignorance kind of minority.
And I'm here to tell you they do not represent my religion.

Not all of the 1.6 billion-and-counting Muslims behaved the same way when burned copies of the Koran turned up at an American military base.

The protests were not really about the burning of the Koran, many Afghanis have said in interviews.

Maruf Hotak, a 60-year-old Afghan who joined the protests in Kabul, was quoted in the New York Times saying, "This is not just about dishonoring the Koran; it is about disrespecting our dead and killing our children."

By "disrespecting our dead," Hotak was talking about the pictures of American soldiers urinating on dead bodies.

"They always admit their mistakes," he told the New York Times. "They burn our Koran and then they apologize. You can't just disrespect our holy book and kill our innocent children and make a small apology."

What about the other incidents, you ask? The ones that admittedly embarrass me, the kind of attacks on women that fill my eyes with tears and leave me feeling helpless?

Hussam Ayloush, executive director of the Greater Los Angeles chapter of theCouncil on American-Islamic Relations, said you can divide these incidents into three categories.

First are the ones with political, rather than religious, undertones, such as the reaction to the recent Koran burning. Ayloush said going after the people in Afghanistan who are upset about the Koran burning is like beating up the victim twice.

"I agree the response to such incidents should be nonviolent, civilized and Islamic," he said. "But it's morally difficult for me to repeatedly tell the victim 'stop being angry' when we are not even considering the injustice done to them and their country as a result of our occupation and military actions there."

The second involves incidents that are culturally or personally driven. The horrific acts of "honor" killing and acid attacks on women have nothing to do with Islam and everything to do with an attempt by the perpetrators to protect the "honor" of these individuals' tribes and families.

Growing up in Cairo, I heard stories and even saw old movies depicting how some families, Muslim and Christian alike, practiced honor killing in some rural areas of Egypt. The stories to me were foreign and unreal, like something right out of Shahrazad's tales. But horrific.

The third is crazies who turn a joke or an unintended offense into a death threat or a court case.

While all look to be like the same, painting them with the same broad brush and blaming Islam is unfair.

At the end of the day, it comes down to the level of education. The reason I and most Muslims would never react the same way to Koran burning, caricatures of the prophet in newspapers or Twitter pictures of Muslim Disney characters is because we're educated.

But we are fortunate here. When a people's access to information is confined, when their communication skills are restricted to shouting and screaming, what they do will always be limited.

But what they do, whether the result of ignorance or pure craziness, has nothing to do with Islam. They do not speak or act on behalf of my Prophet or my God.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: No pajamas on this red carpet

I regard Oscar Sunday with the same importance as a national or even a religious holiday (sue me).

Instead of a get-together over a good meal with family and friends, a visit to the mosque to pray and offer thanks to God, my routine is much simpler: I talk to no one.

I forget about all the troubles in the world. I try to squeeze in my daily prayer during the commercial breaks. I start gluing myself to the television at about noon or before, and I stay in my pajamas.

For me, Oscar Sunday is not about the awards, it's about the fashion, the glamour and the beauty.

So it's natural for me to gravitate toward the glamour, the beauty and the lavishness on the red carpet.

I've been this way since I was a little girl, and sometimes fought my mom when she refused to buy me high heels (what's wrong with a 10-year-old wearing heels?).

So when Mariam Khosravani, founder of the Iranian American Women Foundation in Orange County, invited me to attend a red-carpet-like Oscar-viewing party that was held to support the movie "A Separation" at a restaurant in Irvine, and in hopes of it getting the award, I right away told her thanks, but no thanks (I said it in nicer words).

There's no way I could attend, I thought. That would break my ritual of talking to no one, gluing myself to the television and staying in my pajamas.

But then, as Oscar Sunday got closer and after writing a story about the event, I decided, why not?

It would be good to watch it with a group of beautiful Middle Eastern women, and I would get to do one of my favorite things: dress up. I hesitantly told Mariam over the phone that I would attend. She was very happy to hear that I changed my mind.

I sat in my pajamas in front of the TV until I could no longer and had to get ready. Hoping not to miss any of the big arrivals, I made a few runs to the television as I got ready.

I went with my mom, and when we got there, there was a red carpet, a small one, and photographers (paparazzi) taking pictures outside of the restaurant.

I posed for a picture with my mom and, after saying hello to Mariam and a few other women, I put my glasses on and stood in front of a TV at the restaurant, trying to listen and watch.

The presentation for the foreign language film category was early on in the show. When "A Separation" got the Oscar, jubilation took over the entire restaurant. People were proud. I was proud.

This was a big moment for the Middle East.

Mariam took my hand and ran across the room with me. We watched together as the writer and producer of the film, Asghar Farhadi, accepted the Oscar for his country for the first time in history.

