I mean, I'm learning the words, being taught tafsir, repeating ayaat I've memorized. But I don't really understand it—not the way the Quraysh did.
They would hear the ayaat recited and instantly recognize the hand of Allah. It would break them, terrify them, inspire them, bring them to tears. The Quraysh understood that these were not the words of men.
I've spent most of my life with zero exposure to Islam or Arabic, living in a Muslim minority country. Resources are limited. There are no masajid on every block. Dars are limited. Teachers are limited. Texts are limited. The whole neighborhood doesn't celebrate Ramadan or Eid together. Families don't gather. There's no one with knowledge in our families we can turn to for advice. There are no huffaz around us. Yet still we sit at desks, usually alone, trying to connect to God through a language that remains foreign to us even after years of studying it.
But whenever I start feeling distant from His signs—because I can only have the miracles of the Quran explained to me, not experience them for myself—I step outside.
Allah didn't only put His ayaat, His signs, in a book. He put His signs in the world all around us.
Sometimes I feel as an Ummah we need more balance. There are those in the Muslim world who seem to only see the signs of Allah in His book and in the hadith of the Prophet ﷺ. They only see the connection to Allah—to Truth, Wisdom, Mercy—through words on a page. But this disconnect feels off to me. Something is missing. . .
Living in a Muslim minority country, I find myself a lot of the time outside, marveling at the ayaat Allah has left all around us. Unlike the Quran, these ayaat have no barrier to entry.
Don't get me wrong, I am amazed by the Quran. I love the Quran, but I will never experience it like Abu Bakr or Umar RA did.
However, when I stop for a minute. When I step outside. When I give a sunset enough time, it speaks to me too—and when I deeply contemplate the signs of Allah in the world around me, even the sunset can terrify me, inspire me, bring me to tears...
Maybe that's the point. Maybe Ar-Rahman knew some of us would need signs we could read without translation.
The Muslim Minority of Japan
I don't understand the Quran.
I mean, I'm learning the words, being taught tafsir, repeating ayaat I've memorized. But I don't really understand it—not the way the Quraysh did.
They would hear the ayaat recited and instantly recognize the hand of Allah.
It would break them, terrify them, inspire them, bring them to tears.
The Quraysh understood that these were not the words of men.
I've spent most of my life with zero exposure to Islam or Arabic, living in a Muslim minority country. Resources are limited. There are no masajid on every block. Dars are limited. Teachers are limited. Texts are limited. The whole neighborhood doesn't celebrate Ramadan or Eid together. Families don't gather. There's no one with knowledge in our families we can turn to for advice. There are no huffaz around us. Yet still we sit at desks, usually alone, trying to connect to God through a language that remains foreign to us even after years of studying it.
But whenever I start feeling distant from His signs—because I can only have the miracles of the Quran explained to me, not experience them for myself—I step outside.
Allah didn't only put His ayaat, His signs, in a book. He put His signs in the world all around us.
Sometimes I feel as an Ummah we need more balance. There are those in the Muslim world who seem to only see the signs of Allah in His book and in the hadith of the Prophet ﷺ. They only see the connection to Allah—to Truth, Wisdom, Mercy—through words on a page. But this disconnect feels off to me. Something is missing. . .
Living in a Muslim minority country, I find myself a lot of the time outside, marveling at the ayaat Allah has left all around us. Unlike the Quran, these ayaat have no barrier to entry.
Don't get me wrong, I am amazed by the Quran. I love the Quran, but I will never experience it like Abu Bakr or Umar RA did.
However, when I stop for a minute.
When I step outside.
When I give a sunset enough time, it speaks to me too—and when I deeply contemplate the signs of Allah in the world around me, even the sunset can terrify me, inspire me, bring me to tears...
Maybe that's the point. Maybe Ar-Rahman knew some of us would need signs we could read without translation.
3 weeks ago | [YT] | 336