Note: The following is a guest post from Taiyyaba
I was always destined to be a foodie. My favorite short stories, or favorite parts of longer tales, were always about what food everyone was eating. So naturally, I loved the story of Stone Soup. The story of the old man who started with a rock and some water, and ended up with a mouthwatering stew was entirely enchanting to my child self. I could always taste the savory broth on my tongue and smell the strong aroma by the end of the story.
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Via American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee (ADC): www.adc.org
In light of the recent attacks on the Arab and Muslim American communities, the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee (ADC) urges you to call and thank those who have stood up for tolerance and understanding, and against bigotry. The below-listed individuals have recently stood for and reinforced American values by supporting the development of the Park51 Community Center in New York City.
Click here to see the original Action Alert along with links to the statements made by the individuals listed below.
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So what happens when God leaves a woman’s manner of worship up to her own interpretation? Someone else invariably interprets it for her.
Two very interesting articles recently made their way to me.
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The holy month of Ramadan is upon us, and a major lesson from fasting is that we don’t need as much as we think we do. We realize that much of what we consume is simply out of habit, and the same thing can be said about things beyond food and drink.
But not only are we in Ramadan with a heightened sense of awareness of our consumption, we are also in a recession – and money is tight. A recent article in the New York Times explains that the decline in American spending linked to the economic crisis has allowed us to discover that money doesn’t buy happiness.
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Author’s Note: After he read a draft, he didn’t want me to post it– quote: “It makes me sound like a saint, beta.” While my father is not a saint, I believe he tried to do the best he could with the resources he had. He is obviously one of the (two) reasons I am here. As I’m contemplating fatherhood myself [how's that for a teaser?], I find myself thinking about things that he repeatedly said to me when I was a child. I hope he forgives me for posting it.
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(Photo By Sherif Sonbol, From Al-Ahram Weekly, July 1998
An evening stroll weaving in and out of crazy Cairo traffic. That’s what I needed. The sweet smell of second-hand sheesha smoke and some daredevil car-weaving had turned into an almost nightly ritual for me back in those days. I wasn’t expecting a change, but that’s when it always happens right? I walked out of my 5th floor apartment into the eerie, not-so-well-lit hallway, the same hallway where Mina and Maryam’s parents had slaughtered a sheep on Eid-ul-Adha. Do you remember that day? I made them balloon animals while they took turns jumping over the pool of blood. That’s one day I’ll always remember, I had just come back from Eid prayer at Masjid Mustafa Mahmoud to find a sizable pool of sheep’s blood in front of my apartment door. Not wanting to track any inside the apartment, I jumped over the puddle. I left the door open though, not because I enjoyed the scent of sheep’s blood, but because I found it rather amusing that a vast amount of blood was in front of my doorway and slowly spreading to the rest of the hallway.
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