Each one of us has bits and pieces of his life’s memories, the dreams of early childhood, all the character-shaping factors. Yes, I remember every moment; I almost remember the moment I was born. This moment is stuck in my memory since my mother told me all about it. It was a Wednesday in 1971. I was the first-born baby girl to my parents. I was the first joy, the first baby crying at our home.
I am the eldest of four sisters. Our financial status was average, like that of any ordinary family. I studied in public schools. My father did his best to provide for our needs. His dream was to give us a good education, especially me. We were all girls, so my dad wished to have a son. He spared no effort to let us have a good share of education and provide us with all our needs. As far as religion is concerned, we were raised with moral values and religious commitment.
My father is a true Muslim. Having been raised in the countryside, my father was keen to maintain all religious rituals and traditions. As for my mom, she was less conservative than my dad. She prayed every now and then. I remember that she always had many arguments with Dad concerning that. He wanted both of them to be a good example for us to follow in all religious matters. I remember that my dad used to get up early for the dawn prayer at a mosque in the vicinity. Sometimes I would wake up to the voice of the ‘azzan’ (call to prayer). I was amazed by my father’s persistence to pray the five obligatory prayers on time at the mosque. Nothing prevented him from doing that, not the cold of winter, the heat of summer, not even during his sickness.
I asked him once, “Why don’t you pray at home in the cold weather?” He replied that the more he would go out to the mosque in such bad weather, the more God would reward him with great compensation. My dad was really faithful to Islam, a conservative, which he still is.
When I was seven years old, my dad encouraged me to fast the whole month of Ramadan (Ramadan is one of the Islamic calendar months that all Muslim are obliged to fast). And then he told me one of the Hadiths (Prophet’s tradition), “Teach them till the age of seven, and beat them till the age of ten.”
I used to feel hungry during the long day of fasting, especially at that age, but I was faithful and patient till the end of the day. I managed to fast the whole month. My dad was very happy and announced the news to all our family members. He was very proud of my religious commitment.
I was very happy knowing that God would reward me according to His promise. But my great joy was to achieve this difficult task. Till the age of twelve I did not pray regularly, and Dad always argued with us about this matter. Discipline in both study and prayer were the most important topics that pushed us into many arguments and tongue-lashings in all our life at home.
Dad had a way to punish us that I strongly rejected. If one of us didn’t pray for any other reason than the legal reasons, he would refuse to eat with us at the same table according to the Prophet’s tradition. I wondered how could the Prophet teach principles likely to cause family dissentions. What kind of a commitment was Dad expecting to come out of such a punishment?
We grew up with the idea that Christians were infidels and polytheists, not worthy of our friendship or companionship. There was one exception to that rule. One of my dad’s friends was a Christian named Fawzy. Dad had known him since his childhood, and they had a close relationship. When he, his wife and their son used to come to visit us in our joyful occasions and feasts, I was always amazed as, after they left, my dad would say: “Oh, Fawzy, it’s a big waste for you to be a Christian. I wish you were a Muslim!”
When I was thirteen, I joined the prep school. On the first day of school all students usually run and fight to get the best seats in class. A girl called Marcella sat beside me. Her name was not familiar to my ears. It was a very new adventure for me. I had to deal with that infidel Christian who sat with me at the same desk for the whole year. Soon I got to know her more and I found myself being fascinated by her. I still remember the innocent beaming of her face. Until now I still remember her tenderness as if it were yesterday, and not many years ago.
I remember she asked me once what kind of sandwiches I had for lunch. I told her that I had a Roman cheese sandwich. Marcella said she had a ham sandwich and suggested we swap sandwiches. I was upset by her suggestion and said to her, “Muslims do not eat pork, it is forbidden in Islam.” So she asked me why. I told her God was protecting us from this meat that was not good for our health. She looked at me, her eyes wandering and resorted to silence. I wondered, if my answer was true and logical why did eating pork not affect all these Christians year by year? I found no answer and I didn’t bother myself searching for one; soon I forgot the whole thing.
