Voices of Islam (163 page)

(Verily we belong to God, and to Him is the return.)

As-Salamu ‘Alaykum:
(Peace and blessings be upon you:)

This is to announce the passing away of my very dear and much beloved father Muhammad Abdul Rauf, on Saturday December 11, 2004, at Suburban Hospital in Bethesda, Maryland, a suburb of Washington, D.C., at 7:25
PM
—just 16 days shy of his 87th birthday.

The last time I spoke to him was around 10:00
AM
Thursday morning, the day of his medical emergency. He had called to tell me how much he found my latest book a continuation of his work and how much a source of pride it was for him. Then he prayed for God’s blessings upon me. He was very lighthearted and extremely cheerful.

My wife Daisy saw him for the last time five days before that when she visited Washington, D.C., to be part of a women’s conference hosted by

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Karamah,
headed by Dr. Azizah al-Hibri. Daisy found my father cheerful, remarked on the emptiness of his house, and noted that my father had donated away his library. He was preparing to visit Malaysia and then go to Egypt with my mother. He was obviously shedding his worldly attachments.

My father had frequently mentioned over the past year that his life’s work was done. All he desired was to prepare himself for meeting his Lord. His thoughts revolved around making a final trip to his birthplace in Egypt, in order to die there and be buried next to his father in our village of Abusir Gharbiyya. It is apparent that he wanted to die a beautiful death, surrounded by us personally reciting the Qur’an for his soul’s comfort in departing, for God ultimately arranged events toward that end.

My father was rushed from his home in Bethesda to the hospital on Thursday night (December 9) around 11:00
PM
after he complained of abdominal pain and became unresponsive to my mother’s entreaties. The doctors discovered that he had an aneurism of the abdominal branch of the aorta, a tear in the thinning wall of the artery that provides blood to the abdominal region. They were surprised to find him still alive; for this condi- tion is one that normally results in fatality by the time the individual reaches the hospital. Following surgery and in spite of three doses of clotting factor and 30 units of blood transfusions, he was still hemorrhaging. Obviously his meeting with God was destined, a reality for which he was fully reconciled and prepared.

During this period, my father was generally aware of our presence. Although his eyes were closed, and he could neither speak nor move, I discovered that he was able to communicate to us by squeezing our hands in his softly clenched fists. From about 10:00
AM
onwards, my brother Ayman, our dear friend Waleed Ansary, and other family members recited from the Qur’an, with frequent recitations of Sura Yasin (Qur’an 36). This Sura of the Qur’an was recommended by the Prophet to be recited for a soul in the throes of death; he called it the ‘‘Heart of the Qur’an.’’ We also recited Surat al-Fath (Qur’an 48, The Victory), Surat al-Waqi‘a (Qur’an 56, The Event of Judgment Day), Surat al-Mulk (Qur’an 67, The Kingdom), and other short Suras and assorted Qur’anic verses.

My father communicated to us by squeezing our hands. I learned to understand his special communique´s, such as squeezing my hand to express his desire and delight that I continued reciting the Qur’an to him. Five years ago, my father asked me to commit the time to recite the entire Qur’an to him so that he could ensure that I pronounced it with as perfect a
tajwid
(accuracy of pronunciation) as possible. We recorded the sessions, which continued on and off for about a year. His last published book was a book on
tajwid,
published in Malaysia. He also squeezed Daisy’s hand whenever she mentioned news of the manuscript of his autobiography. This was the last work that he had been writing.

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I recited continually until 6:30
PM
, with my hand in his clasped hand, feeling his regular squeezing of my hand. That my father in a way ‘‘choreo- graphed’’ how he wanted to pass on, surrounded by his family and with me reciting the Qur’an, was evidenced by a number of things. When we agreed with the doctors around 11:00
PM
Friday night about the futility of giving my father more blood transfusions, their expectation was that he would pass away within a few hours. He did not. When at 4:30
PM
the next day they stopped giving him the pressers to maintain his blood pressure, they thought he would pass away in minutes to an hour. His heart kept beating regularly and powerfully, to almost everyone’s surprise, especially for an 87-year-old.