His speech was emotional and underscored the struggle his people have been facing for many years.

"At this time, many Iranians all over the world are watching us and I imagine them to be very happy," he said during the acceptance speech. "They are happy not just because of an important award or a film or filmmaker, but because at the time when talk of war, intimidation and aggression is exchanged between politicians, the name of their country, Iran, is spoken here through her glorious culture, a rich and ancient culture that has been hidden under the heavy dust of politics.

"I proudly offer this award to the people of my country, a people who respect all cultures and civilizations and despise hostility and resentment."

It was a proud and historic moment, one that proved that the art of storytelling and the emotions and struggles all human beings experience are ever more powerful than politics.

I'm glad I witnessed this moment with a group of Iranian women. I'm glad I celebrated with them.

But I did record the red carpet coverage and the show (thank God for DVR), and I'll be gluing myself to the TV, sitting in my pajamas, talking to no one this weekend as I watch.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: How it's done at a Jewish-Persian wedding

I crashed a Jewish wedding.

OK, I was invited.

But as a visitor from another religion, I had the same giddy sense of discovery that I might have had if I'd slipped in undetected.

The experience was new for me on two levels. I had neither been to a Jewish or Persian ceremony — two things I've always wanted to experience.

Culturally, Persian and Egyptian weddings are not too different, but I've always wanted to go to one. Islam doesn't dictate how a wedding is celebrated, so it usually depends on the culture and the family. Middle Eastern weddings are celebratory, warm and go on for hours, sometimes days.

So when my friend Meesh invited me to go with her to a Jewish-Persian wedding, I said: "OMG! Yes, of course! I've been waiting for this."

True to our Middle Eastern nature, we got all decked out. We stayed at the hotel where the wedding was held in Pasadena, and by 7 p.m. (yes, that's about when our kind of weddings start), we were ready to have fun, meet new people, dance and people-watch.

On our way down, Meesh said there's a formula to Persian weddings. I looked at her a bit perplexed.

There's always sushi at the cocktail hour, she said.

Unlike in American weddings, the cocktail hour began before the ceremony and also went on briefly before the reception.

There were many well-dressed people (it's a Middle Eastern thing). Then Meesh pointed to a woman whom she suspected was an Orthodox Jew. Meesh told me that she thought she was wearing a wig to cover her hair instead of a scarf.

I set out to investigate (I was discreet), and yes, it was a wig. A nice wig.

What's interesting about that is so many people think Muslim women are the only ones who cover their hair. But that's not the case. Some Christian and Jewish women do as well, even if you don't know it.

Back to the wedding.

Instead of bridesmaids and groomsmen walking down the aisle before the bride, there was an all-white runway where the closest family members of the bride and groom walked down one by one, dancing to upbeat and happy Persian music to an audience who cheered and clapped for them.

I want a runway at my wedding when I get married, for sure.

The parents of the groom walked down, followed by the groom, who seemed happy to be getting married (shocking).

Then came the moment that brought tears to my eyes: The bride walked down on her own to meet her parents at the end of the runway. She embraced her mother, then her father. Her husband-to-be then took a few steps to meet her and kissed her hand.

The ceremony was Jewish-Persian-style and the rabbi, who officiated with the help of his son, switched from Farsi to Hebrew to English with ease.

The bride's and groom's parents and closest family members stood under and near the Chuppah — the canopy under which the bride and groom stand — with them as the rabbi officiated the wedding.

The reception didn't start until about 10 p.m., and for the first half, the music mix was Western and Persian.

While on a dance break, some guy from our table started making conversation. He took Meesh's left hand, looked at the lines on her palm and told her she's going to get married and have three kids.

He then took my hand, told me some stuff, then said I'll have two kids. How random. I want five.

I asked him what the lines in his hands say. He said that he's going to meet his girl at this wedding.

Smooth, I said, with a loud laugh.

Instead of rice, we threw flower petals on the bride and groom to the Persian song that said "Gol Beriz rooh aroosoh damad," which means "throw flowers on the bride and groom." That was my favorite part of the entire wedding. I want that at my wedding, too.

And that's how the Middle Easterners do it, people.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: A mainstream look at the Nation of Islam

The Nation of Islam teaches a different kind of Islam from the one I know.

So I wanted to take part of Black History Month to explore the organization, which is closely associated with the Civil Rights Movement but never far from controversy.

Though I do not agree with some of the nation's interpretations of our shared faith, nor some of its leaders' past rhetoric in relation to other races and faiths, I discovered some fascinating details about the organization through candid interviews with a current leader and a past member who later converted to mainstream Islam.

