What It Means to be Muslim
The True Test of Faith
"The strange thing is that they are being bombed, and their faith is as firm as mountains. And as we sleep in our homes, our faith is shaken."
Maria Guardiola, Pep's daughter, on Instagram.
I had no idea who Maria or Pep Guardiola were until I read this quote and googled them. For the purposes of this piece, all you really need to know is that they are rich, beautiful, influential, and have everything that you would want in life, if what you care about most resides on this earth.
At the polar opposite are the people in Palestine, who at this moment have nothing that anyone wants on this earth. I am certain there is not a living soul who would want to trade places with the people in Palestine right now. Unless, of course, you believe in something much greater, and which resides beyond this earth. Unless you have whatever it is that gives them that faith as firm as mountains.
The first time that I was similarly impressed by a person of the Islamic faith was when I was a first-year MBA student at Cornell University, surrounded by people who would have adored and idolized Maria and Pep, myself included. I have previously written about my internal compass that at one time pointed me to the pursuit of wealth and privilege. If Instagram had existed back then (and Maria too), I would have been one of her 858K followers.
Yet at Cornell, despite all the Ivy League comforts and business school bustle, I experienced a type of loneliness and emptiness that no promises of wealth, prestige, or material comfort could quell. I found myself lost and without anchor. I began to search for meaning and purpose in earnest. Was this all there was? There had to be more to life than the pursuit of money, status, and privilege.
One of my fellow classmates was a Muslim who prayed five times a day. It was an act of devotion that was simply unfathomable to me. Why in the world would anyone do that? What would make someone even want to do that? Faith. Was that what was missing from my life?
I knew absolutely nothing about Islam; nothing good anyway. At the time, Islam was more of an anomaly than a threat. The post-9/11 multi-billion-dollar Islamophobia industry had not yet been born. But this prayer thing was intriguing enough that it made me go check out a book from the library: The Religion of Islam, by Maulana Muhammad Ali. And thus began my journey.
Two-and-a-half years later, I would make the decision to convert to Islam. I traded my old stupid materialistic egocentric compass for something beautiful, something clean, something that stood for something good and bigger than myself - a moral compass that pointed to a greater meaning and purpose than grabbing what you can in this life.
Trading out one compass for another, especially a new one that is so weighty and consequential, was hardly an easy swap-out. There was a lot involved, more than there is space to write in one piece here. Suffice it to say, it required a lot of time, self-reflection, due-diligence, and most importantly, rekindling a connection with God. It was so hard at so many levels. And incredibly lonely. But now, 29 years later, I can honestly say it was the greatest thing ever.
At its heart and essence, I would describe my conversion experience as a reconnection with a truth you have always known, like coming home to a place where you feel safe, seen, loved, and challenged to become your best self. Like coming home to the Mother of all mothers. To a home where you know that light, goodness, truth, and justice will always prevail over darkness, evil, lies, and injustice. To an understanding that there is more to come after this life, where no injustice will be left unaddressed and where Truth, Mercy, and Virtue reign supreme. To certainty that what you do matters. And that you matter. A lot. It is a promise that only God can make, and that you know you can trust. This is the stuff that faith “as firm as mountains” is built upon.
There are a million reasons why people are Muslim today, but I made the active choice to become Muslim. I am what is known as a “book conversion.” I came to the faith largely through books and knowledge. I didn’t know many Muslims. I had never stepped foot in a mosque before I converted. But my engagement began with a message so powerful and intuitive that I knew it had to be the truth.
Perhaps not unlike those struggling with addiction who are confronted with the choice of Sobriety or Death, for me, when I hit my “rock bottom,” the choice was Truth or Lies. My life had become about lies, superficialities, and public appearances. Imposter syndrome to the outside world, but more importantly, imposter syndrome to myself. My search for truth became my means for survival.
Each human being has their own individual journey and challenges. Mine had to do with with my logical brain (“It’s gotta make sense for me to believe it”), my sense of identity (“How could I possibly be Muslim?”), and answering my ceaseless questions (at that stage, I only had books and God to ask. I asked both).
Somehow, God made sure all of my issues were addressed in a very personalized way. If I tried to explain how, no one would get it. But God knew I would get it - and I did.
About a year after I converted, God introduced me to Superman (a.k.a. my husband) because I had SO many questions and God knew that he was the only one with the knowledge - and the patience - to answer them to my satisfaction. (Full disclosure: in our first year of marriage, Superman imposed a daily question quota on me. To be fair, it was necessary or he would never have finished his PhD dissertation).
Like being married to a rabbi or a pastor, being married to an Islamic jurist gave me an Islam full of intellectual depth and richness unknown to many. My entire experience has been a gift to me from God - a gift of understanding so I could give back. In the last three decades, Superman and I have dedicated our lives to teaching beautiful, ethical, and elevated Islam, often to very small audiences.
At a personal level, Islam took me from darkness to light. It liberated me. Enlightened me. It lit my fire and gave me confidence I had never known. God has been the Mother of all mothers to me, in every sense that one can imagine. And it is true that God is my secret superpower.
At our non-profit education institute, I share stories, teach knowledge, and try to tell people that Islam is amazing. We hold classes and public events, we publish books, and we are known for our no-holds barred, speak-truth-to-power weekly live-streamed khutbahs (sermons). But nothing we have ever done could compare to what people are learning now by watching the Muslims in Palestine.
I try to imagine all the suffering in Palestine at this moment as Israel mercilessly rains bombs on countless innocent civilians, animals, and all of God’s creation. At the time of this writing, the death count is upwards of 15,000, not including those under the rubble. It is the definition of darkness. A textbook genocide and ethnic cleansing.
Yet amidst this darkness, there is also undeniable light. We witness the sheer fortitude, kindness, generosity, and love among the Palestinian people1 who know that any moment could be their last on earth. They have absolutely nothing but their unshakeable trust in God. They persevere. They take care of one another. They set an unmatched example of bravery, love, and humanism for all the world to see. They are the true Muslims, making the rest of us wonder if we could ever live up under the same circumstances.
My friend
in her Substack essay, “Trading Places with a mother in Gaza,” shares an incredible voice note from a Muslim mother in Gaza, worried about us and meant to reassure and comfort us, those of us who watch helplessly from afar the absolute devastation captured in videos posted to social media.I weep every time I listen to it. This is what faith “as firm as mountains” sounds like.2
So many lessons to be learned. May God elevate and honor the people of Palestine, and may we all be so blessed to achieve even a small measure of that kind of faith.
And also their love and care for others. See this CNN interview with a nurse from Doctors Without Borders testifying to her experience in Gaza and her love and admiration for the Palestinians who took care of her and her team:
Explanatory note: “Allah” is simply the Arabic word for God. Christians in Arabic-speaking countries also use the word “Allah” to refer to God. Muslims believe that there is only One God, the same God of the Jews and Christians. Find the Muslim mother’s voice note in the middle of Sadia’s piece here.