In the Name of the Most High
Alhamdulilah, we've reached Syria safely. On our way in, we had an interesting dilemma. At the Damascus airport, as almost all of the other travelers on our flight were whisked through immigration, the immigration officers held us up because were on a group visa but weren't traveling with our group's leader. As we pleaded with immigration officials, one of them decided to take my wife and I into a back room to try to confirm with our group leader that we were in fact there with the group. Unfortunately, they couldn't reach our group leader by phone, and we were sent back into the waiting area behind the immigration counters. For the next hour and a half we sat there, passing time and waiting, unsure of what would be done with us.
After sitting idly for some time, out of nowhere my eyes suddenly locked with those of a Kuwaiti man walking directly toward us. The man was bearded and sturdily built, and walked with a smile on his face, as if he had a deliberate purpose in approaching us. After exchanging pleasantries and recognizing we were foreigners, he began speaking to us in English. He mentioned he was from San Antonio, of all places, and ran a hookah shop there. We exchanged stories, me about "Zeitoun," a recent novel about Syrian-American hero Abdulrahman Zeitoun, and him about an American man who frequented his hookah store and recently embraced Islam. As I explained our predicament to him, he gracefully approached one of the higher-ranking Syrian immigration officials and began flattering him with expressive and eloquent Arabic. We were through immigration within a matter of minutes. I thanked the Kuwaiti man profusely. His name was Hossein, he told me. Though he mentioned he was visiting family in Damascus and that he would be at Sayyida Zaynab's shrine tomorrow evening, I never saw Hossein again.
Today, I started the day with dhuhr prayers at the haram of Sayyida Zaynab (as). Unfortunately, my first visit to the haram of Sayyida Zaynab (as) was rather uneventful; I didn't feel any real spiritual connection or change of mood at the shrine. As we were walking back from the haram, two young boys pleaded with us incessantly and physically clung onto our bodies, blocking our path back to the hotel. They desperately wanted some spare change.
Our second visit to the haram today was for maghrib and isha prayers. This visit felt less rushed as we were able to spend more time in the haram itself. The feeling just sitting inside the shrine is simply amazing. As I clung for the first time onto Sayyida Zaynab's zarih, the metallic cage that covers her tomb, I lowered my head and began instinctively making any du'a that came to mind. Almost immediately, I prayed for mercy. I begged her to ask Allah (swt) to have mercy on me in this life and the hereafter. While sitting by her zarih, I also thought about the tribulations that Zaynab (as) went through for the sake for Islam. About how her hair turned gray due to the unbearable pain she bore in the aftermath of Karbala. I thought of how she gave the ultimate sacrifice -- her own two sons -- for the sake of Islam. And while clinging to her zarih, I really felt Sayyida Zaynab (as) was there with me, listening to my du'a...
Alhamdulilah, we've reached Syria safely. On our way in, we had an interesting dilemma. At the Damascus airport, as almost all of the other travelers on our flight were whisked through immigration, the immigration officers held us up because were on a group visa but weren't traveling with our group's leader. As we pleaded with immigration officials, one of them decided to take my wife and I into a back room to try to confirm with our group leader that we were in fact there with the group. Unfortunately, they couldn't reach our group leader by phone, and we were sent back into the waiting area behind the immigration counters. For the next hour and a half we sat there, passing time and waiting, unsure of what would be done with us.
After sitting idly for some time, out of nowhere my eyes suddenly locked with those of a Kuwaiti man walking directly toward us. The man was bearded and sturdily built, and walked with a smile on his face, as if he had a deliberate purpose in approaching us. After exchanging pleasantries and recognizing we were foreigners, he began speaking to us in English. He mentioned he was from San Antonio, of all places, and ran a hookah shop there. We exchanged stories, me about "Zeitoun," a recent novel about Syrian-American hero Abdulrahman Zeitoun, and him about an American man who frequented his hookah store and recently embraced Islam. As I explained our predicament to him, he gracefully approached one of the higher-ranking Syrian immigration officials and began flattering him with expressive and eloquent Arabic. We were through immigration within a matter of minutes. I thanked the Kuwaiti man profusely. His name was Hossein, he told me. Though he mentioned he was visiting family in Damascus and that he would be at Sayyida Zaynab's shrine tomorrow evening, I never saw Hossein again.
Today, I started the day with dhuhr prayers at the haram of Sayyida Zaynab (as). Unfortunately, my first visit to the haram of Sayyida Zaynab (as) was rather uneventful; I didn't feel any real spiritual connection or change of mood at the shrine. As we were walking back from the haram, two young boys pleaded with us incessantly and physically clung onto our bodies, blocking our path back to the hotel. They desperately wanted some spare change.
Our second visit to the haram today was for maghrib and isha prayers. This visit felt less rushed as we were able to spend more time in the haram itself. The feeling just sitting inside the shrine is simply amazing. As I clung for the first time onto Sayyida Zaynab's zarih, the metallic cage that covers her tomb, I lowered my head and began instinctively making any du'a that came to mind. Almost immediately, I prayed for mercy. I begged her to ask Allah (swt) to have mercy on me in this life and the hereafter. While sitting by her zarih, I also thought about the tribulations that Zaynab (as) went through for the sake for Islam. About how her hair turned gray due to the unbearable pain she bore in the aftermath of Karbala. I thought of how she gave the ultimate sacrifice -- her own two sons -- for the sake of Islam. And while clinging to her zarih, I really felt Sayyida Zaynab (as) was there with me, listening to my du'a...
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