Distance does not soften the terror. It only deepens my helplessness. In moments like this, I realize that geography is not measured in miles, but in attachment. War rearranges distance. These days I find myself returning to "The Conference of the Birds," the 12th-century poem by Attar of Nishapur, seeking meaning through ancient wisdom about spiritual journeys and transformation.
Two hundred and fifty-six Quran memorisers—Palestinians who have committed the entire holy book to memory—sat in the place while companions beside them listened attentively, following each word carefully to ensure the recitation remained flawless. The gathering, titled Safwat Al-Huffaz—The Elite of Quran Memorisers, has become a special collective way of observing Ramadan in Gaza.
Not a day passes without some overt expression of it in our national life. A crime committed by one Muslim becomes an indictment of all Muslims. A cultural practice is wrenched from context and weaponised to provoke anxiety. A theological concept is distorted to imply threat. And on the streets, and increasingly online, it can turn into violence, intimidation or exclusion directed at anyone who looks Muslim.
After years of operating from exile, Yemen's Saudi-backed, UN-recognised cabinet is spending Ramadan in Aden, a move that has coincided with improvements in basic services and a renewed sense of relief. Yet that relief was overshadowed by the deadly confrontation between security forces and antigovernment protesters, in which at least one person was killed.
But Zia is one of an estimated 85,000 to 100,000 Muslims in Colombia, comprising less than 0.2 percent of the country's population. Within that community, though, is a prism of diverse backgrounds and experiences. Some of Colombia's Muslims reflect a rich history of migration to the region. Others are converts. The Colombian Islamic community is a small one but enjoys more on account of its diversity, Zia said, as he took a break from serving tea in his uncle Zaheer's restaurant