I interviewed Minister Ishmael Muhammad, a son of the late Elijah Muhammad, a Nation founder who taught Malcolm X.

Ishmael Muhammad is now assistant minister to the Nation's leader, Louis Farrakhan. Ishmael Muhammad is considered by observers to become a likely successor.

I also interviewed Abul Kareem Hasan, a former Nation member, who is now a mainstream imam in Los Angeles.

When I first came to America at age 15 and learned of the organization, I felt offended by stories about members who called for self-segregation and suggested black superiority — an understandable reaction to centuries of mistreatment by white Americans, but a far cry from the faith I knew that urges followers to transcend race.

There were also well-publicized tensions between Jews and the Nation of Islam, which some have accused of anti-Semitism. It's a point that the Nation's leaders deny, but many Jews cannot forgive.

Another point of contention: Nation Muslims view Elijah Muhammad as a messenger of God, when Muslims believe that all prophecy ended with the Prophet Muhammad.

Islam doesn't place one race over the other. One's superiority for God is only measured by his or her actions and piety. We believe that we all come from Adam, who was made from clay, so the idea of Muslims who view themselves as different was a concept I had trouble wrapping my head around.

But I went into this week's interviews with an open mind.

In the context of the Civil Rights Movement, I learned that the Nation of Islam sought to free African Americans from true inequality and that improving their collective, battered self-esteem and breaking free of white oppression was part of that healing process.

"The Nation of Islam aims to elevate black people in America by raising their level of consciousness and giving them a knowledge of self, and it is that essential knowledge of self that black people, after 400 years of suffering in this nation being enslaved and mistreated, that we're able to be restored," said Ishmael Muhammad by phone from Chicago.

And considering the conditions of African Americans at the time this movement began more than 80 years ago, it's easy to understand why the Nation was attractive to so many of its followers, said Hasan, who once taught that black people were superior to whites.

Modern-day Nation of Islam members say the organization does not teach black superiority. The Nation is also something of a gateway to mainstream Islam.

Many of today's mainstream African-American Muslims were once members of the Nation but later chose to leave and become part of mainstream Islam, Hasan said.

In the middle of the last century, particularly before the Civil Rights Act, the Nation, using some of Islam's concepts, promised a new beginning, a way to change the existing conditions, a way to love oneself. It offered a path to independence.

"We were enslaved by Christians and brutalized under that slavery by Christians that left us feeling less than human beings," Hasan said. "When we began to hear a message that Islam was a religion, and it would free us from those shackles that white men placed on us, we accepted that right away, and we accepted all the do's and don'ts of all that."

Hasan said the idea of black superiority didn't come from Islam, but was a strategy used by Nation leaders to strengthen the black man, who was brutalized and taught by society to believe that the white man was above him.

"Those are things that were taught to offset some of the inferiority complex, and it worked," Hasan said.

But then Hasan read the Koran with an open heart. He realized that he had the notions of race and the concept of God, as taught by the Nation, all wrong.

There were many who made the same transition as Hasan, including Malcolm X and Ishmael Muhammad's brother, Warith Deen Muhammad, who took over the Nation of Islam after his father's death and began preaching the mainstream principles of Islam.

The organization regrouped with some of its old beliefs again in the 1980s with Farrakhan, who became a lightning rod for critics.

But the organization no longer teaches black superiority, Ishmael Muhammad said.

Ishmael Muhammad said Islam teaches that superiority in God's eyes is only measured by one's piety, not by his race or color.

He said his father didn't preach superiority either, but that some interpreted his teachings that way.

"We acted immaturely with that knowledge, and it made us feel better than others, better than the white man, better than the Asian ... but that was not designed for us to see ourselves as better, but designed to restore ourselves and see the immeasurable qualities that God has put in black people in relationship to other people," Ishmael Muhammad said.

He said his father didn't allow any other races to join the Nation because black people needed to work on themselves, learn about themselves and learn to love themselves first.

Today, all races are welcome in the Nation, he said.

I asked whether the Nation of Islam has fulfilled its purpose and whether it's time for it to move toward mainstream Islam, which also offers a chance at an independent and a free life.

Ishmael Muhammad doesn't see a difference between members of his organization and the rest of the Muslims out there.

I still do.

Maybe I don't have the right to say this, but as someone who feels protective of my religion, I think that if Islam was used by the Nation, even in the wrong way, to help a people — a people who were humiliated, brutalized, enslaved and lynched for so many years — free themselves, then it certainly cannot be all bad. But it's still not the Islam I know.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Islam's melting down of prejudices

When you move from one country to another, culture shock is inevitable, especially when you go from one different system and culture to another.

But there were only two things about America's culture that shocked me.

I had been in high school for just a few days when, on my way to a classroom, I spotted a girl making out with a boy.