The first year of school passed, and our simple and lovely friendship grew. The following year at school, one day Marcella was looking for something in her bag. She put all her books on the table. I picked up her Holy Book (the Holy Bible). I was very curious like never before. My curiosity increased day by day . After that I asked her if I could have a look at her Holy Book. I started to scan the Book. My eyes fell on the words, “Jesus of Nazareth went around doing good.” I asked her who Jesus was. Was He a person? It was the first time I heard His name.
Marcella answered me that He was the Christ. I closed the Book and handed it to her. This phrase stuck in my mind and I had a burning desire to understand it. “A person going around doing good”-- what a wonderful person--to be devoted to doing good! I went home with a deep longing to get a Bible to know more about that person. With a great innocence, I asked my father to get me a Bible and I told him what happened. And you can never imagine what happened! A tremendous outburst of anger erupted at our home. My father made my face black and blue, while repeating two sentences over and over: “Christians are infidels… the Bible is corrupted.” I cried, regretting what I did and repented. However, before long, the same desire came back. I asked Marcella to tell me about Jesus. She told me that He loved everyone and did miracles to help people.
One day, I attended our Islamic religion class. The teacher was a young man with the sign of prayer on his forehead. I had a desire to ask a question I had in mind for a long time. I hesitated to ask because I knew it is forbidden to ask such a question, but I could no longer hold it. Finally I got up my courage and said, “Teacher, can I ask a question? But I mean… may God forgive me.” My tongue was released and I managed to utter the question: “Would it not be more reasonable if the Prophet Mohammed would have helped all the women in their difficult circumstances without marrying them? Would it not be more reasonable if he helped them without marriage being a condition? Would it not be more reasonable if he were not a polygamist?”
The answer was a slap on my face and the word “infidel!” It was the first time I got beaten at school. I felt that I was greatly insulted. I went to the school headmistress to complain and I told her what happened. I told her that I had all the right to ask. It was a common sense question. It was his duty as a religion teacher to answer me. I wondered why he accused me of being infidel. The headmistress was very fanatic. She always rebuked us for not wearing the veil, but she was very wise. She told me that if the Prophet had had relationships with them to only help them, he would have caused them a lot of trouble and exposed them to rumors and suspicions. I nodded, but I was not really convinced. Her answer did not make amends for my insult. It was useless, so I repented again and decided not to pay attention to this matter any more.
My father used to push us to pray consistently, so I decided to commit myself to pray. I realized that discussion and thinking were useless, so I decided to keep the five daily prayers as a duty in order to avoid my father’s curses. I felt coerced. In my first prostration, I asked God to help me finish the last prostration and get over with such a chore. I was not thinking of God, and my prayer did not bring any change in my character. My attitude towards Christians was still hostile, a result of the way we were brought up. Marcella was the only Christian exposure I had. I even avoided passing by the church near our home.
At home, things remained the same for a couple of years or so. Clashes and disputes went from bad to worse between my parents until they did what was likely to change the course of their lives. It was ‘the least recommended of the legitimate’ as they said -- to get separated.
I started to get a new role in my family. I was 16 when, in place of my dad, I had the responsibility as head of the family, caring for my four sisters. I had to focus on three things, namely to get high grades at school, to be a good mother to my sisters and to assume my father’s responsibilities.
I did not allow myself to think of anything else. I finished my preparatory school with high grades. My old dream was to pursue my university education. But, for financial reasons and in order for me to be able to care for my family, my father did not allow me to go to high school.. I started to feel that everything was against me. That feeling was one of rejection and rebellion. But there was no way out of this bad situation. Each year brought more grief, sorrow, and brokenness. I had nowhere to go!
This time I took refuge in God. After all, I had no other choice but to seek God.. I was so weak, so honest and in a dire need of Him. I committed myself to pray and fast, and to follow all of the Islamic ordinances. I started to wear the veil. After I finished each prayer, I used to call upon God and talk to Him a lot, but I felt that my prayers and supplications would hit the ceiling and come back to me with neither an answer nor help or even a hope.
I always felt that God was far away from me, “as far as the East from the West.” After I finished my education, I stayed more than two years at home. I was bored to death of such a routine life, so I started to look for job. It came to my knowledge that a law office had a vacancy for a secretary.
