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Journey to the Holy Land: Reflections on Palestine | Part 3 of 4




By Zainab Chaudry

To travel to the Palestinian city of Hebron is to glimpse the grit, resilience and tenacity of the human spirit under extreme duress. 

Located about twenty miles south of Jerusalem, it is the largest city in the occupied West Bank and the second largest Palestinian city after Gaza.

It is home to Masjid Ibrahimi – a centuries-old mosque constructed above the tombs of four of the most beloved Prophets in Islam: Ibrahim (Abraham), Ishaq (Isaac), Yaqub (Jacob), and Yusuf (Joseph). 

Recognized by Jews as the Cave of the Patriarchs, a growing presence of Zionist settlers in the area has escalated tensions to boiling point. During Ramadan in February 1994, in one of the worst terrorist attacks in the city, an American-Israeli settler named Baruch Goldstein entered the mosque during the morning prayer service and opened fire, murdering 24 worshippers and wounding dozens of others.


In the aftermath of the massacre, the Israeli government seized control of the city, set up multiple checkpoints, and divided the mosque – restricting Muslims to 40 percent of the space, and allocating 60 percent exclusively for Jews.

One survivor of the massacre, Hosni Rajeba described it as the Israeli government “rewarding the murderers.”  

He and others still struggle with the psychological trauma – reliving it every time settlers harass them, or when Israeli soldiers unjustly bar entry at whim. 

The day we visit Hebron coincides with the 12th of Rabi’ al-Awwal on the Islamic calendar – a day many Muslims observe as Mawlid, the date of birth of the beloved Prophet Muhammad. 

Our guide announces that since it’s a special religious occasion, both the “Muslim” and “Jewish” sides of Masjid Ibrahimi will be open to us to visit.

Everyone is excited at the prospect of praying at the mosque constructed at the gravesite of the Prophet known as the “Friend of God” for his devotion to Him.

But entering into Hebron, our enthusiasm diminishes at the sight of a large, ominous sign declaring the entrance illegal for Israeli citizens, and warning visitors it is “dangerous to their lives.”

The messaging scapegoats the oppressed as the oppressor, deliberately disregarding the existential threat Israeli settlers pose to Palestinians. 

In some ways, its reminiscent of World War II-era signs in the United States that once read “Japs Keep Moving, This is a White Man’s Neighborhood.” 

Although those signs targeted immigrants, they were also used to alienate and marginalize an oppressed minority community. 

We drive by Palestinian homes cloaked in netting to shield them from garbage thrown by settlers. 

Many doors and windows have been welded shut by Israeli soldiers, so families that have not abandoned their property have to enter and exit through the roof. 

Our bus driver pulls in to a parking lot that once used to be crowded with tour buses. On this day, it is vacant.

Boys as young as 3 and 4 nimbly race down the slope and eagerly gather around to sell colorful trinkets, postcards, chewing gum.

Tourists are good for business, but too few and far between. I quickly discover that my willpower and wallet are no match for their vending skills. 

After making our purchases, we make our way to Shuhada Road – the sealed-off street that is named after the martyrs murdered in the 1994 massacre.

Even in broad daylight, it is bleak and desolate – resembling a ghost town, except for the handful of Palestinian children defiantly playing in the streets under the hawkish glare of Israeli soldiers nearby. 

It wasn’t always this way. 

Hebron was once a thriving city, home to many shops and businesses that have long been forced to shut down – effectively choking off the source of income for many families.

Now, the H2 area around the mosque is a closed military zone with Israeli guards stationed every 100 meters. 

Zionist forces impose strict curfews, restrict prayers at whim, and randomly body search residents including women.  

At the base of the hill leading up to the mosque, soldiers scrutinize our tour group – demanding to see passports, interrogating us on the purpose of our visit.    

Curbing my anger at this intrusive, unjustified questioning, I break from the group and move to continue to walk. 

A soldier steps forward and blocks my path, his hand resting on the rifle at his side. 