Finally, they decided to remove his respirator. I continued my final recita- tion of Sura Yasin holding his right hand and intoning it the way I knew he loved to hear it. My mother, Daisy, my daughters Leila and Amira, Waleed, and a few others also opted to remain in the room, holding his other hand and feet, with my mother moistening his mouth with water. He was now breathing on his own. He breathed softly and intermittently during that hour, as his heartbeat gyrated and began slowing down on the monitor. As I recited the eight-verse section ending with the words,
salamun qawlan min rabbin rahim
(‘‘A greeting of peace from a Merciful Lord’’) his heart- beat fl Daisy patted my hand to point this out to me, and so we chanted this verse 111 times.

This eight-verse section of Sura Yasin (Qur’an 36:51–58) is worth repeat- ing: ‘‘And when the trumpet on the Day of Resurrection shall blow, people shall rush forth to their Lord, Saying, ‘Oh Woe unto us! Who has raised us up from our repose?’ This is what the All-Merciful had promised, and the Messengers are now verified. It shall take no more than a single blast for them all to be brought up before Us! On this Day, a soul shall not be wronged in any way, nor shall you be rewarded except for what you did. Surely, the people of Paradise on this Day will be busy rejoicing with their spouses, reclining on shaded couches, enjoying therein fruit and whatever they ask for. A greeting of peace from a Merciful Lord!’’

When I began to recite the next verse, Dad’s heartbeat began to kick in on the monitor, to the delight of my mother. This was another of his communi- cative signs that he was indeed registering our presence and recitation, but this was also his final goodbye to us. His heartbeat slowed down within a minute, and I recited the remainder of the Sura. He died peacefully and beautifully, embraced by family and friends, among prayers and expressions of love and respect.

May Allah bless Dad’s beautiful soul, forgive him for his shortcomings, forgive us for our shortcomings against him, and continue to reward him for the imprints of his good deeds that he left in the character and personality of the many whom he touched and taught.

My father was known for a religiosity steeped in and defi ed by deep spirituality and ethics. It was not a piety that was self-serving, but one that

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delighted in improving and transforming others toward their best behavior while overlooking their shortcomings, for he knew that we humans are imperfect and flawed creatures. He was never vindictive, instead leaving those who wronged him to Divine justice, and considered his patience in the face of others’ wrongdoings toward him a means of drawing down upon himself God’s forgiveness for his own shortcomings. His years of service were marked by many delightful stories of how he sought to transform hatred into love and heal broken friendships and relationships. He behaved in this way toward all: from those who were at the highest level of government and academia, to his students and those behind him either chronologically or in the ladder of spiritual ethics.

These were the most important imprints of his life. As an Arab poet once said,
Hadhihi aatharuna tadullu ‘alayna. Fa’nzuru ba‘dana ila-l-athari,
‘‘These are our life-imprints, traces that point to us. So after our departure look at our life-imprints.’’

May the Benevolent Creator keep the blessings of Dad’s life-imprints flow- ing upon us and admit him into the Divine Presence at the highest level of Intimacy, in the company of the Prophets and Saints.

Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, Daisy Khan Abdul Rauf, and the Sharkawi Family

UNDERSTANDING DISASTERS AND PERSONAL LOSS

January 12, 2005

As-Salamu ‘Alaykum,

To Our Very Dear Friends and Fellow Travelers on Life’s Journey:

Our hearts are overfl ng with enormous gratitude for your most generous outpouring of wishes, prayers, and goodwill in response to the news of my father Dr. Muhammad Abdul Rauf’s passing on December 11, 2004. We wish we could personally thank every one of you for your most heartfelt sentiments.

Dad’s fortieth day—marking the official end of mourning to which many Muslims traditionally adhere—falls on January 20, 2004, the evening in Islamic counting of the festival of
Eid ul-Adha,
an especially blessed day that marks Muslims’ fulfillment of their required pilgrimage.

Many—even those who had never met Dad—expressed gratitude that we shared the narrative of Dad’s last moments, and wrote to tell us of this. But we cannot ignore the news that precisely two weeks to the very hour after Dad’s passing, more than 160,000 souls are now confirmed to have perished

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in the South Asian tsunami. ‘‘How could the Merciful and Compassionate God that we all believe in allow such a calamity to happen?’’ is a question that many, even in the media, have raised. They want to know how believers in God, and especially the Muslims—since we were the hardest hit and suffered the most casualties—are taught to think about such events and come to grips with them.

