The “Thamra”* of This Discussion
By Hareem Ahmad
Daily at Qalam, students are asked to read aloud from an Arabic textbook they have painstakingly read, notated, and translated- and sometimes crammed. First, the nervous sister- we’ll assume the student in question today is a sister- reads it in the original Arabic, perhaps avoiding pronouncing the ending sounds of passages whose grammar is uncertain. Then she translates the fiqh debate into English, trying to simultaneously stay faithful to the language and convey the nuanced arguments and evidences put forth by the author. This particular part might be punctuated by hopeful glances towards Shaykh AbdulNasir, either seeking approval for her grasp of the material or in desperation that he will step in and take over the explanation of this particular section.
We have been reading an Usul of Fiqh textbook for months now, trying to understand the different methods Islamic scholars use to arrive at a ruling. Sometimes the differences in their approaches are purely semantical, and sometimes they see the issue in a genuinely different light. At the end of many of these conversations, the author will conclude by summarizing for the reader exactly what is the “thamra,” the fruit, of this particular discussion.
That has had me thinking. Thamra is literally fruit, but it is used in a figurative sense to mean benefit, or profit, or outcome. It is not necessarily the point of the debate, but rather the fruit it yields- how this difference of opinion manifests later down the line in the body of Islamic law and thought.
So I wonder, as we sit in class availing ourselves of this once in a lifetime opportunity to sit in front of a scholar and explore how exactly to determine the length of a woman’s iddah**, what exactly will be the thamra of this experience. I am not sure how learning these details in particular will benefit me, short of finding myself in the extremely unusual circumstance of advising a woman going through a divorce. Of course, any woman who had no one to turn to but me in that case would be unfortunate indeed.
As I fantasize about being in that position and reciting off the scholarly debate on iddah from memory, then giving her what I think is the correct opinion, I can see already that that would be of little to no help. I realize that were I to find myself in that situation, I would keep my mouth shut. That’s when I have my epiphany. We are not learning this information in order to be able to teach it to the community. As Shaykh loves to say, nobody cares. Rather, we’re learning this information because through it, Shaykh is teaching us how to be effective community servants, and that means taking ourselves out of the equation and being genuinely focused on the needs of others.
I have never considered myself to be an impulsive or judgmental person, but as I reflect on these last six months, I have been contending with those forces within myself. I recognize slight tendencies to categorize and rank the people I meet. I realize that somewhat often, I speak without purpose, without caring or even considering the effects of my words, just because I feel an urge to say something. I realize also, that I have started checking myself. I jump into fewer conversations. I offer less advice. I post less on facebook, because when I deliberate whether my words might benefit those who hear them, I recognize that they will not. I think more about the audience than myself- and I find that I am kinder***. I care less about the faults of others. I have more genuine concern and respect for the struggles of those I meet, particularly people who are different from myself.
Perhaps it is because the vast ocean of Islamic knowledge, whose surface we have barely caught a glimpse of, has humbled me. Maybe it has been studying the life and the example of Rasulallah (S), who was the ultimate mercy to mankind, which has taught me to be kinder. Personally, I believe it is the guidance of Shaykh, who reminds us constantly that nobody cares about us and nobody wants to know what we think and Islam would be best served if we never opened our mouths again for as long as we live- kidding! Just kidding. But in all honesty, he has taught me, over the course of the last six months, to start to get over myself. I am a more thoughtful, more useful, more genuine human being. That is the thamra, the fruit that all those fiqh and hadith knowledge has borne. That has been the thamra of Qalam, and I only hope those who interact with me during and after the program agree.
*hold your horses! I’ll be defining this word during the post.
**iddah: the waiting period of a woman after a divorce or after becoming a widow, in which she cannot remarry
*** though not necessarily kind just yet. It’s a work in progress!