He appears to be about 25 years old. His standard-issue military helmet casts shadows over most of his face but does not conceal the steely glint in his eyes. 

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to come face-to-face this way with an Israeli soldier. To discern any sign of regret or conscience in their demeanor. 

To demand to know why loyalty to state mandates oppressing God’s people, and what part of their faith permits them to lie, harass, steal and commit crimes against humanity.

As our unwavering gazes meet, I feel curious, as one would when meeting a distant relative – or a cousin – for the first time. 

I also feel repulsed, as one would when confronting an instigator or bully who preys on the powerless. 

I can’t forget that is among the soldiers who routinely fire sound grenades and tear gas canisters to terrorize Palestinian youth struggling for liberation. 

He knows I – an American tourist – pose no threat. 

And yet, I am absolutely certain that if I do not stop, he would not hesitate to draw the trigger and kill me in an instant.  

In my privilege, that imposed restriction on my movement under threat of violence is not something I have experienced often.

But experiencing it even once is enough for the memory to remain with you for a lifetime.

The Prophet Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) was willing to sacrifice his most beloved to show his love and dedication to God. In fact, one of the two major Islamic holidays commemorates this abiding devotion. 

In the mere seconds that have passed, I wonder what I will be required to sacrifice to offer prayers in this sanctuary situated at his gravesite, with my dignity intact. 

Our tour guide intervenes- speaks with the soldiers, and our group is granted permission to pass. I think of countless others who are never admitted simply because they are Palestinian, and I feel no relief.  

The “Muslim” entrance to the mosque sits atop an incline, far less accessible than the “Jewish” entrance. An elderly uncle’s labored breathing upon exertion worries me.  

A group of Palestinian boys observes our ascent from a stone wall topped with iron bars flanking the hill.

The word “hope” is scrawled on the wall in large, black letters – a desperately needed beacon that attempts to illuminate a dark and dismal reality.  

As we enter the mosque, the fist of anger clutching my gut slowly unclenches at the sight of the cenotaph, or grave marker, of Prophet Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him).

It is richly decorated; its green tapestries embroidered with gold inscriptions. 

Words and pictures cannot adequately describe the experience of being in this sacred place. Of the serenity that encompasses the heart.

The opportunity to stand in this space is all the more meaningful for the obstacles and harassment that must be endured to arrive here. 

I offer my prayers, mindful of the Israeli cameras perched in every corner – an unwelcome intruder monitoring every movement, capturing every sound. 

seated at concealed monitors are reviewing the footage; they surveil our mosques not even barely comprehending the love and devotion that will continuously draw us here.

Despite the religious significance of the day, the Jewish side is not open for us to visit as we’d been told it would be. 

We learn that it’s common for the occupying forces to renege on granting full mosque access on Islamic holidays. 

One of our group members remarks how he’s “grateful we’re even allowed to enter” at all. His ingratiating comment doesn’t sit well with me. 

I feel a mixture of emotions while visiting one of the holiest Islamic sites in the world under these circumstances. 

“Gratitude” for “permission” from Israeli soldiers to enter it is not one of them.  

As we exit, I’m approached by a Palestinian vendor, Qasim*, who invites me to buy prayer beads. He is about 20 years old, a native of Hebron who speaks almost perfect English. 

Before settlers arrived, Qasim and his friends went to school every day. 

Those schools are now boarded up too. This helps explain why children are playing in the streets in the late morning hours. 

I want to know his story. I ask him if he could go to school, what would he study?

Matter of factly, he replies he wants to be a lawyer. He wants to work for justice because without justice there will never be peace.

I wonder if he’s read Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s quote: “True peace is not merely the absence of tension; it is the presence of justice.”

Wanting to hear his logic, I gesture around us, ask what compels him to stay when he has slim hopes of fulfilling his dream here. 

He shrugs. “Education is important. But if I leave, I won’t have a home to return to.” He points up Shuhada Road in the direction of Masjid Ibrahimi. “If we all leave, Muslims will lose our holy mosques.”

