When John Canalis, editor of Los Angeles Times Community News in Orange County, told me that a column about my life as a Muslim American would make a good read and help people dispel misconceptions about Muslims and Islam, I thought, "Me? No way."
One of Islam's five pillars is Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca.
When I heard about the shooting of 14-year-old Pakistani Malala Yousafzai by a coward, who must think he's a real man to shoot a teenage girl while on a school bus simply because she wants an education, I felt sick.
My name is Mona Shadia, and I am a savage — according to Pamela Geller, that is.
It is fair to say that last week I was in utter agony, lamenting the hot mess in the Middle East.
Do you know the feeling when you have a parent or relative that you keep at a distance for one reason or another, but then they become severely ill, and you can't help but forget all your differences and stand beside them?
One of the reasons I enjoy a happy and fulfilling life is because of the people in it.
The other night I struggled to come up with a simple way to describe the magnitude of "taraweh" — the extra prayers performed nightly during Ramadan.
Refraining from food and water all day during Ramadan is not that bad.
Ramadan starts Thursday night (insert multiple happy faces here).
If you've lived near a Muslim or a Middle Eastern family, or if you know one, then you've probably seen them act a little weird around dogs.
I struggle to fulfill my commitment to five daily prayers.
A group of people once brought a drunk man to the Prophet Muhammad, thinking that because alcohol is forbidden he would react harshly.
When I was growing up in Cairo, there was a rumor that the Egyptian secret service placed an informant in every neighborhood who knew every little move you made, your family history and what you said about the government.
| Advertisement |
|
|