by Umm Zakiyyah
Seeing the growing darkness beyond the curtains, Aliyah sat up in bed. “I need to pray Maghrib,” she muttered.
“I do too,” he said. “Let’s pray together.”
“Where are the boys?” Aliyah said, realizing the uncharacteristic quiet as she got out of bed.
“They’re with Larry at my house,” Jacob said.
Aliyah frowned as she dragged herself to the bathroom, feeling like a neglectful mother. She wondered if one day Larry would complain about all the childcare he was doing.
“And he doesn’t mind, mashaAllah,” she heard Jacob say just before the bathroom door clicked shut as she closed it.
After completing wudhoo’, Aliyah emerged from the bathroom with face and arms moist from ablution. She felt a flicker of energy as she pulled the one-piece floral garment over her head and found that she was strong enough to stand for prayer. But she still dragged her desk chair to the prayer mat that Jacob had laid out for her. During prayer, as she stood at an angle behind Jacob, Aliyah ended up needing the chair only once.
“How are you feeling?” Jacob asked once they’d finished their adhkaar and recitations after the sunset prayer. They were still sitting on the floor, and Jacob had turned to face her.
“Alhamdulillah,” Aliyah said with a nod, surprised by the strength in her voice.
“You look better, mashaAllah,” he said, offering her a weak smile.
She coughed laughter. “How did I look before?”
He grinned as he met her gaze. “And I see your sense of humor is coming back.”
Aliyah smiled beside herself. “I guess the fog is clearing then, huh?”
“I guess so.”
They were silent for some time, as each became lost in thought.
“I told Larry you probably wouldn’t be able to make it this weekend,” Jacob said.
Aliyah creased her forehead, a question on her face as she looked at Jacob. “What’s happening this weekend?”
“Larry and Salima are driving up to talk to her parents.”
Oh. Aliyah had forgotten about that. “Thank you,” she muttered, but there was a pang of guilt at the thought of not being there for Salima.
A thoughtful silence followed. “But I think it would be good if you went,” Jacob said.
Aliyah wrinkled her nose in uncertainty. “What if I get sick?”
“It’s only three hours,” Jacob said. “We could bring a sick bag or even pull over or go to a rest stop if we need to.”
“I wouldn’t want to ruin their trip like that,” Aliyah said, but she heard the doubt in her own voice. Salima would be thrilled just to have the company, Aliyah knew, especially since without Aliyah, Salima would be the only female in the car.
“Well, we’re leaving after Fajr tomorrow insha’Allah,” Jacob said.
“Are you taking the boys?” Aliyah said.
Jacob frowned thoughtfully. “We were thinking to leave them with you if you didn’t go.”
“Oh yeah,” Aliyah mumbled, remembering that she’d offered to keep them if Jamil couldn’t.
“But Larry said Jamil came through at the last minute.”
Aliyah brought her eyebrows together in confusion. “I thought he didn’t know about the trip.”
Jacob shrugged. “I guess he does now.”
Aliyah nodded. “That’s good, mashaAllah,” she said. “I hated that whole standoff between him and Salima.”
“Well, I doubt they’ve reconciled completely,” Jacob said. “But at least they’re getting back to behaving like family.”
A wave of sadness came over Aliyah at the mention of the word family, and she found herself choked up and blinking back tears. Embarrassed, she averted her gaze and bit her lower lip, hoping Jacob would interpret her sudden shift in mood as pensiveness over Salima’s situation.
“You heard anything from your parents or Cassie or anyone lately?” Jacob said after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, his tone soft with concern.
Aliyah’s shoulders dropped, surrendering to her emotions as she realized there was no point in trying to shield Jacob from what she was feeling right then. “I got an email from my father a few days ago,” she muttered.
There was a moment of stunned silence. “Your father?” Jacob’s voice rose in surprise and concern.
Aliyah nodded as she pressed her lips together, unable to look directly at Jacob. “I was just lying in bed checking the messages on my phone when I saw it.”