She could not have been much older than me, 15 at the time.

I found myself embarrassed for them and immediately looked away.

How could she do that at such a young age? And isn't she embarrassed for doing that in front of everyone? Was anyone seeing what I'm seeing?

I looked around. No one seemed to care.

I got over the horror I felt shortly thereafter seeing a few more.

I encountered culture shock a second time in high school when I realized Americans use race and color to describe each other.

The black guy. The white guy. The Mexican. The Asian. And, of course, the A-rab (me).

The skinny girl. The big girl (me again).

In high school other kids didn't say much about who a person was beyond these surface characteristics.

I especially didn't like it when someone told me I wasn't white.

What do you mean? I am white. My skin is white.

But then I understood what white meant. (Arabs come in all colors, but are not considered Caucasian, though they were at one time).

I too am guilty of sometimes referring to people by their race. But I feel awkward about it.

It's not that it is said in a demeaning way or that America's multiculturalism isn't great. But it gives me the feeling that people's race, religion or whatever it is that makes them different is how some define them — at least at first.

And then again, I don't know how people feel when they're referred to by their race or color in casual, but not pejorative, statements.

Growing up, I don't remember anyone describing people by their color or race. In the Middle East, people are usually referred to by their family's name or their profession, or even by how they lead their lives, their actions and deeds.

I think it has a lot to do with how Islam deals with race.

The prophet Muhammad arrived in one of the most tribal societies that ever existed and transformed it in many ways, including melting down prejudices.

I was reminded of the ways the prophet went about eliminating the issue of race when I attended a khutbah (sermon) a couple of months ago. It focused on issues of prejudice and how sometimes people put others down because they're skinny, overweight, black, white, Muslim, Christian, Jewish or their differences in any way, shape or form.

When Bilal ibn Rabah, a black man who was once a slave, was chosen by the prophet as the first "Muezzin" — a person who calls people to prayer — some said they were glad their parents didn't live to see the day when a black man ascended upon the Kaaba.

But Bilal's color was not an issue for the prophet. He was chosen because his voice was the most beautiful when he called the prayer. Bilal was also chosen to teach Arabs, who were very tribal, something about humanity by giving him, a man with a humble background, the honor to stand on one of the most sacred, historic places for Arabs.

Bilal was also one of the most important companions for the prophet.

The prophet would not allow anyone to be belittled in his presence, and he would take the person's insecurity and turn it into a point of pride, the imam said at the khutbah.

The prophet's Jewish wife, Saffiya (Sofia), once told him that some in his household used to refer to her by her race. She was a minority among them, and though she was in fact a Jewish woman, she didn't like how her race was used as a way to distinguish between them and her.

The prophet told her, if they ever repeat it, tell them "my father is Aaron, my uncle is Moses and my husband is Muhammad."

No one aside from her could ever claim such a status, the imam said at the khutbah.

There were many more examples. One about a man who was made fun of because of how skinny his legs were. The prophet told him his legs will weigh more than a mountain on the day of judgment.

Another felt he was worthy of nothing because he was black and illiterate. The prophet told him he was not worthless in the eyes of God.

The point is, it's easy to throw jabs at one another because of our differences, whether they are race, color, gender, religion or disabilities.

But when you look beyond the surface and consider the facts, you're likely to find something extraordinary.

Like Bilal's voice.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Dating while Muslim is complicated

I was never the girl who fantasized about Prince Charming charging in on his camel and sweeping me off my feet.

When I was growing up in Egypt, education was emphasized above all else. My mom, Shadia, who never graduated from high school, always read the newspaper. She sent me and my sister, Marwa, to school the first chance she could and made sure I learned to read and spell at a young age.

But the idea of marriage was never absent.

Middle Easterners love weddings, which can last for days and involve entire neighborhoods.

There is an expectation to get married early. If you hit your mid- or late-20s and you're not married yet, something is wrong. And the more kids the merrier.

When I was little, I thought I'd get married when I turned 20, the age I would have graduated from college had I stayed in their school system.

I'm 28 now, which makes me about 50 in Arab years.

That fantasy about Prince Charming did eventually take over in my early 20s, but it was refined to be more mature and realistic.

Not only do I know exactly what kind of a guy I want, I also know how my wedding dress, veil and engagement ring should look, and even who should officiate. I mean, who cares what the guy thinks, right?

Maybe, if he wanted a say, he would be here already.

"Dating," or the process in which you get to the point of marriage, is kind of taboo in my culture. The word boyfriend or girlfriend can cause a Middle Eastern parent to have a heart attack.

