And this woman has buried nine children—her protection from the Fire, therefore, is multiplied thrice. We pray that this will be granted to her.

Al-Nasa’i narrated in his Sunan that the Prophet ﷺ said to a man who had lost a child: “O so-and-so, which would you prefer: to have enjoyed him during your lifetime, or to come tomorrow to one of the gates of Paradise and find him there, having preceded you and opening the gate for you?” The man replied, “O Messenger of God, rather that he precede me and open the gate of Paradise for me—that is more beloved to me.” The Prophet said, “Then that is for you.”

Among the matters that strengthen the conviction of sound hearts in the reality of the Hereafter is witnessing the arrogance and tyranny of the 'brothers of apes and swine'—perpetrators of crimes so grave that no worldly punishment could truly equate to their severity.

Allah the Exalted has said: "And never think that Allah is unaware of what the wrongdoers do. He only delays them for a Day when eyes will stare [in horror]." [Surah Ibrahim: 42]

Of the remarkable reports found in historical records is what Ibn Asakir narrated in Tarikh Dimashq from Hind, the wife of Ubayd Allah ibn Ziyad. She said: “I long for the Day of Judgment, that I may see Ubayd Allah ibn Ziyad therein.”

Such is the state of every believer who has lost a loved one and holds firm faith in Allah and the Last Day. The most fortunate among them are those whose loss occurred in the path of martyrdom—an honor and expiation for the beloved."

This is a post about a woman who left Salafiyyah for Ash'ariyyah.

Note from her justifications—which it's good she mentioned: permissible adornment, music, and the status of women!

This reminds me of the story of the woman who converted to Christianity because of the story of the adulterous woman in the Bible (“Let him who is without sin cast the first stone”). Some preachers responded and explained that this story is not authentic in the Bible. Honestly, such a response doesn’t convince me at all.

What’s the connection between that woman who converted and the adulterous woman?

And how did she ignore all the topics of theology and law, and focus only on the idea that there’s no punishment for adultery?

Our friend [here] prefers one theological school over another because one of them supposedly allows her to take off her niqab and listen to music—even though these are not theological issues in the first place.

Most of the early Ashā'irah held views similar to contemporary Salafiyyah on these matters.

But leave that aside and read what al-Rāzī said about the status of women and how most scholars interpreted male guardianship (qiwāmah), and you’ll realize that what she admired in them is largely due to the influence of modern times.

Suppose things are as she claims; then this actually supports the truth of Salafiyyah—because Hell is surrounded by desires, and Paradise is surrounded by hardships, and in the end times, holding onto one's religion is like holding onto burning coal.

I don't even know how she dared to speak about the Vision (seeing God), and the Ash'ari view on it is the most puzzling: that He is seen though He has no face and is not in any direction.

But is she really concerned with seeing the face of Allāh?

What matters to her is that people see her face, adorned with the beautification she claims is permissible.

This woman represents a model of a large group that rejected Salafiyyah out of a rejection of religiosity itself and under the influence of liberal and feminist values.

And the Jahmi scholars were aware of this, so they exploited it and distorted religion—just as their predecessors distorted the divine attributes.

Allāh said: {Have you seen the one who takes his desires as his god?} [Al-Jāthiyah].

There’s a lesson in this for those who affiliate with Salafiyyah yet consider making some concessions to attract people—these people are addicted, and nothing will satisfy them, and more stages will follow.

I’ve seen those who became atheists, those who adopted Jahmi beliefs, and those who relapsed—all in pursuit of their base desires.

It’s truly a strange time, where theological beliefs are judged based on psychological complexes made up of layers of dreams, illusions, and desires derived from drama and its likes.

And I’ve seen more than can be counted—people looking at religion through a lens of modern, feminist utilitarianism. They don’t ask, “How can I attain God’s pleasure?” but rather, “What can I get out of religion, and how can I follow my desires without feeling guilty?”

No matter how much they present it as if they’ve discovered hidden truths, the trials expose them: they failed to remain steadfast in goodness because of pride, which then gave rise to justifications filthier than the sin itself.

And reflect on their general state after discovering this “fun” version of religiosity—you’ll be freed from the illusion that you’re dealing with merely deceived or naive individuals.