She felt Jacob staring at her, and she sensed in him a mixture of hope and curiosity. “This is progress, right?” Jacob said, a tinge of happiness in his voice. “You haven’t heard from him since a few years after you became Muslim?”
“Him or anyone else,” Aliyah said, melancholy in her tone. “Except my mother that day at Benjamin’s house.”
“Well, it’s good he’s making an effort to reach out,” Jacob said, forced optimism in his voice.
Aliyah started to cough laughter, but it came out as a grunt. “If that’s what you want to call it,” she said.
Jacob was quiet momentarily. “What did he say?”
“It wasn’t only to me,” Aliyah clarified. “It was to my brothers and sisters too.” She frowned as she met Jacob’s gaze, her tone devoid of emotion. “He was telling us about a new non-profit program they’re starting with disadvantaged youth, and he wanted our input and participation.”
Jacob’s eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. “MashaAllah, that’s good.”
The beginning of a smirk creased one corner of Aliyah’s mouth. “One of their programs received a government grant for a grassroots anti-terrorism initiative because the community is, quote, ‘losing so many of our youth to Islamic groups.’”
A shadow of anger passed over Jacob’s face.
“Apparently,” Aliyah said, sarcasm in her tone, “it’s become an epidemic in poor areas.”
Jacob groaned knowingly. “In other words,” he said, “too many black and brown people are becoming Muslim.”
“Exactly,” Aliyah said, rolling her eyes.
“That was subtle of him,” Jacob said sarcastically.
Aliyah shook her head, realizing just then how much the email disturbed her. “But that’s not the best part,” she said.
Jacob chuckled. “There’s more?”
“Guess who’s just been appointed project manager?”
He glowered, as if mirroring how she herself was feeling right then. “Please tell me they didn’t appoint you?”
Aliyah laughed and shook her head. “No, they didn’t go that far, alhamdulillah,” she said.
“Alhamdulillah,” Jacob muttered, relief in his voice.
She offered Jacob a knowing smirk. “They appointed Joseph Daniels.”
It took a second before an expression of recognition passed over Jacob’s face. “Cassie’s husband?” He sounded as if he was hoping he was wrong.
“Yes,” Aliyah said, humor in her tone.
The despondency in Jacob’s demeanor was so complete that Aliyah was taken aback momentarily. He seemed to withdraw so far into himself that for a fleeting moment, Aliyah wondered if she’d inadvertently said something deeply hurtful. His face was twisted in agonizing disappointment as he sat in pensive silence for some time.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Jacob managed to say in a low voice a minute later.
“Me too,” Aliyah said, but she sensed that her husband was more bothered by the news than she was.
A heavy silence hung between them for several seconds. “Be careful, Aliyah,” Jacob said finally. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
She pulled her head back in surprise. “Lose me?” she said, confused.
“It just seems like we’re losing so many Muslims these days.” His tone was deeply pained and reflective.
Aliyah started to reassure him that she wasn’t going anywhere but then realized he probably wasn’t talking about losing her to a relationship fallout. “What do you mean?” she said.
He drew in a breath and exhaled, as if the topic was too weighty for words. “The other day I was reading about how a high percentage of converts to Islam end up becoming apostates,” he said, lost in thought. “And I was thinking about how Muslims are always bragging about Islam being the fastest growing religion in the world, but no one wants to talk about how many people we lose every day.”
His words reminded Aliyah of a conversation that she’d had with Salima some time ago. “But how can someone leave Islam?” Aliyah had said, and Salima had responded, “If you understand how it feels to struggle in your faith, it’s not too hard to understand giving up entirely.”
“But in the stories I read,” he said, “a lot of people had experiences similar to yours.”
Aliyah furrowed her brows. “Apostates?”
“Yes,” Jacob said sadly. “Most of them were men and women who’d suffered spiritual and emotional abuse from Muslims they trusted.”