The owner of this law office was a Christian. I was certain that my father would refuse such an idea, but I had to tell him. He categorically refused. When I persisted, finally my dad agreed. Working at a business owned by a Christian, my curiosity for the Christian religion started to arise.
I started with a question to my boss about a picture of the Virgin Mary on the wall behind him: “From where did they get it? Why did they say that Jesus was God while He was born of an ordinary woman, even if His birth was miraculous?” I hardly finished my question, when his anger flared and he said to me in a firm way, “Here there are no questions about religion. It is enough what is going on in the country nowadays.” He meant the awful terrorist attacks that happened in 1991.
So, the fear of that lawyer and his ignorance of his religion forbade him from getting involved in any discussion about religion. Ignorance and fear are more than enough to hide the most awesome beauty. So, I decided to learn more about Christianity, this time from some Christian books in the library of our office. I started to read about the crucifixion, trinity, and the Son of God and His love. I was fascinated by the great love story that appeared clearly with the cross and salvation. I found it to be logical to the mind and satisfactory to the soul. I had an apprehension about getting involved in such readings, so I stopped reading. I asked the help of an Islamic theologian in order to answer all my questions and to help me stop my attraction to Christ.
I went to the sheik of the mosque near my home and told him about my little satisfaction and my great fear. He gave me the instant solution to the disease of searching for knowledge and gave me a recipe that was comprised of three steps I had to follow strictly:
First step: to stop reading about this religion and leave my work,
Second step: to repent, pray and fast three days; and
Third step: to keep on reading the Holy Qur’an everyday.
In fact, I did what the sheik requested except for one item, which was to leave my work. I was afraid that my dad would not allow me to work again. I began to discover something that increased my doubts and worries. When I started reading the Holy Qur’an regularly, I found no healing of my disease. A woman, according to the Qur’an, lacks the insight and the religious commitment, so the inheritance of a man is twice that of a woman!!
Before court, the witness of two women is equal to that of one man (considering that women are less intelligent). So not one of us women could be a doctor, researcher, judge, philosopher, or even a wise person!!!
The majority of people condemned in hell will be women!! Moreover, lots of them will serve as hell’s firewood. Just imagine--we women were created just to please men and eventually we will end up being the firewood of hell or nymphs of Jannah (beautiful women to please men in heaven.)
A woman in Islam should not leave her house except for one of three reasons: to move to her husband’s house, to perform the Hajj, or to be buried. I was tired of all the Qur’anic verses that talked about fights in Islam and the seas of blood that were still being shed in the name of religion. Try to imagine that after twenty-one years of strongly believing in something, it turns up to be false. It was the most difficult time I have ever had. How can someone who used to take refuge in God, all of the sudden live without a refuge and without God?
After a month of sleepless nights, of weeping and crying, and of waiting upon the true God to descend from heaven to earth to answer me, I got tired of thinking. I then went back to read the Qur’an, which left me more bewildered and confused. So, I decided to read the Holy Bible that I may find the truth.
But people said that the original version of the Holy Bible did not exist any more. What could I do? I had no choice but to read this corrupted version of the Bible that I may find the truth between the lines. So, I started to read the Holy Bible and I discovered Jesus, the name that I had heard about long ago, and the name I had been attracted to. I saw how He healed the sick, freed the captives, forgave the adulterous woman, loved and blessed His enemies. For the first time in my life, I discovered what I had never experienced--the fatherhood heart or the motherhood care--because my parents were separated long ago and I was the eldest daughter.
And now I feel that Jesus is my father and mother. I have felt Him hugging me, holding me in His arms like a baby. He took away all my heavy loads that burdened my back. For the first time in my life, I felt that I am a real woman – a real person, really beloved; not a commodity to please men, but created after the image of God. I cried like someone who had been rescued from hell or death. On that day I said to Jesus, “Jesus, You are my God and my Savior. You are my father and my mother; You are everything to me in life.”
From that time on, I turned over a new leaf, full of events, miracles, and persecution, but we will talk about that later.
Yours,
Leila
This is an extract from : http://www.muslimjourneytohope.com/documents/The_children_of_ishmael_English.doc