His story shakes me as reality hits home. Many of these youth have passed up opportunities for a better life in order to protect our Ummah’s legacy.

The painful irony is that in protecting their homes and these blessed holy sites from centuries past, they have been forced to sacrifice their own futures.

I ask him if he has a message for brothers and sisters in the United States.

He hesitates as if searching for the words. “I invite you to visit us, pray here. This belongs to you too.” Palestine belongs to all of us.

The machine guns and rifles Israeli soldiers carry are far more deadly than the rocks Palestinian children throw in acts of resistance.

But they are not more powerful than the willpower and courage these youth have in their hearts. 

One day, humankind will learn you cannot destroy a people’s dreams with guns and grenades. 

You cannot end their thirst for freedom and liberation with rockets and bullets. 

Qasim’s generation has only known life under occupation. They deserve access to resources and education. They represent our hope for the future. 

He didn’t choose to be born into his circumstances. But he deserves the opportunity to change them. 

We owe youth like him our gratitude and respect. We are indebted to them for the sacrifices they are making. 

Go visit the children of Hebron. Go tell them that the world has not turned its back on them. 

We are with them. We will uplift them. We will never stop advocating for their right to self-determination. 

To The Holy Land: Crossing The Border | Part 1 of 4


To The Holy Land: Jericho | Part 2 of 4


Zainab Chaudry sits on the Maryland State Advisory Committee to the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights and is the Director of Maryland Outreach at CAIR. She writes about her trip in her personal capacity.

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    January 13, 2019 at 11:32 PM

    Thanks for this article. Had a pleasant dream where I am in this masjid near Sayyidina Ibrahim because of this read. Allah bless you.


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Why I Turned to Tech to Catch Laylatul Qadr

Make sure you maximize your sadaqah





By Ismael Abdela

My life, just like yours, is sooo busy. So naturally, as the tech nerd I am, I turn to tech to help me manage my regular routine including project management apps to manage my daily tasks. I even have a sleeping app that wakes me up at the optimum time (whatever that means!). But even though tech has changed everything in all sectors and helped make efficiencies in my daily life, it had had little impact on my religious activities.

A few years ago, whilst I was preparing for the last 10 nights of Ramadan, it hit me – why doesn’t something exist that automates my donations during these blessed nights to catch Laylatul Qadr. Rather than putting a reminder on my phone to bring out my bank card every night and inputting it into a website – why doesn’t something exist that does it for me, solving the problem of me forgetting to donate. After all we are human and it’s interesting that the Arabic word for human being is ‘insan’ which is derived from the word ‘nasiya’ which means ‘to forget.’ It is human nature to forget.

So the techie in me came out and I built the first scrappy version of MyTenNights, a platform to automate donations in the last 10 nights of Ramadan (took two weeks) because I wanted to use it myself! I thought it would be cool and my friends and family could use it too. That same year, nearly 2000 other people used it – servers crashed, tech broke and I had to get all my friends and Oreo (my cat) to respond to email complaints about our temperamental site!

I quickly realised I wasn’t alone in my need  – everyone wanted a way to never miss Laylatul Qadr! Two years down the line we’ve called it MyTenNights, and our team has grown to 10, including Oreo, senior developers, QA specialists, brand strategists, creative directors and more. It fast became a fierce operation – an operation to help people all over the world catch Laylatul Qadr!

Last year alone we raised almost $2 million in just 10 days – and that was just in the UK. We’ve now opened MyTenNights to our American, Canadian. South African and Australian brothers and sisters and we’re so excited to see how they use it! We’ve made it available through all the biggest house name charities – Islamic Relief, Muslim Aid, Helping Hand, Penny Appeal, you name it! All donations go directly to the charity donors choose – all 100% of it.

