Five Little Fingers

Editor

It had been a warm summer day in Istanbul when we arrived at the home of a family we had long wanted to visit.  It was late afternoon.  Stepping onto the patio of their ground floor condominium, we were greeted by an open door in anticipation of our arrival, the laughter of a precious four year old being chased by her two older sisters, and then the sincere greetings of peace from their parents.

Removing our shoes and accepting the offer of slippers, the family invited us to make ourselves comfortable on their terrace at the back of the house overlooking the Bosphorus Strait.  Being located on a hillside, the terrace ended into flowers and greenery making the perfect foundation for the magnificent view that lay beyond it.  Still high in the light, but gradually darkening, blue sky was a thick crescent moon.  Below a mixture of lush green trees, clay tile covered roofs, and the occasional sleek office building or hotel made up the view of the hillsides opposite us.  To the left, the late afternoon traffic hurrying across the bridge over the strait reminded me of toy cars so small and adorable from that distance.  Underneath flowed the lovely turquoise waters decorated with a large passenger ship parked by a hotel on the shoreline, yachts ever so gracefully floating along, and little white, wooden motor boats of the local fishermen bobbing in place anchored here and there busy in completing their catch for the day.  The light breeze and soft glowing colors of the gradually setting sun enhanced the sweetness of this peaceful moment even more.

Before long dinner was served.  As we ate the sun set, the adhan read for the maghrib salah the sky began to turn dark, the hillsides across the waters transformed from colorfully decorated city scenes to silhouettes sprinkled with glittering lights.  With the help of his three daughters, the brother spread out the prayer rugs on the terrace as my children and I helped his wife clear the table.  His young girls put on their scarves, and when the iqama was read, we took our places for the prayer.  There in the fresh evening air under the open sky, we prayed remembering Allah, the Creator and Sustainer, Provider of all the nourishment, beauty, and peace that exists.

Having finished the salah and its sunnah, my husband recited the supplication that follows for us.  Just as we were about to begin making thikr, by counting out thirty three times SubhanAllah (Glory be to Allah), Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah), and Allahu Akbar(Allah is the Greatest) on our fingers, the brother motioned for his youngest daughter to come sit in front of him.  In her precious white dress, she obediently came to her father and sat before him on her knees like him.  Taking her right hand ever so gently in to his left hand, he turned her palm upwards, caressed it once with his right hand, and began delicately pressing against the joints of each finger in succession whisperingly reciting, "SubhanAllah, SubhanAllah, SubhanAllah...."

When he finished saying this thirty-three times, he blew into her palm as if to fill her palm with the praises of Allah that he had just recited and then closed his right hand over her precious hand as if indicating this phase of remembrance of Allah was complete and seemingly hoping that its benefits would not be lost.  Then he began again ever so softly but precisely pressing each joint of her five little fingers reciting, "Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah...."

Still carefully embracing her tiny hand, the father once again blew into it, covered it with his own, and began counting out, "Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, ...."  She patiently sat soaking up this loving attention from her father. When he finished this time, the again blew into her hand, covered it, and with inexplicable compassion he kissed his baby girl's palm, caressed her face, and released the delicate hold on her hand setting her on her way as if letting a small white dove take flight after having carefully contained it to admire its beauty.  Truly there was nothing more beautiful that night than this father's gentle care in teaching his daughters to remember Allah through salah, dua, and thikr.

I could not help but think of how eloquently this moment portrayed the teachings of the Prophet (peace be upon him) like this one recorded by Aishah:

Allah is gentle and loves gentleness in all things.

(Bukhari, Muslim)

May Allah increase our compassion towards one another, especially our children, and make us ever more grateful for His mercy.