A Subtle Point: Two Traditions with Contrasting Jurisprudential Implications but a Unified Emphasis on Virtue

There are two narrations — one from ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (may Allah be pleased with him) regarding the recommendation to make up missed fasts of Ramadan during the first ten days of Dhul-Ḥijjah, and another from ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib (may Allah be pleased with him) indicating dislike for doing so.

Scholars have interpreted both reports as expressions of reverence for the ten days.

They understood ʿUmar’s report to mean that one should hasten to make up missed fasts from Ramadan early, so they may dedicate themselves to supererogatory (nafl) acts during the ten days.

As for ʿAlī’s report, they interpreted it as preferring that one should leave these days free for nafl worship and delay the obligatory fasts until after the ten days — akin to how one performs the regular Sunnah prayers before the obligatory ones, so the Sunnah is not missed.

In Ibn Taymiyyah’s Sharḥ al-ʿUmda, it is stated:
“Saeed reported from al-Ḥārith from ʿAlī: ‘Whoever owes fasts from Ramadan, let him make them up consecutively, not separately, and let him not fast during Dhul-Ḥijjah, for it is a month of devotion (nusk).’
And from al-Ḥasan from ʿAlī: ‘It is disliked to make up Ramadan fasts during the [first] ten days [of Dhul-Ḥijjah].’
Because fasting on these days is like the regular Sunnah prayers, and it is disliked to replace them with obligatory acts whose time does not risk being missed — just as one would not pray the obligatory fajr or ẓuhr before their respective Sunnahs.

The second opinion: It is not disliked.
Ḥarb said: Aḥmad was asked whether one should make up Ramadan fasts during the ten days. He said: ‘It is narrated from ʿAlī that he disliked it.’ But Aḥmad was lenient in this matter.
His leniency implies permissibility, not prohibition — for if it were forbidden, he would have mandated doing them earlier.

ʿUthmān ibn ʿAbd Allāh ibn Mawhib reported:
A man asked Abū Hurayrah, saying: ‘I used to fast during these ten days (i.e., Dhul-Ḥijjah), but I was sick during Ramadan and still owe some fasts. Should I fast now?’
He replied: ‘Start with the obligation you owe to Allah.’
This was narrated by Saʿīd.

And as previously mentioned, ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (may Allah be pleased with him) used to recommend making up Ramadan fasts during the ten days.
The soundest view is that both fasting — whether as voluntary or obligatory (make-up) — is permissible during these days, but voluntary fasting is superior, just like performing the regular Sunnahs at the beginning of prayer time.”

So although the two reports differ in jurisprudential implication, they both affirm the virtue of righteous deeds during the ten days of Dhul-Ḥijjah. The disagreement is not specific to fasting itself.
Preferring to clear oneself of owed obligations before the ten days shows the virtue of what follows, while preferring to leave the ten days for voluntary deeds demonstrates their exceptional merit.

Qawām al-Sunnah said in al-Targhīb wal-Tarhīb:

“1880 – Abū al-Ḥusayn al-Dhakwānī reported to us, who was told by Abū al-Ḥasan ibn Maylah, who reported from ʿAbd Allāh ibn Muḥammad ibn ʿĪsā, who reported from Aḥmad ibn Mahdī, from ʿAlī ibn al-Jaʿd, from Hushaym, from Khālid al-Ḥadhdhā’, from Abū ʿUthmān — meaning al-Nahdī — who said: ‘They used to prefer three sets of ten: the first ten of Dhul-Ḥijjah, the last ten of Ramadan, and the first ten of Muḥarram.’”

Al-Marwazī said in Qiyām al-Layl (as quoted in its abridged version):

“Hushaym said: Khālid informed us from Abū ʿUthmān: They used to greatly venerate three tens — the first ten of Muḥarram, the first ten of Dhul-Ḥijjah, and the last ten of Ramadan.”

This is considered authentic if the transmitter between al-Marwazī and Hushaym is trustworthy — and that is likely the case.

The Abū ʿUthmān referred to here is al-Nahdī, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn Mull, who met both ʿUmar and ʿAlī and narrated from them.

