This morning I listened to Nadiah Mohajir’s speech after being honored and receiving the El-Hibri Community Builder Award. I loved how Nadiah used a Prophetic story I grew up hearing — the story of Revelation in the Cave of Hira — and flipped my understanding of the role of Khadija (RA), the Prophet (pbuh) wife, in holding space; how Nadiah addressed the role of fear, terror, and a fear of disbelief the Prophet (pbuh) was experiencing; and how a call to compassion (RAHMA) was at the root of her storytelling.
I am beginning the process of starting my dissertation this year. I am not sure where the time went and have missed writing here and feel sad that I haven’t always captured or capitalized on my strengths the last few years. I have been thinking about stories, thinking about narrative, and feeling through the discomfort of owning and embracing my voice. For a long time, I conflated being different with being “bad,” I internalized the “othering” I experienced growing up as a deficit in myself. Last week in clinical supervision, my supervisor reflected back a sentiment I believe I have been stuck on since my 2nd year; that I can only be considered competent if I am “perfect”. This false belief, or the narrative that I must be “perfect” to be accepted or taken seriously (academically, socially, spiritually) is a narrative I’ve held on to for a long time and am now considering changing. I know it won’t happen over night, but it has been liberating to think that even if I am uncertain about my skills or ability, there are others who see me and want to see me embrace my power, my strengths, my unique voice. One of those strengths in both the academic and non-academic space for me is writing.
Following Nadiah’s path, I want to share two stories about wives of the Prophet (phuh) in the Islamic tradition I am re-examining from a gender and therapeutic lens. First, is the story of Aisha (RA). The story of Aisha (RA) I’ve been reflecting on is the story of her slander. The story is summarized here — http://www.iqrasense.com/islamic-history/the-slander-against-ayesha-ra-mother-of-the-believers-and-her-vindication-by-allah.html
While I agree with some of the “lessons learned” cited in the article, what comes to mind is also the anger, disappointment, and silence from Aisha (RA) and her family. And the Prophet’s neutrality towards the character assassination of Aisha. The story mentions the wisdom of Aisha (RA) reporting — You have all heard something about me and believed it. Now if I say that I am innocent — and Allah is my witness that I am innocent — you will not believe me; and if I confess something which I never did — and Allah knows that I never did it — you will believe me. I cannot but repeat the words which the father of Prophet Yousuf (Joseph) had spoken: ‘fa-sabrun jamil’: I will bear this patiently with good grace.
Allah (swt) intercedes for Aisha, revealing scripture which vindicates the situation. They say:
Verily those who brought forth the slander (against ‘Aishah) are a group among you. Consider it not a bad thing for you. Nay, it is good for you. Unto every man among them will be paid that which he had earned of the sin, and as for him among them who had the greater share therein, his will be a great torment. (11). Why then, did not the believers, men and women, when you heard it (the slander), think good of their own people and say: “This (charge) is an obvious lie ?” (12)
I think this line of scripture and the context behind the story speaks to the ways in which even in the Prophet’s time — women. were. not. believed. As a woman I find it hard to believe Aisha (RA) did not feel anger and disappointment in this time. While she trusted in her Lord, it was NOT her husband, it was NOT her parents, and it was NOT her friends which came to redeem her character. it WAS her Lord, the all-hearing, all-seeing, merciful. In some ways I find this extremely heartbreaking. On the other hand, it only strengthens my belief that as a woman one of the most important relationships I have is with God, not other people.
I wonder how the Prophet (pbuh) and Aisha (RA) worked through this rupture in their relationship. I wonder if she expressed her anger towards him, if he apologized for assuming and changing his behavior towards her after he heard the story, if he felt badly about not being more direct with her around the gossip he heard. Allahu Alim.
The other childhood story that I’ve been thinking about is the Prophet’s love for Khadija (RA). Khadija (RA) was his first wife, as Nadiah eloquently described — she was there for him when no one else was and held space for him after a terrifying experience. The reason I loved hearing about Khadija growing up was because (1) I was told she was a businesswoman, (2) professionally successful before the Prophet (saw) married her, (3) that she was older than the Prophet (saw), (4) and that she pursued him. This narrative around success and relationships was VERY affirming for me as a child. I naively wondered why there was a stigma around older (or taller, or wealthier women) being partnered with individuals who were younger (or shorter, or did not make as much). I know now the answer is #patriarchy and #fragilemaleegos but as a child I was in awe of this history. As a young female professional, it is a tradition I wish we elevated more.
Another part of their relationship I used to find heartwarming were stories that the Prophet Muhammed (pbuh) out of deep, deep love for his first wife Khadija, would send gifts to her loved ones and family even after she passed away. He often spoke about her with a fondness that at times created a sense of jealousy between his other wives. Reflecting on this part of the story is particularly salient for me as a someone in her late 20s, some who is now beginning to experience and identify jealousy in my life, and someone who still cares deeply for people who are no longer in my life.
I like thinking about the Prophet (pbuh) as a man, expressing his love and compassion and continued care with his actions, and continued grief around his relationship with Khadija, as a way for Muslim men to model the same kind of vulnerability. I like thinking that he is modeling how to love someone even after they have left our lives and recognizing, honoring, and appreciating those who supported us in our time of need. I also like thinking his example could model how our tradition supports both Muslim men and women to remarry after the death of a beloved spouse.
Often times anger is an emotion which covers up sadness. It is an emotion we believe men have the right to express but silence and reprimand women for experiencing the same kind of emotion. I wonder if the Prophet (saws) grief for Khadija ever manifested as anger. I wonder if the anger of Aisha (RA) was seen and heard by her Lord, and scripture was the divine way to intercede and validate this anger. I wonder if Muslim mental health professionals and imams and spiritual leaders will consider digging deeper into our Prophet tradition to examine the ways in which values of compassion, mercy, ACTION, and divine trust can be integrated into conversations of infidelity, abortion, divorce, break-ups, and betrayal.
These two stories and Nadiah’s speech made me think about the richness of our tradition and power in the Prophet tradition of holding space. What stories about yourself and your faith do you continue to hold on to? For better or for worse? What Prophetic stories do you want to hear more about? What stories need to be rewritten for everyone in our tradition to feel seen/heard?