Western-style dating is frowned upon in Islam, and that's because men shouldn't be allowed to go from one girl to the next without making a commitment. They should "get to know the girl" only if they intend on marrying her, and that period of "getting to know each other" is usually monitored and limited in time, especially in conservative families.

On-and-off dating, especially when there's no commitment or good intentions, devalues women and the sanctity of marriage. This is a point on which I agree with the conventions of my culture and religion.

Though I consider myself pretty Americanized and must have gone on a gazillion dates in the last five years, if I don't see potential in the first few hours of knowing and meeting a guy, I end it. I don't have time to waste (not when you're 50 in Arab years).

Of course, like everyone who's trying to find their soul mate, I have encountered disappointments. The last time that happened, I began to wonder whether I'm meant to be with someone at all.

I know. It's a bit dramatic. But I went completely off the radar. It's been about eight months now, and I don't think I'm ready to go through the exhaustive process or on one more date at this point.

But for the sake of objectivity, I tried something new on Sunday.

Mohammed Ibn Faqih, the imam and religious director of my mosque, the Islamic Institute of Orange County in Anaheim, is passionate about helping young Muslim men and women find their significant other. The mosque organizes "networking" dinners from time to time.

It's pretty much like speed dating.

Attendees are usually within the same age range and professional status. At first, I didn't want to attend. But the journalist in me again was taken over by innate curiosity.

I'm not a shy person, but it took me awhile to feel comfortable and be myself.

I chatted with a few guys. Didn't see potential with any.

But I appreciated the efforts of my mosque.

My Jewish friend Meesh and I are in the same boat. We're both connected spiritually to our faiths, but we're also independent-minded and we don't always fit in the frame.

To the liberal followers of our religions, Meesh and I are considered conservative, and to the conservatives, we're viewed as liberal. We need to find partners in that perfect middle — men who value and understand our faiths and their teachings, but don't go overboard.

And it's not just about finding someone who is connected to Islam or Judaism, but someone whose views on most aspects of life, and our religion, align with ours. Isn't that what everyone wants?

Until then, I don't see camels on the horizon.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter: @MonaShadia.

Shadia: In Islam, men and women are equal

It is safe to say that those who know me would describe me as a tough, assertive girl with a conviction that women are equal to men.

They would also say that I embrace my femininity and feel privileged to be a woman.

Although I grew up in Egypt, where women don't hold the same social status as men, I never felt less equal or less important as a girl.

This attitude and conviction I hold didn't develop when I moved to America. It was ingrained in me, and there are many reasons for it. The biggest, and I know this might be surprising, is Islam itself.

I grew up in a moderate-to-conservative Muslim family. I was naturally influenced by my mom, Shadia, and her six brothers, who all raised me and my sister. On the one hand, my mom has always been an elegant, sensitive and modest person, and on the other, she's always been tough, assertive and fair. Her brothers wouldn't dare mistreat her because she's a woman.

She has always been excellent at maintaining that balance, and I studied it carefully.

Growing up, I clashed a lot with my Uncle Beautiful, who was the most conservative and closest male figure to me. We mainly clashed over how he wanted me to dress.

But it was never about gender. In fact, he too instilled this sense of equality in me.

I wasn't even a teenager when Uncle Beautiful once saw me walking on the street, and I must have looked uncomfortable or afraid for some reason, because when I got home he said to me: When you walk, walk with confidence. When someone speaks to you, man or woman, look directly at them, make eye contact, be respectful and be modest, but speak clearly and assertively.

He never told me why. I have never forgotten his words. And I have to say that I was a little bit surprised with them.

You might wonder why a conservative Muslim man would instill in me these values.

I wondered too.

It all became clearer this past weekend. I spent it attending an AlMaghrib Institute seminar about women in Islam. I always knew that when it came to women, Islam was ahead of its time. Khadija, the prophet Muhammad's first wife, was 15 years older than him. She sought him out, and she was the one who asked him to marry her.

When Imam Waleed Basyouni, the seminar's instructor, addressed the status of women during the prophet and his companions' time, it blew my mind, especially when I compared it with the present day.

Not only were women back then allowed to vote, own property, operate businesses, seek knowledge and education, speak publicly, work, and support their husbands and families, but they also served in the army.

All that happened more than 1,400 years ago.

The kind of injustice done today to women in so-called Muslim countries is unfathomable and foreign to me and to Islam itself.

The prophet Muhammad never laid a hand on a woman. He warned men of mistreating women and told them that the worst among them are those who are not good and kind to the women in their lives.

The fact is, if these so-called Muslim rulers and followers would educate themselves about their own religion, they'd be ashamed of how they're treating women.

But there's also another important point that can't be dismissed. For much of history, women, even in the West, didn't always have the same rights as men.