Looking back at the last couple of years – it feels surreal: The biggest charities in the world and tens of thousands of users who share my need to be certain they’ve caught Laylatul Qadr. Although I hear many impressed with the sheer amount MyTenNights has raised for charity (and that excites me too!), it’s not what motives me to go on. What excites me most is the growing number of people who catch Laylatul Qadr because we made it easier.

I often tell my team that the number of people that use MyTenNights is the only metric we care about, and the only metric we celebrate. It makes no difference to us whether you donate $1 or a million – we just want you to catch Laylatul Qadr and for you to transform your Akhirah, because (after Allah) we helped you do it.

To catch Laylatul Qadr with MyTenNights, visit their website

Ismael Abdela is a Law & Anthropology graduate from the London School of Economics. He spent some years studying Islamic Sciences in Qaseem, Saudi Arabia. He is now a keen social entrepreneur. Ismael likes to write about spiritual reflections, social commentary, and tafsīr. He is particularly interested in putting religion in conversation with the social sciences.

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How Do Muslims Plan for Disability




Families with children with disability have an extraordinary set of challenges and blessings.  Disability (or special needs) is a broad term.

Many disabilities will prevent what we often think of as “normal.”  It may hinder or prevent educational opportunities, and employment. Many people with “special needs” can get educated, get married and live long and productive lives.  The problem for many parents of younger children with special needs is that they typically have no certainty about their children’s future needs. Even if the situation looks dire, it may not stay that way.  

How do parents plan for a world where they may not be around to see how things will end up for their special needs children?  What can they do to help their children in a way that does not violate Islamic Inheritance rules?

Certain types of disability, especially the loss of executive decision-making ability, could also happen well into adulthood.  This can be a threat to a family’s wealth and be the cause of internal conflicts. This is the kind of thing every adult needs to think about before it happens.  

The Problem

The issues are not just that parents believe their special needs child will need more inheritance than other children. Muslim parents usually don’t think that. Some parents don’t want their special needs child to get any inheritance at all.  Not because of any ill-will against their special needs child; just the opposite, but because they are afraid inheritance will result in sabotaging their child’s needs-based government benefits.    

Many, perhaps most special needs children do not have any use for needs-based benefits (benefits for the poor).  But many do, or many parents might figure that it is a distinct possibility. This article is a brief explanation of some of the options available for parents of special needs children.  It won’t go over every option, but rather those that are usually incorporated as part of any Islamic Estate Planning.

Please Stand By

Example:  Salma has three daughters and two sons.  One of her children, Khalida, 3, has Down Syndrome.  At this point, Salma knows that raising Khalida is going to be an immense challenge for herself, her husband Rashid and all the older siblings.  What she does not know, however, is what specific care Khalida is going to need through her life or how her disability will continue to be relevant. She does not know a lot about Khalida’s future marriage prospects, ability to be employed and be independent, though obviously like any parent she has nothing but positive hopes for her child’s life.   

In the event of her death, Salma wants to make sure her daughter gets her Islamic right to inheritance.  However, if Khalida needs public benefits, Salma does not want her daughter disqualified because she has her own money.

Her solution is something called a “stand-by special needs trust.” This type of trust is done in conjunction with an Islamic Inheritance Plan and is typically part of a living trust, though it could also be a trust drafted into the last will.  I will describe more about what a special needs trust is below. For Salma, she is the Trustee of her trust. After she dies, she names her husband (or someone else) the successor Trustee. The trust is drafted to prevent it from becoming an “available resource” used to determine eligibility for public benefits such as Supplemental Security Income (SSI), Medicaid and other benefits that go with that.

If it turns out that Salma passes away when Khalida is 5, and her assets are held in trust for her until she is 18 and her Trustee determines she does not need a special needs trust, she will get her inheritance precisely like everyone else based on their Islamic right.  If she does need benefits, the Trustee will only make distributions to Khalida that would not harm her eligibility.

This way, there is no need to deny Khalida her inheritance because of her disability, and she is also making sure giving her daughter inheritance would not harm her daughter’s healthcare or other necessary support.  