Aliyah frowned thoughtfully. “I realize now that most of what I experienced from my family was emotional abuse,” she said tentatively. “But I’m not sure that’s what I’d call any of my experiences with Muslims.”
“I agree that abuse is a strong term,” he said, “but even if you take away the label and look at just the stories themselves, there are a lot of parallels between yours and theirs.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “But that’s still no excuse to leave Islam,” Aliyah said. “No matter what anyone does to you, you shouldn’t throw away your soul.”
“Of course not,” Jacob said. “But logic isn’t what pushes someone to let go of their faith. It’s the gradual and mostly imperceptible destruction of the spirit.”
Aliyah was quiet, unsure what to say to that. She had never thought about spiritual crisis in that way.
“And by the time it reaches the level of kufr,” he said, “your heart has sustained so many spiritual wounds that letting go actually feels freeing and therapeutic.”
“SubhaanAllah,” she muttered, at a loss for words.
There was an extended silence. “I felt like letting go myself sometimes,” Jacob said, a reflective frown on his face.
Aliyah’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? I didn’t know that.”
He shrugged. “It’s not something I like to talk about often,” he said. “But feeling stuck in that marriage to Deanna almost made me resent God and religion.”
Aliyah drew her eyebrows together, a confused expression on her face. “Why?”
“Because I felt it was a sin to divorce her,” he said.
Aliyah didn’t know what to say to that. She herself had come to think of divorce as a horrible sin.
“And I knew if I did, everyone would blame me for abandoning her and the children,” Jacob said, “especially if I ended up marrying someone else.”
Aliyah nodded in understanding. “So you felt like it was your God-given duty to stay?”
“Yes,” he said, sounding relieved that someone understood. “And whenever I read the Qur’an, I’d feel so horrible because it was hard for me to fulfill everything Allah required men to do for their wives.”
“But you provided for her well, mashaAllah,” Aliyah said, hoping to make him feel better.
He shook his head. “I don’t mean materially,” he said. “That’s the easy part. I mean being the leader of the household and being a helpmate to her spiritually and treating her with patience and kindness.” He pursed his lips, as if overcome by a troublesome memory just then. “And correcting her if she becomes disobedient.”
Aliyah was quiet, recalling when he’d come to ask her assistance in advising Deanna.
“Did I ever tell you about the passcode on my phone?” he said, looking at Aliyah with a half grin on his face.
She contorted her face in confusion, unsure about the reason for the sudden shift in subject. “No…”
“Zero four one nine,” he said, coughing laughter. He shook his head as if enjoying a private joke.
For a second, Aliyah became concerned that he wasn’t thinking clearly.
“That stands for soorah four, ayah nineteen in An-Nisaa,” he said, a reflective smirk lingering on his face. “And live with them honorably,” he said, reciting the English translation aloud. “If you dislike them, it may be that you dislike a thing and Allah brings through it a great deal of good.”
Oh. Aliyah was overcome with weighty sadness as she realized the deep implication of the passcode comment. She could only imagine the emotional torment that Jacob was going through each day.
“I guess I should’ve used sixty-five two and three instead,” he said, a tinge of humor in his tone. “Those are the two ayah’s that ended up saving my life.” He grunted then added, “And my soul.”
“Soorah sixty five?” Aliyah said, creasing her forehead. “That’s At-Talaaq, isn’t it?”
He nodded, a smile on his face. “The chapter about divorce.”
“What do verses two and three say?” she said, humored curiosity in her tone.
“And whoever fears Allah and keeps his duty to him,” Jacob said from memory, “He will make for him a way out. And He will provide for him from sources he could never imagine.”
Aliyah nodded and smiled, recognizing the translation right away.
“And whoever puts his trust in Allah,” Jacob finished, “then Allah is sufficient for him.”
“That’s so inspirational, mashaAllah,” Aliyah said. “I remember reading those verses during Ramadan and thinking how merciful Allah is, even when things don’t work out in the way we think is best.”
