Voices of Islam (105 page)

Following the end of World War I, with its grief and misery, people throughout the country once more felt safe and returned to their normal way of life, going back to the homes that they had fled. We too returned to our home in Acre and took up our permanent residence there as before the war. From time to time, we would take trips to Damascus or Lebanon to visit friends or for a vacation, and then return to our home. In addition, we often spent the winter months in Cairo, which was a major center of religion, law, literature, and the arts. The first time we went there was in 1920, just after the war. We traveled by train from Palestine and were some of the fi

women to go to Egypt following the war. During our stay in Cairo, we rented a house in the new part of the city, which was at that time no more than a small village. The house that we found for ourselves there became like

188
Voices of the Spirit

a miniature
zawiya,
for we met there with other disciples of my father as well as with scholars and literary men. The situation was similar for my female companions. We occupied ourselves with reading both classic and contempo- rary works, books translated from other languages, as well as literary and scholastic journals, and when we met we would discuss our readings. The majority of my companions were gifted women with literary and writing abilities. Some of them were poets and members of the highest ranks of the women’s revival movement in Egypt.

In the years following the war, the eyes of the people were opened to the true nature of what had happened to them. Revolution came to Egypt in the time of Sa‘d Zaghlul (d. 1927), followed by revolution in Damascus and other regions of Syria, and hints of revolution in Palestine as well.
9
Thus, we did not feel settled no matter where we were. There was then a manifest need for women to be more visible in order for them to participate in the organization and planning of Arab society. In spite of this ambience, I always tended toward a Sufi perspective. This was not surprising, for I saw myself first as a worshipper of God, the Majestic and Powerful, through my journey- ing on the Straight Path and through my love for knowledge, realization, and learning. My father was my master and guide, and I made great efforts to guard the filial and spiritual link with him. I had certain physical weaknesses in those early days, which gave rise to the illnesses that afflicted me my health, and which called for special attention. I have lived a fragile life, one in which my schedule of eating, sleeping, and meeting with visitors have always been regulated. Thus, I was never able to live in a town cut off from contact with the outside world, or in one where there were no doctors and medicines available, in spite of my attraction to and love for the beauty of nature.

I kept company only with people of learning, mystical knowledge, and the arts. This was not out of any egoism or pride on my part, but because I had sat among such people since I was a child, and the valuable lessons I learned in those meetings on all aspects of knowledge had given rise to this tendency in my soul. I was drawn to these worthy scholars and felt a desire deep within my heart to be where they were. This compelled me to return time and again to the cities of Damascus and Cairo, for it was in these important centers of learning that such scholars were to be found. I was strict with myself, keeping watch over my soul to the extreme limit of conservatism; I never for one day interrupted my prayers or reciting the litanies, even when I was traveling to Cairo, Damascus, or Lebanon, and I set aside times when I went into seclu- sion to invoke God’s name. In these moments, I felt a peace that I cannot describe adequately in words, except to say my soul was engulfed by a most profound feeling of contentment. This was indeed the station of worship (
‘ibada
) of God the Creator, the One. He said, ‘‘Worship thy Lord until certitude cometh to thee’’ (Qur’an 15:99).

In another part of my life at this time I had women friends, the daughters of elite families who had an appreciation for the arts. We used to meet

Fatima al-Yashrutiyya
189

together for singing, socializing, and to discuss various subjects. We would listen to the songs of women who were blessed with beautiful voices, or had skill in rendering a piece of music according to its proper rhythm and melody. In this way, I passed the period after World War I.

I did not forget to worship and persevere in Sufi practices, but at the same time I did not cut myself off from the social world that surrounded me and of which I was a part. My relations with many of the great scholars and saintly people were strengthened, and by the grace of God I was confi and secure in all that I did at that time. It is well known to those familiar with history that the Palestinian revolution raged fi cest in the year 1936, and during that year there was great violence, fighting, and rioting. It was a year that was different from the rest of the years of the revolution and was therefore called the ‘‘Revolution of ’36.’’ The general history of this affair I leave to historians, and will only include what happened to my family and me during this period, which went on for nearly three years, and which lasted until just before the breakout of World War II in 1939.