Munir Vohra is a special needs advocate and an athlete

The Shape of Special Needs Trusts

A stand-alone Special needs trusts, which is sometimes called a “supplemental needs trust” the kind without the “stand-by” variation I described above, are a standard device for families that have children with special needs. A trust is a property ownership device. A Grantor gives the property to a Trustee, who manages the property for the benefit of a beneficiary. In a revocable living trust, the Grantor, Trustee, and Beneficiary are typically the same person.  

When the trust is irrevocable, the Grantor, Trustee, and Beneficiary may all be different people. In a special needs trust, the person with a disability is the beneficiary. Sometimes, the person with a disability is also the Grantor, the person who created the trust.  This might happen if there is a settlement from a lawsuit for example and the person with special needs wants it to be paid to the trust.  

In many if not most cases, the goal may not be to protect the beneficiary’s ability to get public benefits at all. Many people with a disability don’t get special government benefits.  But they do want to protect the beneficiaries from having to manage the assets. Some people are just more susceptible to abuse.

The structure of the arrangement typically reflects the complexity of the family, the desire of siblings and extended family to continue to be involved in the care and attending to the needs of the person with a disability, even if they are not the person directly writing checks.   

Example: Care for Zayna

Example: Zayna is a 24-year-old woman with limited ability to communicate, take care of her needs and requires 24-hour care.  Zayna has three healthy siblings, many aunts, uncles, and cousins. Her father, Elias, earns about $70,000 per year and is divorced. Zayna’s mother Sameena cannot contribute, as she is on social security disability. However, Zayna’s adult brother and sisters, brother in laws, sister in law and several aunts, uncles want to help Zayna meet her needs E.lyas creates a third party special needs trust that would ensure Zayna has what she needs in the years to come.

Zayna receives need-based public benefits that are vital to her in living with her various disabilities and her struggle to gain increasing independence, knowledge and dignity.  So the trust needs to be set up and professionally administered to make sure that when Zayna gets any benefit from her trust, it does not end up disqualifying her ability to get any needs-based benefit.  

Contributions to the special needs trust will not go against Islamic Inheritance rules unless made after the death of the donor.

If Zayna dies, her assets from the special needs trust will be distributed based on the Islamic rules of inheritance as it applies to her.

When disability planning is not about Public Benefits

Perhaps most families with special needs children do not use any needs-based public assistance.  They are still concerned about special needs and planning for it.

Example:  Khadija, 16, is on the autism spectrum. For those familiar with the autism spectrum, that could mean a lot of things.  For her parents, Sarah and Yacoob, other than certain habits that are harmless and easy to get used to, it means Khadija is very trusting of people. Otherwise, she does well in school, and her parents don’t think she needs way more help than her siblings and she has just as good a chance of leading a healthy and productive life as any 16-year-old girl.  

The downside of being too trusting is that the outside world can exploit her.  If she ends up getting inheritance or gifts, she may lose it. The parents decide that when she gets her inheritance, it will be in a trust that would continue through her life.  There will be a trustee who will make sure she has what she needs from her trust, but that nobody can exploit her.

In some ways, what Khadija’s parents Sarah and Yacoob are doing is not so different from what parents might do if they have a child with a substance abuse problem.  They want to give their child her rights, but they don’t want to allow for exploitation and abuse.

Considering your own needs

There are many people who are easy marks for scammers, yet you would be unlikely to know this unless you are either a close friend or family member, or a scammer yourself.  While this often happens to the elderly, it can happen at just about any age. Everyone should consider developing an “incapacity plan” to preserve their wealth even if they lose their executive decision-making ability.   

There is this process in state courts known as “conservatorship.” Indeed, entire courtrooms dedicate themselves to conservatorships and other mental health-related issues.  It is a legal process that causes an individual to lose their financial or personal freedom because a court has essentially declared them not competent to handle their affairs. Conservatorships are a public process.  They can cause a lot of pain embarrassment and internal family strife.