The Prophet Muhammad taught that among those receiving Divine grace are all who die unexpectedly by drowning, in an earthquake, in a fire, a plague, or an epidemic, from a stomach disease, and including women who die in childbirth. All of these souls are considered to have witnessed the Truth, and thus they receive a heavenly rank. However, God anticipates our next question pertaining to the survivors of such calamities and hastens to remind us, ‘‘We shall certainly test you by some [combination] of fear, hunger, loss of worldly goods, of lives and of [labor’s] fruits. But assure those who are patient in adversity, who when calamity befalls them assert, ‘Verily we belong to God and verily we return to Him (
inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji‘un
).’ Upon these shall flow their Lord’s prayers and mercy, for they are guided’’ (Qur’an 2:155–157). This verse explains why Muslims urge their co-religionists who are touched by calamity to express patience (
sabr
) and utter these words of belonging to God and returning to Him. By complying with this Divine promise, we hope to merit God’s prayers, mercy, and guidance.

Like students taking college exams, we go through divine tests to achieve the rewards that accrue from doing well on them. Thus, the tests facing the survivors of disasters include: How will we respond? Will we be angry with God, or will we be grateful for the ultimate grace that God has promised for those who are taken into His mercy? How will we contend with our fear, hunger, loss of worldly goods, and the fruits of our life’s work? Can we remain steadfast in the face of adversity? Will we act in accordance with the best of what it means to be human: doing good, being compassionate and supportive to those who need our help, or will we be derailed from traversing the Way?

Some have suggested that modern man needs a Divine reminder and view the tsunami as a form of Divine scripture writ large on instant global television. They believe that the tsunami was meant to imprint onto our consciousness an image of the apocalypse, a terrifying time, according to the Qur’an, when the earth will quake, and ‘‘the seas swell and graves are scattered, with every soul keenly aware of what [deeds] it released and restrained’’ (Qur’an 84:3–5). These verses evoke an image that is intended to make human hearts receive and respond to the Divine sorrow and lament that God sustains for humanity, a humanity that is inattentive to the simulta- neity of the overflowing of Divine mercy. God desires to forgive humans who are unaware of their need to ward off the Divine justice that confronts human responsibility. The final reminder in
Surat al-Infitar
(The Cleaving Asunder)

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underscores what many felt that the tsunami served to remind us of: namely, Who it is that has always owned, and will forever own the ultimate control and final say over our lives: ‘‘So how will you fathom Judgment Day? Again, how will you fathom Judgment Day? It is a day when one soul has no control over another and the sole command that Day is God’s’’ (Qur’an 84:17–19). A man once came to the Prophet Muhammad, asking him when this ‘‘Hour’’ of the Apocalypse that presages the Last Day will occur. ‘‘How have you prepared yourself for it?’’ the Prophet asked. ‘‘By loving God and His Messenger,’’ the man answered. To this, the Prophet earnestly replied, ‘‘You shall be with those whom you love [i.e. in his case in the company of God and His Messenger].’’ Our individual moment of death is our ‘‘Hour,’’ our precursor to the Last Day, and we shall be in the company of those whom we have loved. May we all have loved our Creator and whomever of His

Messengers whose practice we have adoringly followed!

The Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, ‘‘There are seven kinds of martyr other than those killed in the way of Allah. One who is killed by the plague is a martyr, one who drowns is a martyr, one who dies of pleurisy is a martyr, one who dies of a disease of the belly is a martyr, one who dies by fire is a martyr, one who dies under a falling building is a martyr, and the woman who dies in childbirth is a martyr.’’ (Malik ibn Anas,
al-Muwatta
16.36). Some people asked, ‘‘Who else are they, Oh Messenger of Allah?’’ He said, ‘‘He who is killed fighting for Allah’s cause is a martyr, he who dies in the cause of Allah is a martyr, he who dies in an epidemic is a martyr, he who dies from a stomach disease is a martyr, and he who dies of drowning is (also) a martyr.’’ This hadith is narrated by Muslim.