And I also think it's not about religion. Men who oppress and mistreat women come from all sorts of backgrounds and hold various religious beliefs. The kind of man who would oppress or beat a woman doesn't need a religion or a culture to justify it. He is simply not a man.

Now when I reminisce about what Uncle Beautiful taught me, I understand.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter: @MonaShadia.

Shadia: The dream I share with Martin Luther King

I had the honor of being part of a round table discussion on Martin Luther King Jr.'s legacy at Christ Our Redeemer AME Church in Irvine on Saturday.

And it got me thinking about my early impressions of the man whose passion and humanity brought this country closer to fulfilling its creed that all men are created equal.

I got to America only four months before the 1999 Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and it was around that time when I first heard of him.

I was surprised when I learned he had to march to demand God-given rights for people of color. It must have been the fact that I was a naive 15-year-old, but before then, I never knew that America didn't get to where it is overnight.

It was because of MLK that I began to understand the complexities and greatness of this country. He is responsible for why I feel so intertwined and so in love with America.

Though I knew little English, King's quotes, the point of views he expressed through his words, the kindness and patience I saw when I looked at his eyes in photographs struck a chord in my heart.

His words seemed as familiar to me as the color of my skin.

King's Christian viewpoints, which he used to inform the Civil Rights Movement, align with Islam's principles.

We're equal, regardless of our race or color except in action and deeds, the Prophet Muhammad said.

So this concept of God-given rights like the freedom to seek and speak up for justice, to freely choose your own destiny, to be judged based on your actions and deeds and not your race, color or family were principles my religion taught me.

But they were not all applied in Egypt, where I grew up.

I found them here.

Like Egyptian Islamic scholar Muhammad Abduh, who many years ago said, "I went to the West and saw Islam, but no Muslims; I got back to the East and saw Muslims, but not Islam," I too understood what it is like to live in a country that celebrates and works hard at practicing the principles of my religion.

But I also understood King's struggle of attempting to get the country to match up its principles with its actions.

This year's commemoration of King has special meaning to me. It comes just a few days before Jan. 25, which marks the first anniversary of something extraordinary.

It was the day my people in Egypt decided they'd had enough and rose up with courage against three decades of dictatorship, inequality and humiliation and demanded one basic, yet seemingly so difficult to obtain, right: freedom.

The protests in Egypt's Tahrir Square last year mirrored the 1963 March on Washington where human souls cried out for equality and justice.

This is now the dream of millions, not only in Egypt, but Tunisia, Libya, Bahrain, Yemen and Syria, a country whose tyrant has proven to be the most ruthless yet to its people and children.

I know for a fact that had I stayed in Egypt, I would have never had the opportunity to tap into my potential. It is sad when I think of my country's great civilization and what it gave to the world.

But like Martin Luther King Jr., I too have a dream that one day a little curious Egyptian girl, whose big imagination took her mind on many journeys, could with hard work and perseverance reach her potential and watch as her dreams unfold before her eyes in her country.

Editor's note: Do you have a question about Islam, Middle Eastern culture or what it's like to be a Muslim in America for Mona? She'd be glad to answer your inquiry or, if she cannot, track down an expert who can. Contact her at mona.shadia@latimes.com.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter: @MonaShadia.

Shadia: My contract with America

A religion should be judged by the understanding and practices of the majority of its followers.

And I'm not just talking about Islam. I'm talking about every religion.

Let me tell you a little bit about the ways in which my faith requires its followers to conduct their daily lives, regardless of where in the world they live.

Although I spent almost the first half of my life in another country with a completely different culture, language and a Muslim majority. When I first moved to the United States 13 years ago, I felt I had only one major obstacle to overcome: learning English.

I knew that once I learned the language, nothing was going to be an issue for me, and that has a lot to do with the principles of my faith.

Being a minority in a completely different culture has never been an issue for me, and that's because I was taught that you can be a Muslim anywhere you like.

One of the best virtues of Islam is respecting the laws of the nation in which you live. This is an important Islamic principle.

In my research for this week's column, I read several entries and articles on MuslimMatters.org and Suhaibwebb.com, sites dedicated to enhancing the understanding of Islam.

Islamic scholars consider citizenship or a visa a "covenant of security," or a contract between that individual and the state in exchange for safety, security and obeying the laws of that land.

This applies to both born and naturalized citizens of any country, Muslim or not. A covenant in Islam doesn't only mean a written or even a verbal contract, but a moral understanding, meaning that when I enter one's house or one's country, I ought to respect its people and rules.

Not doing so is considered treasonous and a major sin, said Hussam Ayloush, executive director of the Greater Los Angeles chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR-LA).