The virtue in these ten days is not restricted to fasting.

Rather, all righteous deeds are meritorious during this period, as affirmed in the hadith:

“There are no days in which righteous deeds are more beloved to Allah than these ten days.”
They said: “Not even jihād in the way of Allah?”
He replied: “Not even jihād in the way of Allah — except for a man who went out with his life and wealth and returned with nothing.”

This includes prayer, fasting, charity, remembrance of Allah, enjoining good, teaching knowledge, performing ʿumrah, seeking forgiveness for oneself and others, relieving those in distress, showing kindness to neighbors, upholding family ties, and other righteous deeds.

These ten days are among the blessings of Allah, which believers are commanded to rejoice in, as Allah says:

“Say: In the bounty of Allah and in His mercy — in that let them rejoice; it is better than what they gather.” [Yūnus: 58]

And among the wisdoms of Allah is that a festival (ʿĪd) comes at the end of these ten days, just as there is ʿĪd at the end of the last ten of Ramadan. All these are noble periods in which Allah bestows upon the Ummah immense rewards and forgiveness not found in other times — thus making the joy of ʿĪd a celebration of this great divine bounty.

This is from a unified Friday sermon in Morocco, and what’s astonishing is that one of the key factors in the spread of Ashʿarism in Morocco was the Almohad state — the state of Ibn Tūmart.

Ibn Khaldūn said in his History [6/303], speaking about Ibn Tūmart:

"They were filled with envy and resentment toward him because he adopted the Ashʿarī method in interpreting the ambiguous (al-mutashābihāt), and he rejected their rigidity in adhering to the method of the Salaf in accepting them as they are. He believed that the masses had been indoctrinated into anthropomorphism (tajsīm), and he leaned toward declaring them disbelievers (takfīr) because of it — one of the two opinions within the Ashʿarī school regarding takfīr."


And it is well known that he shed much blood in this context, to the extent that Ibn al-Qayyim likened him to al-Ḥajjāj.

And al-Dhahabī said he engaged in bloodshed, saying in al-Siyar [14/383]:

"He advanced upon bloodshed like the Khawārij, and he found what he had prepared."

Yet he still described him with imāmah, as per his habit of generously applying that title.

I preferred to mention the statement of Ibn Khaldūn due to his stature among the Moroccans, and because he conveys a disagreement within the Ashʿarī school regarding the takfīr of opponents. The words of Ibn Khaldūn indicate that the early Moroccans, for the most part, were not upon his path.

Al-Maqrīzī said in al-Khiṭaṭ [4/167]:

"The Ashʿarī creed remained in Egypt, the Levant (ash-Shām), the Ḥijāz, Yemen, and the Maghrib as well, due to Muḥammad bin Tūmart introducing the Ashʿarī view there, to the extent that this creed became dominant in all those lands — such that whoever opposed it would be beheaded."

So what if Ibn Tūmart were to see those who now walk in his footsteps, yet denounce judging opponents — when his very creed only reached them through takfīr and exclusion!

To censure takfīr, tabdīʿ (calling others innovators), and tafsīq (calling others sinners) absolutely aligns with a liberal spirit, and such a spirit encourages pluralism. So, how can you impose a particular creed and then denounce judgment upon its opponents — affirming the meaning of takfīr or tabdīʿ while negating the word itself! This is more like the tricks of secularists.

As for the existence of extremists — or those accused of extremism or laxity — this is present in every school. Each side claims moderation is with them, and that justice is in their statement.

And every fiqh book contains a chapter on apostasy (riddah) — and this is neither to be universally condemned nor universally praised.

Permit unveiling the face, or we’ll unveil the hair instead (a tour through whims and obsessions that shaped modern jurisprudential methodologies)...

I saw a statement by a woman whose country’s scholars almost unanimously hold the obligation of the niqab, which is their jurisprudential school (assuming, for the sake of argument, that the issue even allows for a valid disagreement). In the middle of her statement, she says the niqab has become a burden, and that many women have unveiled their hair because they saw themselves as sinful already for uncovering their faces, so they uncovered their hair out of a mindset of “ruined anyway, might as well go all the way.”