When the revolution of 1936 broke out, I was recovering from a bout of dysentery, which had previously affl me two years earlier. At the time I came down with it, it took a great toll on me, for I already had a weak constitution due to the asthma that I had suffered from in my youth. This illness caused me a great deal of discomfort and pain, and my overall health was very slow to improve. At that time, I was still living with my mother and sister in Acre, and when my mother saw that my health was not improving at all, she decided that we should go to Beirut and seek the advice of well-known doctors there. She was also motivated by the events taking place in Palestine at that time. We left for Beirut in the beginning of 1935 and rented a house there. Thus, when the worst of the Palestinian revolution came in 1936, I was in Beirut recovering from my illness. It was necessary for me to watch over my health carefully for a few years before I regained my strength, and even then I was delicate and susceptible to further bouts of sickness for a long time. Both my stay in Beirut, a city of learning and intellectualism, and my confinement to my house encouraged me to read a great deal about various subjects. I benefited from learning more about various ideas and views in different fields. This stay also enabled me to meet with several philosophers and scholars, either through their visits to our house or by attending their lectures, if my health permitted. Thus, in this period I was able to increase my store of knowledge, particularly in the domain of philosophy and in the realm of Sufism.

After we had spent nearly three years in Beirut during the period of the Palestinian revolution, World War II was declared in 1939. A few weeks later, we left Beirut and moved to Damascus, but after two months returned to Lebanon. It had become clear to us that we could not stay in Damascus during winter, as it was extremely cold, and my mother was no longer young and needed to see the doctors in Beirut with whom she was accustomed and

190
Voices of the Spirit

who were familiar with the details of her health. Thus, we stayed for the summer in the city of Aliya in the mountains of Lebanon and stayed for the winter months in Beirut on the coast. In spring we would travel either to Acre or to Damascus, depending upon the conditions of transportation at the time. Days, months, and years passed in this way, traveling from one city to another and hoping to be able to return to our country and live in Acre after the war.

At the end of the third year of the war, I sat down one day to write some letters. However, without intending to do so, I wrote a discourse on Sufism of over seven pages in length. I was amazed at what I had done, and felt that a spirit, or rather a hidden voice, had urged me to write about the Path and about my father and his Sufi message. The moment I finished writing these pages I hastened to show them to my mother, who encouraged me, saying, ‘‘Do as you are ordered. This is a fruit of the blessing your father bestowed upon you.’’ I remembered then that my friends who were doctors of the law and scholars had asked me to write a book that would relate the story of my father’s life, his deeds, and his message. I knew then that the duty of writing this book had fallen to me, and that I would confi what had come to pass in my father’s life and tell of the grace God had bestowed upon him.

Thus, I began to write my first book, which is titled
A Journey Toward the Truth.
This work begins with an introduction to Sufi doctrine, followed by a description of my father’s doctrine, his life and infl ce on Sufi and something about the Shadhiliyya Sufi order. I remember that when writing some of the chapters of this book, it was necessary for me to refer to some of the books of the Sufi masters. In spite of my complete faith in the sanctity of Shaykh Ibn ‘Arabi (may God be pleased with him), I neglected to make use of his valuable works, for I thought, ‘‘Shaykh Muhyiddin has some ene- mies, and I do not want to open the door of dispute by referring to him.’’ From the moment this thought passed through my mind, I was no longer able to continue writing; my hand was paralyzed for three years, unable to complete the work without knowing why. Then one day a woman disciple from Damascus came to visit us in Beirut, and during her stay she saw my father in her sleep. She kissed his hand in her vision and asked him why I had stopped writing. He answered, saying, ‘‘Because Fatima has shut the door upon Shaykh Muhyiddin, may God be pleased with him.’’ The next morning, this disciple related her vision to me. I asked forgiveness of God and repented of my erroneous thoughts. Then I hastened to the books of Shaykh Muhyiddin and began to read them and absorb their wisdom. During my study of his works, I came across a poem that he wrote called ‘‘Journey to the Truth’’ (
Rihla ila al-Haqq
). This title pleased me, so I gave it to my book as well, guided by Shaykh Muhyiddin’s example. The writing of my first book took just under 14 years to complete. I wrote down what came to me in humility and devotion, telling of the graces that our Sufi order enjoyed.