"You cannot engage in warlike behavior or criminal activities against people who have trusted you," Ayloush said. "Prophet Muhammad taught us that one is not a true believer until he loves for others what he loves for himself. I am sure we all love to be treated with goodness and integrity."

This principle is not only about respect, but about loyalty, commitment and love for the country that has given you a home.

The Prophet Muhammad once said, "Whoever kills someone who is protected under a covenant, then he shall not even smell the scent of Paradise."

The Prophet also said, "The (true) Muslim is he whose people are safe from (being harmed by) his tongue and hand."

I know there have been plenty of headlines for at least the past 10 years about so-called Muslims who have committed outrageous and horrific atrocities toward innocents, those of their own countries and those of countries that have given them security, opportunities and a chance at a good life.

To me, these are worthless criminals, not Muslims. They do not represent or respect Islam, and they do not speak for me or my religion.

Religion — any religion, not just Islam — should not be jerked around or falsely claimed by criminals, though history has shown us otherwise.

When you read or hear about criminals, even if they claim to commit their crimes in the name of your religion, whether Christianity or Judaism or any other, how do you feel? I imagine you feel as repulsed as I do when I hear about Muslims committing crimes.

Most Muslims in America are highly educated and good citizens; they contribute greatly to their country. And it's not just because this country is great and deserves the best, but because our religion commands us to be good citizens.

I understand that to some, Islam might seem complicated and foreign. But I'm here to tell you, I share with you many values, principles and virtues. If we choose to point out our differences, we will never see the overwhelming common ground on which we already stand.

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Meet the writer

Mona Shadia will participate in a "Roundtable on Dr. King's Legacy & the Occupy Movement" at Christ Our Redeemer AME Church's third annual Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. Interfaith Conference from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. Saturday, 46 Maxwell St. in Irvine. Mona will be available to meet readers and answer their questions.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter: @MonaShadi

Shadia: My kind of Islam

Unlike Muslims who were born and raised in America, I thankfully didn't have to go to Sunday school to learn about my religion.

Born in the '80s, I grew up in a place where my religion was part of the society and the community in which I lived in. I didn't have to go to Sunday school to learn about my religion; my Uncle Beautiful, whom regular readers may recall as the man who helped raise me, taught me.

In fact, my community as a whole indirectly taught me.

There were many Cairo summer nights where Uncle Beautiful and I would sit on the floor of our big patio and he would tell me about God and the Prophet Muhammad.

I vividly remember the first time he introduced to me this divine concept called God. I was overcome with fascination and curiosity.

My first question was what God looked like. I looked up to a sky full of stars and felt hopeful for some reason. And the questions I had from that point on didn't stop. Uncle Beautiful supported what he taught me with children's books he bought to teach me about Islam, its prophets and its history.

And while I went to the mosque to learn how to read and memorize the Koran, I had the advantage of interacting with teachers who studied Islam, spoke my language and were part of my culture.

According to Mohammed Ibn Faqih, imam and religious director of the Islamic Institute of Orange County, that wasn't the case for Muslims who grew up in America around the same time.

Not only did they dread having to go to Sunday school, but they generally interacted with imams or volunteers who didn't naturally speak English, had heavy accents, weren't teaching them in a fun way and lacked familiarity with American culture. For those students, Islam was foreign and difficult.

The result is lack of understanding and sometimes total abandonment of Islam. Take Mohammed Memon, a volunteer at the Islamic Institute of Orange County, who at one point in his life shied away from identifying himself as a Muslim.

The 23-year-old was born to Pakistani parents who sent him to school at the mosque one day a week to learn about Islam.

"We never grasped what Islam really was about," he said. "We never knew why exactly we have to fast, why we have to pray and why we have to do some of the things we do."

After the 9/11 attacks, where Islam was hijacked by a bunch of criminals who used it to commit their horrific acts, Memon felt ashamed to say he was a Muslim.

"You have people on TV misrepresenting who you are, and we know we are not part of that," he said.

That perception has changed for Memon and thousands more, thanks to AlMaghrib Institute, a unique concept that began in North America to teach Islamic sciences in a fun, energized and easy way while also remaining academic.

AlMaghrib puts on seminars that go on for a weekend and move from one city to another based on demand. Since its inception in 2002, the institute has had more than 40,000 students. Some are even non-Muslims, said Faqih, who is also one of AlMaghrib's instructors.

Islam is a religion of knowledge. One of the Koran's early verses commands Muslims to seek knowledge, and AlMaghrib provides in that respect.

"The seminars are taught by instructors who speak English and have the credentials to give you knowledge," Memon said. "You're surrounded by Muslims and Islam. It makes you feel good."

AlMaghrib's concept didn't replace Sunday school, but often trains those who teach there, Faqih said.