This statement may seem too absurd to even comment on—but one thing I’ve learned over the past years is that such reasoning can influence many people’s thinking. I’m not referring to teenagers, but even to some intellectuals and influencers. I’ll elaborate on this.

Her logic resembles that of someone who says: prohibiting TV series and films led people to watch pornography, because they considered themselves sinners either way.

Or that prohibiting smoking caused people to turn to hashish or alcohol, since they saw themselves as sinful regardless.

I could give many examples of people with binary thinking, who prefer committing the gravest sins under the pretense that it’s either we don’t sin at all or we despair of Allah’s mercy—so they plunge into the most severe sins. As for sinning, acknowledging it, repenting, and trying to reduce the damage as much as possible—that’s not an option for them.

Most such examples would be milder and closer to understanding than an example involving “the oppression of women.”

You wouldn’t hear a man say: “Obligating me to attend congregational prayer has become a burden, so I’ve abandoned prayer altogether.” If you did hear that, you wouldn’t doubt the man is suffering from obsessive compulsive thoughts or a delusion of perfection, and that he needs both psychological treatment and proper religious understanding.

I’ve discovered in recent years that much of the trend of seeking rukhas (trying to find the easiest opinion amongst the scholars to follow it based on your desires) stems from a mindset like that of this woman: we want to feel religious and virtuous while doing whatever we please, and without anyone criticizing us.

Here, the standard will not be the religious evidence, but personal desire.

If they find someone who permits what they already wanted permitted, they will crown him as a well-researched scholar and a brilliant jurist—even if they don’t understand how scholarly research is conducted. They’re just pleased with the outcome and that it was dressed in the garb of academic research, enabling them at last to argue with the “strict ones.”

That person, in turn, will be pleased with the praise, and will convince himself that it’s due to his persuasive power and skill—not realizing that it’s just preexisting desires cheering him on. He’ll imagine he’s rescuing the religion from being alienating, unaware that he has awakened a beast in people’s souls that will not stop with him—and they’ll go on seeking more.

These people, though clearly influenced by liberal values, still want the jurist to abandon his own convictions and issue fatwas flexibly to match the times (and “flexibility” means matching their desires).

So even if he believes the niqab is obligatory, he should say: “But there are those who didn’t consider it obligatory, and whoever follows that view is not to be blamed.” And thus he becomes a mufti of non-obligation, even if he believes in the obligation.

One of the most ironic things is the enthusiasm of many influenced by this mindset for traditional schools of jurisprudence—thinking it will save them from Salafi extremism. But none of them actually adheres to a specific school, because no school satisfies their hunger for leniencies.

Most of them go beyond this to engage in patchwork fatwas and the reprehensible practice of seeking out all the easiest opinions from every school—and often the four schools’ concessions don’t even suffice, so they go beyond them, while showing no willingness to promote or defend those same schools’ rulings in areas like divorce or making up missed prayers, where their views are strict.

What’s truly troubling is how some people promote their preferred jurisprudence by spreading the concessions it offers while concealing its strict positions—in a propagandist manner unworthy of scholarship and its people.

Had this binary mindset—or the one that pretends to be binary in order to emotionally blackmail juristic opinions—been addressed, the space for genuine scholarly research would have been safer from the influence of whims.

The rigidity once attributed to those who held the niqab obligatory has now been mirrored in a counter-rigidity from the other side: they don’t merely demand respect for their views, but go further—claiming that their opponents’ views, which assert something as decisively better or even obligatory, must be suppressed because they constitute a burden.

The only one who has been infiltrated is the author of the post—without a doubt, he got this from Rafidi websites.

The narration would only be believed by a Rafidi, or someone ignorant of history, or heedless and lacking scrutiny.

When ʿAlī al-Riḍā died, Abū Zurʿah al-Rāzī was, at most, nine years old. So when exactly did this story supposedly occur?

Did he say all that, listen among the crowds, write about the event, and act as the one relaying it—all while being just nine years old? The narration mentions actions of seasoned ḥuffāẓ (expert hadith scholars).

