Fatima explained that today the children would be practicing saying the portion of the prayer called the Tashahod in Arabic—and that maybe I could read along and get a feel for how it sounded. The Tashahod is a collection of sentences recited as part of all five daily prayers.

In English, the words are straightforward: “All salutations, peace, perfection, omniscience, and prostrations, prayers and blessed deeds are for Allah. The peace of Allah be upon you, O Prophet, and His mercy and blessings. Peace be on us and on all righteous servants of Allah. I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship except Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and messenger.” The phonetic translation cloaks it in mystery, at least to my untrained ear: At-tahiyatu lillahi, was-salawatu wattaiyibatu. Assalamu alaika ayyuhan-nabiyyu wa-rahmatu llahi wa-barakatuh. Assalamu alayna wa-ala ibadi llahi s-salihin. Ashhadu alla ilaha illa llahu wa-ashhadu anna Muhammadan abduhu wa-rasuluh.

Every student took their turn. I listened carefully. A few were too young or too shy and didn’t make it all the way through. Their voices trailed off or their presentation ended in a face-plant on to the table. Fatima gently prodded and corrected. One kid who was a bit older performed exquisitely, his annunciation clear as bell. It sounded beautiful and otherwordly, like the music of a concerto played at double time and backwards.

When the other instructor took over, Fatima and I retreated to the upstairs library. She wanted to explain a little more about the guidelines regarding the Tashahod, so she got a pencil and began to diagram something on a piece of paper. She wrote numbers for each of the daily prayers depending on how many rakahs they required. Starting with the fajr, she created a column: 2, 4, 4, 3, and 4. She explained that what the children were practicing was really only half of the Tashahod; the other half, which some people refer to as the Durud, is another variation of a request for Allah’s mercy and blessings. Next to the 4’s, she wrote: 2, ½, 2, whole. She said after the first two rakahs of these prayers, you recite half the Tashahod, then complete the next two rakahs before reciting the entire Tashahod. For the morning prayer with only 2 rakahs, you can do the entire Tashahod at the end. However, for the maghrib prayer at sunset that only has 3 rakahs, it goes like this: 2 rakahs, ½ Tashahod, 1 rakah, whole Tashahood.

I stared at the marks she was making on the page. I could feel my eyes surrender focus; soon I was watching through two filmy blinds. Maybe it was time to throw in the hijab. Like the other faiths I had explored, the primary ideas weren’t so difficult to grasp, it was all the stuff that had sprouted up around them: the customs and rituals, many of which developed after the main messengers were long gone. A few of the essentials regarding prayer and other behaviors could be found in the Quran, but the rest was based on the daily habits and practices of Muhammad himself as recalled by the people who had known him. This extensive compilation of guidelines called the “Sunnah” supplements the Quran.

Something about the Tashahod being chopped in two pushed me over the edge. I could not believe the intricacy of these procedures. How was any newcomer expected to understand, much less adopt them as her own? Do religious people see how intimidating it is to approach their belief systems? For believers, all these rules and formalities wrap them in a warm, familiar blanket; for an outsider, they create a barrier impossible to penetrate.

Fatima could tell I had hit a wall. I couldn’t take my eyes from the paper. “I think that’s enough for today,” she said. She put her hand on my arm and I reluctantly lifted my gaze. “Don’t worry,” she told me. “Allah wants it to be easy for you.” I tried to smile, but I wasn’t convinced.

For several weeks, I sat in on the children’s class. I got used to arriving in the mosque parking lot, putting on my headscarf, and making my way to the back entrance that led to the classroom. The sound of Arabic as performed by squirmy students grew familiar. I began to recognize certain phrases, and to know what they meant. I wasn’t sure that I could ever put all the pieces together and do the prayers myself, but I tried not to think about that yet.

10 thoughts on “Tashahod

  1. Considering the whole of what you have experienced on your journey through religion it seems that each cohort has their tribal connections through ritual and code words that one must learn and practice if one is to be considered for membership. As I grow older I want “God” to be so much free-er than that. I want the feeling of a child running through a green meadow on a Summer day and feeling that he/she could touch the sky or dashing through the waves of a nearby beach over and over through the sparkling waters. I want to know that “God” accepts me as I am and requires no more but that I use whatever gifts I was born with in service to humanity in some way. I want others to know that I am looking at them without judgment just as I am being looked at without judgment. I am reminded of the beatitude: “Blessed are the pure in heart since they shall see God.” Why should I need anything more to experience a life of refreshing joy with myself and others. Your journey is a revelation.

    • Hi Frank. You may want to sit down to read this, but I would say this exact same thing. I could not imagine a Pharisee of Jesus’ time saying “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God” nor the rest of what you said, but I could readily imagine Jesus doing so, and that, hand in hand with his Father.

      Most evangelicals make a big deal out of doing the will of God, loving and obeying him and loving others. Jesus made a big deal out of the will of his Father, which could be summarized by what you said about using your gifts in service to humanity–which God made in his image.

      So, while I know you and I don’t agree on a lot of stuff, a lot of that may have come about because Pharisees of our time gave us their rules in the name of Jesus. We may be closer than you think.

      • I hear you, Walt and appreciate your thoughts. It reminded me of a prayer poem: “The light of God surrounds me. The love of God enfolds me. The power of God protects me. The presence of God watches over me. Wherever I am, God is.”

  2. Question: Did all of the children in the group already speak Arabic……or was it a mixed bag? It seems complicated, trying to learn a language at the same time you are trying to “learn” a religion and its rules and rituals. MET

    • Hi Merrill, It was a mixed bag–kids born here with English as their primary language and kids from other countries, etc. I think most of them did not speak Arabic, in fact. I think many Muslims will learn just enough Arabic to do prayers sort of like how Jews will learn just enough Hebrew to do prayers. Actually, also a bit like how some Buddhist will learn just enough Pali to do prayers. There is something about doing prayers in a language that you do not speak that seems to unite many religions….interesting.

  3. Corinna, your line in paragraph, I believe 5 or 6 regarding the warn blanket of security and the wall that a new person hits with that intimacy was so right on and accurate. I had not ever thought of in those words, but know the experience……..

    Blessings……..Colleen In Austin

  4. Once again, very informative and thought-provoking. I still would be interested to know if you feel spiritually inclined when you participate.

    • Hi Cheri, I most definitely did feel spiritually inclined during prayers, especially while bowing and pressing my forehead to the ground. These are similar movements to yoga poses called forward bend and child’s pose. In Islam, they are done should to shoulder with other people while speaking (or thinking) about the unifying concept of monotheism. I never failed to feel a sense of vulnerability and togetherness with humanity during the prayers and, for me, that is a very spiritual feeling.

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