One of the benefits of a well-drafted living trust is to protect privacy and dignity during difficult times.

Example: Haris Investing in Cambodian Rice Farms

Haris, 63, was eating lunch at a diner.  In the waiting area, he became fast friends with Mellissa; a thirty-something woman who was interested in talking about Haris’s grandchildren.  The conversation then turned Melissa and her desire to start a business selling long distance calling cards. Haris was fascinated by this and thought it made good business sense. Haris gave Mellissa $20,000.00. The two exchanged numbers. The next day, Mellissa’s number was disconnected.

Haris’s wife, Julie became alarmed by this.  It was out of character for her husband to just fork over $20,000 to anyone on the spur of the moment.  What was worse is that the business failed immediately.  

Three months later,  Haris meets Mellissa at the diner again.  She then convinces Haris to invest $50,000 in a Cambodian rice farm, which he does right away.   His wife Julie was pretty upset.

How living trusts helps

As it happened though, Haris, a few years before, created a living trust.  It has a provision that includes incapacity planning. There are two essential parts to this:  The first is a system to decide if someone has lost their executive decision-making ability. The second is to have a successor Trustee to look over the estate when the individual has lost this capacity.  This question is about Haris’s fundamental freedom: his ability to spend his own money.

If you asked Haris, he would say nothing is wrong with him.  He looks and sounds excellent. Tells the best dad jokes. He goes to the gym five times a week and can probably beat you at arm wrestling. Haris made some financial mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes.

Julie, and his adult children Haroon, Kulsum, Abdullah, and Rasheeda are not so sure it’s just a mistake.  The living trust created a “disability panel.” This panel gets to vote, privately, in if Haris should continue to act as Trustee of his own money.  If they vote that he should not manage his own money, his wife does it for him.

The family has a way to decide an important and sensitive issue while maintaining Haris’ dignity, privacy and wealth.   Haris’s friends don’t know anything about long distance calling cards or a Cambodian rice farm; they don’t know he lost his ability to act as Trustee of his trust.  Indeed the rest of the world is oblivious to all of this.

Planning for everyone

Islamic inheritance is fard and every Muslim should endeavor to incorporate it into their lives.  As it happens it is an obligation Muslims, at least those in the United States, routinely ignore or deal with inadequately.  However, there is more to planning than just what shares go to whom after death. Every family needs to create a system. There may or may not be problems with children or even with yourself (other than death, which will happen), but you should do whatever you can to protect your family’s wealth and dignity while also fulfilling your obligations to both yourself and your family.

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Should Spiritual Leaders Who Violate Our Trust Be Forgiven?

Some people want to move past the indiscretions of community leaders quickly as though they never occurred while others wish to permanently blacklist them. This article examines a third option between the two that can be a win-win for the fallen leader, the victims, and the community.




In the past couple of years, a number of simmering scandals among spiritual leaders became public knowledge and the subject of vigorous and often painful public debate.  As someone who has worked in the community dawah space the past 15 years, often acting as a bridge between past and present microcelebrity as well as non-celeb teachers to the community at large, one question I’ve been asked repeatedly – should community leaders who violate our trust be forgiven?  I’m often asked by people who aren’t fanboys / fangirls taken by microcelebrity dawah culture or wearing spiritual blinders for non-celebs, and often don’t even understand what has occurred.  Below I share answers I have heard as well as what I believe is fair and pragmatic in many (not all) situations.

Answer #1:  Yes, We Must Forgive Them

One group of people argue we should completely forgive them. No one is perfect, everyone is human and makes mistakes.  If we assume the mistake was truly made, then we should also forgive them and move on. Our faith is replete with statements about Allah’s Mercy, and if we want His Mercy, surely we should also give it to others. Oftentimes, members who fall into this group don’t actually believe the person in question is at fault and are trying to convince others either on the fence or against the individual to let it go. Of course, there are some who believe the violation occurred and not think it a big deal, while others may think the violation indeed was a big deal, and should still be forgiven. I can agree with some aspects of this, but not completely.