He added that the organization's seminars go beyond what is permissible and what is not in Islam, and more into the why and the how of Islam.
I plan on attending AlMaghrib's next seminar, which is coming up this month in Los Angeles. It's a brand-new course called "Complicated?" The seminar will be dedicated to the Muslim woman, answering questions that revolve around Muslim women living in the modern world.

Did you know that Aisha, the Prophet Muhammad's wife, held classes to teach Islamic sciences to the prophet's companions? Did you know that some of the most renowned Islamic scholars were taught by women?

I know. It's shocking.

I can't wait to attend and share with you some of the amazing rights Islam gives me because I'm a woman. I can't wait to begin to refute the stereotypes about women, dispel some of the horrific misconceptions and challenge the so-called Muslim countries who unjustly use Islam to oppress women.

AlMaghrib's Ilmfest, or Knowledge Festival, which is held a few times a year in different cities around the country, was at the Hilton in Anaheim on Christmas Day. I attended for only less than two hours and couldn't help but be inspired by what I heard and saw.

Farhan Azeez, one of the speakers at Ilmfest, told the more than 2,000 attendees that a Muslim's public relations is his or her morals. It's true. I was taught at a young age that my morals and my religion are intertwined. If I misbehave in any way, shape or form, it's a reflection on who I am, and because I'm a Muslim, it hurts the image of my religion. And I dare not hurt the image of my religion.

Imam Abdulbary Yahya spoke about the third of the five pillars of Islam: almsgiving, or "zakat." He said the Koran teaches that giving isn't about donating money from the comfort of your own couch, but about getting out and actually physically giving to those in need in order to experience for yourself what they're going through.

During the Ilmfest, more than $100,000 was raised to provide a shelter for women who are victims of domestic abuse. It wasn't the first time AlMaghrib's seminars or events resulted in volunteerism, donations, in giving knowledge according to Islam's teachings, and in inspiring its attendees to spread goodness in their communities.

This is my Islam. It is the only kind of Islam I know.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.

Shadia: Friendship goes beyond the politics

I have friends from all sorts of backgrounds.

But my friendship with Michelle Samani is the most shocking for an obvious reason: She's a lawyer, and I'm a journalist.

And then there's this: Meesh — her nickname — is Jewish, and I'm Muslim.

We're not supposed to get along, if conventional wisdom is to be believed. Yet our friendship is but one small example of thousands, if not millions, showing that people can rise above politics.

I met Meesh, who is Persian, while on an assignment covering the first Iranian-American Women's Leadership Conference in Irvine. We were seated at the same table.

Meesh and I were soon ignoring everyone else and talking about celebrated Egyptian singer Um Kalthoom, our faiths, cultures, jobs, families and how much we have in common.

We kept in touch through Facebook and began hanging out soon after. We went to Persian concerts, an event that featured true stories and experiences of Muslims and Jews, and to the second Iranian women's leadership conference, among many other outings, some just as simple as meeting up for dinner.

Of all my girlfriends, I can safely say that Meesh has become my closest. We have similarly assertive personalities and attitudes.

We take our careers seriously and want the same things in life: to make a difference in our society, to get married to good, principled and faithful men, and to raise children to the best of our abilities.

Meesh is even helping me learn Farsi, which is very close to Arabic, and it's a language I have always wanted to learn.

And while we might differ theologically in some minor areas, we choose to celebrate our commonalities — praying to one God, fasting to purify our souls, being kind and tolerant, contributing positively to our society, acting ethically and justly, and respecting those with religious beliefs other than ours, or none at all.

These are just some of the many values and principles Muslims and Jews share. Our faiths have never stopped us from living peacefully side by side. It is politics — the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, which is a fairly recent one — that has created this perception.

You might think that Meesh and I are exceptions, but friendships like ours all over the world disprove the myth that Jews and Muslims don't get along.

In fact, the prophet Muhammad befriended many Jews and even married a Jewish woman, Safiyya (Sofia in English).

According to Mohammed Ibn Faqih, imam and religious director of the Islamic Institute of Orange County, the prophet also died in debt to a Jewish merchant.

During one transaction, the prophet wanted to purchase a sack of grain, but didn't have enough money, so he pawned his armor to the man.

"He gave him something that has much more value than he took, so in case he fails in paying him back the money, he has the armor as security," Faqih said.

The prophet died before getting his armor out of pawn. His family repaid the man and took back the armor.

I too expect to die indebted to a Jew — my friend Meesh — for a great and enriching friendship.

MONA SHADIA is a reporter for the Huntington Beach Independent. An Egyptian American, she was born and raised in Cairo and now lives in Orange County. Her column includes various questions and issues facing Muslims in America. Follow her on Twitter @MonaShadia.