Fatima al-Yashrutiyya
191

I only wrote when I felt composed in the depths of my soul. Then I would seclude myself in my room to record my memories and write about what I had learned of Sufism.

After the end of the Second World War, we decided to remain living in Beirut, as we had grown accustomed to life there and it had become an absolute necessity to have a doctor nearby, especially for my mother. However, we still used to visit our home in Acre once or twice a year for a few weeks during spring or autumn. We remained in Beirut until the great Palestinian disaster of 1948, when we were compelled along with most other Palestinians to flee from our homes, an emigration from which we have not been able to return to this day.
10

My new permanent residence in Beirut afforded me the opportunity to continue pursuing intellectual activities in spite of my delicate health, for this city was and still is one of the most important centers of learning and thought in the Arab world. The existence of several universities, along with the freedom of thought, speech, and publishing that existed there, encouraged diverse views and beliefs to manifest themselves and interact with each other, through the media of newspapers, magazines, and books, or in lectures and debates. Life in Beirut differed from that of other Arab countries, for groups of people from different nations and regions had immigrated there, and each of these groups had its own customs, traditions, and ways of thinking. Thus, if one experiences life in Beirut he will not be able to decide whether he is in an Oriental or a Western country, so distinct and peculiar is its character. However, the absolute and unrestricted freedom of thought, speech, and action can reach a point of near chaos. There were those in this beautiful city who advocated the adoption of Western urbanization wholesale, while another, more moderate group called for people to learn from the West, but to keep their Arab heritage—in other words, to blend Oriental and Western modes of thought. There were others who were conservative and did not believe in importing anything from the West. They wished to retain the philosophy and customs of the traditional world and to revive that which had been forgotten or had fallen into disuse. This era of the Palestinian emigration has been the longest period of my life, extending over more than 30 years. It began in 1948, and continues to this day at the end of 1978, as I write this chapter of my memoir. Only God knows how long this situation of exile will continue. From the start of this period, we have been living in Beirut, so from the point of view of daily life these years can be seen simply as a continuation of our life there.

Nothing changed for me during this time, and I continued to work on my book until it was completed in 1954. In April of that year, my mother left this world—may God have mercy on her—after having suffered a great deal from illnesses and having spent her whole life caring for us and serving the disciples of the
Tariqa.

192
Voices of the Spirit

THE ZAWIYA OF THE YASHRUTIYYA IN MY FATHER’S TIME

The
zawiya
is a place where religious rites are performed. It is a place for prayer, fasting, night vigil, refl invocation, meditation, and total concentration on God. It is there that the litanies are recited, circles of
dhikr
(invocation) are held, and the disciple (
faqir,
literally ‘‘poor one’’) cuts himself off from anything other than God, the Glorious. It is in the
zawiya
that knowledge of God and realization are sought, where union with God, the Mighty and Majestic, is witnessed and realized, and where the disciple is extinguished in love of God and His Messenger. The
takıya
is the great sanctuary of the
zawiya,
with a high dome, in which the fi daily prayers and sessions of
dhikr
are held. There are in addition many rooms in the
zawiya
to house visitors during their stay and for those disciples who are in retreat from the world. Then there are the small houses in which the families of those in retreat live. There are special sections for the old and sick, for the poor followers of the Path, and one house set apart for women. The Shaykh’s house was in the vicinity of the
zawiya,
where he lived with his wife and children. The greatness of the
zawiya
was due not to the beauty and grandeur of its outward appearance, but to the great saintliness of its Shaykh and his divine station, for he was filled by God with mystical secrets and lights, and with knowledge and understanding.