Answer #2:  No, They Should Never Be Forgiven

Another group believes that once a person commits a violation of trust, they are no longer to be trusted again. They should leave their positions and be ostracized from the community permanently. They are to be tarred and feathered and made an example of for life.  Members within this group oftentimes don’t need to wait for evidence to arrive at any conclusion – they were judge, jury, and executioner well before there was a trial.  Not all members are like this, of course – some waited for evidence and then reached their conclusions that the gravity of the charges was too much and therefore the person should never be forgiven.

Answer #3:  It Depends – Forgive Them If They Take Ownership and Make Amends

In my view, the problem with the first group is they don’t often see that the person did anything wrong, or if they did, it’s trivial relative to the khayr, the good and benefit they bring to the community. They keep citing that Allah is forgiving, so we should forgive automatically, but in their haste, they forget that part of the process of making restitution is first sincerely regretting what one has done.

To sincerely regret, one must also move out of denial and into acceptance that they made a mistake. Once one admits failure, they can then ask to be forgiven, and then the aggrieved party is in a position to grant it. The community forgiving and re-integrating a person who refuses to take responsibility for their wrongdoing does neither them, their victims, nor the community any good. We continue to distrust the person and they continue to believe they can get away with whatever they wish because they are “special”. Victims fear community integration, everyone becomes cynical about religion, and the cause of calling people to become better worshippers of Allah is harmed.

On the flip side, the second group is far too extreme in their view of justice. To ostracize that person and leave them no path of return means they have no means to redeem themselves, and de facto their families are casualties who must deal with the fallout of being pushed out of the community. I agree that none of us are perfect, and we all often make egregious mistakes. In my own experience, there are many instances where activists who advocate publicly for better are often involved privately in worse than those they go after.

That being the case, there is no person that can’t be forgiven, and I would say we shouldn’t leave aside this possibility in our dealings with those who fail us just as we expect it when we ourselves fall short, sometimes seriously so. I would add that we would lose the skills and talent of that person – if we believe in allowing people with criminal histories back into the general population and providing them with opportunities to become productive, reformed citizens, I don’t see why we wouldn’t offer the same to our community and religious leaders.

The key I believe is in following a process which includes the following for the individual:

  1. Taking ResponsibilityThey own responsibility for the mistake and acknowledge it was made.  No amount of denial, minimization, and spin will suffice.
  2. Make Restitution:  First and foremost, they apologize and make amends as best they can with the victims.  If the issue went public, then they should apologize to those they were serving as a leader for their mistake as well. This includes handling financial compensation.
  3. Remediating Oneself:  Enroll in counseling, therapy, mentorship, and / or group support programs to help them overcome their issues.
  4. Being Held Accountable:  Work with others on concrete milestones of both behavior and programs that demonstrate their commitment to change.  Be able to show the community that they take reformation seriously and are committed to coming out of their mistake a better person, one who can even advise others of the mistake and how not to repeat it.

As someone who has worked in dawah and supported the ascension of numerous modern-day microcelebrity spiritual scholars and teachers, I and others like me act as a bridge between them and the community.  I do not speak for all of them, certainly, but I know that any leader who tries to re-integrate into the community without taking responsibility will continue to find that many will not support them. Most, in this case, feel a sacred duty to oppose their elephant-in-the-room integration to protect the community at large.

Likewise, I know that many like myself would be willing to overlook and forgive such individuals if they took responsibility for their behavior and demonstrated they were taking concrete steps to make amends for their mistakes.  The month of Ramadan is upon us, and sometimes one just has to rip the band-aid off, go through the process of feeling the pain of scrutiny for owning up, and then moving forward to forgiveness.  I won’t promise it’s easy or that everyone will change, but I can at least say many of us would have an easier time accepting individuals back into the community.

What’s your view on these situations?

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