Jacob coughed laughter. “That’s a far cry from the ‘Allah will punish you if you divorce your wife’ rhetoric I heard during Islamic talks all the time,” he said. “They talked so much about how evil it was to follow your desires that I started to wonder if it was better if I didn’t have desires, even for my wife.”
“I know,” Aliyah agreed, laughter in her voice. “That’s how I felt when the imam was guilt-tripping me into marry Matt.”
There was a thoughtful silence. “You know that’s the definition of spiritual abuse, right?” Jacob said.
Aliyah’s smile faded, and her gaze grew distantly momentarily. “I don’t like calling people abusers,” she said. “I’m just so sick of this victim culture, I don’t want any part of it.”
“I agree,” Jacob said. “But recognizing the signs of abuse is not the same as calling someone an abuser. Anyone can fall into behavior that can be considered abusive.”
“Then we need to find another way to describe it,” she said, slight annoyance in her tone. “I’m tired of everyone acting like a victim. It’s so tiresome.”
“But understanding what you’ve gone through so you can heal is different from something like killing yourself and leaving a suicide note blaming other people for your problems.”
“That,” Aliyah said, gesturing with her forefinger for emphasis, “I would call abuse, plain and simple.”
“And you’d be right,” Jacob said. “But using your death as a tool of emotional manipulation is not the only type of abuse.”
Aliyah’s nose flared in irritation as the topic reminded her of Deanna. “I tell you what,” Aliyah said, firmness in her tone, “I’m glad they say she’s going to fully recover, insha’Allah.”
“You mean Deanna?”
“Yes,” Aliyah said, nodding emphatically.
“May Allah heal her,” Jacob muttered.
“Ameen,” Aliyah said, raising her voice to underscore her agreement with the prayer. “And may she live to feel the regret for every single sin she inflicted upon herself and everyone else.”
Jacob’s lips formed a thin line, and Aliyah could tell he was uncomfortable with her supplication.
“You know the du’aa of the madhloom is answered, right?” Aliyah said.
Jacob creased his forehead, a question in his eyes. “The madhloom?”
“The one who’s been wronged,” she explained.
“Oh…” Jacob said.
“The Prophet, sallallaahu’alyahi wa sallam, said, ‘And be wary of the supplication of the oppressed, for between it and Allah there is no barrier.’”
Jacob nodded hesitantly. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Well, I made my du’aa,” Aliyah said, a triumphant smirk on her face, “and insha’Allah, Deanna will live a nice long life.”
Jacob was quiet for some time. “I understand how you feel,” he said tentatively. “But I guess I just don’t feel so confident that I was wronged.”
“I can understand that,” Aliyah said sincerely. “When you were married to someone, it’s hard to know who wronged whom more.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “But Deanna and I were just friends, and I know I didn’t do anything to deserve that stupid suicide note.”
Jacob frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think anyone ever deserves a suicide note,” he said, a tinge of offense in his tone. “I’m just saying I’m not so sure that the hadith about the madhloom would apply to me.”
Aliyah nodded. “I usually wouldn’t either,” she said. “But after all the hell Deanna put me through, I don’t have any doubt left.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “What did it say anyway?” Jacob said.
Aliyah drew her eyebrows together, a question on her face. “What did what say?”
“The note,” he said. “I never read mine.”
She shrugged. “I never read mine either,” she said. “Except the first two lines,” she added. “But that was enough.”
Aliyah creased her forehead as a thought came to her suddenly. “Have you seen mine?” she said. “I couldn’t find it the other day.”
“I threw it away.”
It took a few seconds for Aliyah to register what Jacob had said. “You threw it away?” she said, shock in her tone.
He nodded. “Mine too,” he said. “But I shredded them first.”
Aliyah blinked and shook her head as she tried to process what he was saying. “But…why?”
“Because I saw what it was doing to you,” he said simply. “To the both of us actually. And after you told me about the boy in your high school and what his note did to Curtis…” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “…I knew the only way to stop the emotional abuse was to not give it an audience.”