Al-Dhahabī said in Tārīkh al-Islām, under the year of ʿAlī al-Riḍā’s death: “He died in Ṣafar, year 203 AH, at the age of fifty, in Ṭūs.”

And al-Ḥākim said in his book al-Jāmiʿ li-Dhikr Aʾimmah al-Amṣār al-Muzakkiyīn li-Ruwāt al-Akhbār: “I heard ʿAbd Allāh ibn Muḥammad ibn Mūsā say: I heard Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Sulaymān al-Rāzī, the ḥāfiẓ, say: Abū Zurʿah was born in 194 AH and traveled from Rayy at age thirteen.”

There is another narration in Tārīkh Baghdād stating he was born in 200 AH, but its chain includes an accused individual, though al-Dhahabī preferred it.

The report that he was born in 194 AH says he did not leave his hometown until the age of thirteen. So the story is impossible—because for it to occur, he’d have to have been older than thirteen. Yet al-Riḍā originally entered Nīshāpūr when Abū Zurʿah was only six years old and left the same year.

Al-Ḥākim said: “Al-Riḍā arrived in Nīshāpūr in the year 200 AH. Al-Maʾmūn had dispatched Rajāʾ ibn Abī al-Ḍaḥḥāk to bring him from Madinah to Baṣrah, then from there to Ahwāz. He traveled from there to Fārs, then by way of Bust to Nīshāpūr. He was ordered not to take the mountain roads, then he proceeded to Marw.”

And the dubious story in question reads as follows:

(Benefit) In Tārīkh Nīshāpūr by al-Ḥākim: When ʿAlī al-Riḍā ibn Mūsā al-Kāẓim ibn Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq ibn Muḥammad al-Bāqir ibn ʿAlī Zayn al-ʿĀbidīn ibn al-Ḥusayn entered Nīshāpūr, he was in a covered palanquin atop a dappled mule and had passed through the market. He was approached by the two imams, the ḥāfiẓs Abū Zurʿah al-Rāzī and Ibn Aslam al-Ṭūsī, along with countless scholars of knowledge and hadith. They said: “O noble master, son of the noble imams, by your pure forefathers and noble ancestors, show us your blessed face and narrate to us a hadith from your forefathers, from your grandfather, by which we may remember you.” So he stopped his attendants, ordered the cover lifted, and delighted the eyes of the people with the sight of his face. He had two sidelocks resting on his shoulders, and the people stood in layers, between those crying, shouting, throwing themselves to the ground, or kissing the hoof of his mule. The noise swelled, and the imams called out: “O people, be silent and listen to what benefits you; do not harm us with your shouting.” And the relayers of the hadith were Abū Zurʿah and al-Ṭūsī.

So how can a six-year-old child step forward before an uncountable number of students of knowledge and serve as the mustamlī (the relayer of the hadith)? A mustamlī must be loud-voiced, alert, and just. How can any of that apply to a child who had just emerged into the world of knowledge? The task of relaying was assigned to the elite—evidenced by the fact that al-Ṭūsī is also named as one. How could a great ḥāfiẓ be paired with a child?

All this is internal criticism (naqd matnī)—and that’s not even addressing the fact that the story lacks a chain of transmission. It is not mentioned from Tārīkh Nīshāpūr except by people who came well after the first seven centuries and disagreed over its wording. This casts doubt even on its presence in Tārīkh Nīshāpūr. It supposedly contains a hadith narrated by Abū Zurʿah from al-Riḍā with a sound chain—something the hadith scholars would have eagerly documented. Yet this hadith is not found in any books with such a chain—not even by al-Ḥākim in his Mustadrak. Nor is there any trace in the writings of Abū Zurʿah or his students indicating that he ever studied under al-Riḍā.

As for infiltration: Abū Zurʿah has a well-known creed titled ʿAqīdat al-Rāzīayn, in which he says:

“The best of this ummah after its Prophet ﷺ are Abū Bakr al-Ṣiddīq, then ʿUmar bin al-Khaṭṭāb, then ʿUthmān bin ʿAffān, then ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib.”

He also has the famous statement regarding the slandering of the Companions:

“If you see a man belittling any of the Companions of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ, know that he is a heretic (zindīq).”