Children of Dust_ A Memoir of Pakistan - Ali Eteraz [48]
“Will you stand in front of Allah on the Day of Judgment,” Pops cross-examined, “and testify?”
“I—”
“You cannot!” Pops interrupted again. “You are a man and not a Prophet. You cannot do intercession. Not for me. Not for my children. Not for the rest of this congregation. You are a liar. O Muslims! This man is taking all of us to hell!”
With that he handed Flim and me our coats and told us we were going home.
That was the first of many heated encounters Pops would have with the Salafis. When the Arabs at the mosque insisted on following the Saudi calculation of the lunar calendar in order to celebrate Ramadan, Pops told them that he was “an American and not a Saudi” and intended to sight the moon with his own eyes. When mosque elections took place, which essentially involved one Salafi appointing another one to the presidency—Salafis considered voting un-Islamic—Pops went and made a big hoopla about democracy, transparency, and determining membership by establishing a dues-paying system, “which was how true Muslims were supposed to run an organization.” Eventually, Pops defected from the mosque and joined the nascent Blackamerican mosque downtown. They were Salafis too, but because they were shunned by the Arabs that Pops disliked, he overlooked their theology.
Ultimately it became clear to Ammi and Pops that although their methods were a little different, they were both driven by a desire to help other Muslims gain Paradise, so they joined forces and created the QSC: Quran Study Circle.
The main purpose of the QSC was to get together local families that had children and read the Quran in English. Friday evening was chosen as the official night, which Flim and I objected to vehemently, because that was when the two-hour block of TGIF sitcoms—including our favorite show, Boy Meets World—came on ABC.
The introductory meeting was held in our living room. Ammi moved all the furniture out and spread white sheets topped with cushions around the periphery. In the middle there was a small tray of almonds and some cans of Sunkist orange soda. (Dark colas were disallowed, because one of the chemicals in them was not halal). Males and females, in a wide span of ages, sat on opposite sides from one another.
A problem presented itself as soon as the meeting began. “We have twenty people, but only eight copies of the Quran,” Pops noted.
“Also,” said Auntie Fiza, a doctor at the local hospital (and no relation) who had a number of sons my age, “all our translations are different.”
This caused a small debate to break out, which was resolved when Ammi said that she would order a standardized translation the next morning and QSC would reconvene in two weeks.
Two weeks later twenty copies of the Noble Quran translation arrived from the Saudi Embassy, and the Quran Study Circle was recalled. Ammi and Pops were as excited as Flim and I were irritated.
As soon as the meeting began, however, the group’s theological differences came out in the open.
“This Quran isn’t right,” Pops said, flipping through the Noble Quran translation.
“You can’t say that about the Quran!” Auntie Fiza retorted.
Pops ignored her. “What are these brackets?” he demanded, pointing to the editorial comments inserted into the translation. “These brackets are not part of the Quran.”
“Forget the brackets,” Ammi said, pointing to the footnotes. “It’s a good Quran. Look, there, at the bottom of the page! It even has hadiths to explain the verses!”
“I don’t accept that either,” Pops said. “Hadiths aren’t for explaining the Quran.”
“Then what are they for?” Auntie Fiza said.
“They’re nice stories,” Pops said. “Stories that we can use to guide our actions. But the Quran is above nice stories. It is the Word of God.”
“I think that the Ahl-e-Hadith are right,” Ammi said, referring to a denomination whose members considered hadiths to be equivalent to the Quran. “Using hadiths is fine. Even advisable.”
“I won’t accept this translation,” Pops declared. “The best translation is the one by Abdullah Yusuf Ali—this one