by Umm Zakiyyah
Several online groups were already dedicated to discussing the #CrazyMuslimWoman and #HotMuslimMistress saga, and some of Aliyah’s Facebook “friends” actually tagged her to chime in. What do YOU think? was the most common discussion thread in Muslim circles, as if it made perfect Islamic sense to openly speculate on the guilt, chastity, and honor of someone just because the story was “in the news” or trending online. It was as if Aliyah wasn’t their fellow Muslim sister, or even a fellow human being.
Even during past discussions involving well-known media personalities like Bill Cosby, Aliyah had never participated. It just felt wrong. It was one thing to discuss an issue (like how to handle cases of date rape or what the statute of limitation should be for certain crimes), but it was another thing entirely to publicly declare your “opinion” on whether or not someone was guilty or innocent, or lying or telling the truth. Does Allah ever grant us that right? Aliyah wondered. She thought not. But destroying people’s honor had become so commonplace amongst Muslims that Aliyah was often left feeling that she should study more about her faith. Maybe there was a loophole for the soul’s accountability in front of Allah that she was unaware of.
Aliyah’s phone vibrated on the table in front of her, interrupting her thoughts. She reached for it and saw Nikki’s name on the screen. Aliyah groaned as she refused the call then put the phone in her purse. She couldn’t handle hearing the voice of Matt’s wife right then. It was bad enough dealing with relentless judgment and negativity from strangers. She doubted she had the strength to withstand it from people she knew personally. It incited too much self-doubt.
“I better go,” Aliyah said, standing as she looked at her wristwatch and pulled the straps of her handbag over her shoulder. “Nikki is probably dropping off Ibrahim now. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Don’t let Ibrahim watch television this weekend,” Benjamin suggested, pushing his chair back and following his niece out the kitchen.
“I hope the story will be old news by then,” Aliyah said as she walked through the living room toward the front door. Her reputation was ruined, that was for sure, she thought sadly. She hoped her son would be spared the agony of hearing horrible things about his mother. She had no idea how to get herself through this, and she was a grown woman. What could she possibly say to a boy who was almost five? “I mean, how long can the media spend on a nobody?” Aliyah said, frustrated. “I think my fifteen minutes of fame are up.”
“They’ll keep it going as long as people show interest,” Benjamin said. “Unfortunately, turning a hijabi Muslim woman into eye candy can go a long way in today’s world.”
“Well, the good news is,” Aliyah said, sad humor in her voice, “you don’t have to worry about finding me a husband anymore. At this rate, no good brothers will want to marry me.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“I do,” Aliyah said as she knelt to put on her shoes. “Who wants to marry a whore?”
“Aliyah, please don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“Well, that’s what the media is saying.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to say it.”
“Me not saying it doesn’t stop it from being said.” She shrugged, feeling choked up all of a sudden. “Even Muslims seem to agree on the whore part.”
“It stops you from saying it,” Benjamin said. “And that’s all that matters.”
Aliyah grunted as she stood upright, resisting the urge to break down. “If only that were true.”
The look of sadness on her uncle’s face made Aliyah wish she could take back the comment. She averted her gaze from him as she unlocked the door to let herself out.
“I’m praying for you, Ally,” Benjamin said as she stepped out the door. “In all my prayers.”
“Thank you,” she muttered sincerely. “I really appreciate it.”
“Keep your head up, pumpkin,” she heard him say as she walked toward her car. “We’ll get through this insha’Allah.”
Aliyah nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. She was starting to wonder if it even mattered whether or not she got through this. What did she have to look forward to anyway?
In her car, she glanced at her phone and frowned when she saw that, other than Nikki, no one had called or texted. Or more precisely, Larry hadn’t called or texted. Though it was probably a stupid idea, Aliyah had reached out to Larry several times that week, saying she was thinking about him and wanted to know if he wanted to get together some time. In the midst of the public character assassination, Aliyah had begun to appreciate the comfort she’d found in Larry, and she missed him terribly. If she could just hear his comforting and supportive voice, she imagined she could weather this storm. But he hadn’t returned any of her calls, texts, or emails, and Aliyah was beginning to feel ashamed for reaching out to him at all.
What did you expect? she said to herself. Larry probably thinks the rumors are true.
The possibility that Larry himself would believe the lies cut deep, and Aliyah wondered if it were possible to feel any lonelier, more pathetic, or regretful than she felt right then.
***
Crazy Muslim Woman Gate: Is There a Silver Lining?
Jacob sat at the desk in his home office late Friday night, staring indecisively at the title of the article published on a popular Muslim blog. Younus and Thawab had gone to sleep a few hours before, and Deanna was still at her parents’ house (as she had been since being released from the holding cell after Aliyah and the college declined to press charges, though both had secured restraining orders against her). This was Jacob’s much-coveted quiet time, and he wondered if it was wise to spend it reading anything related to the source of his troubles. But this was a reputable Muslim site, he reasoned, so hopefully they had more integrity than the secular media (and the social media of Muslims on Facebook and Twitter). News sites and social media had spared nothing in making his wife look like a raving maniac, him like a sex-hungry Muslim man, and Aliyah like a sleazy seducer—and all of them “crazies” who represented “true Islam” or sullied its image (depending on the individual perspective).
It is heartbreaking to learn that one of our respected Muslim personalities assaulted another Muslim and had to be, according to witnesses, physically restrained from harming her further, the blog said. Though I don’t agree with the label “crazy” that the media has given our Muslim sister, I think this description brings to light a very important issue that the Muslim community has ignored for far too long: mental illness. I’m not saying that Dr. Deanna Janice Bivens is mentally ill, and I definitely don’t want to speculate on the veracity of the rumors of any adulterous affair between Dr. Bivens’s husband and his coworker, who was also Dr. Bivens’s best friend. But regardless of whether or not either is the case, what Dr. Bivens did, coupled with her Facebook posts preceding the attack, was wrong and suggests that she was, at least temporarily, not in her best state of mind.
Jacob grunted. This person is a genius, he thought in bitter sarcasm.
It is unfortunate that our religious communities generally sweep psychological problems under the rug or view them as indicative of someone’s lacking faith. However, the truth is, there are many reasons for psychological distress, whether short-term in the form of temporary depression or a nervous breakdown, or long-term in the form of clinical depression or lasting mental illness; and amongst the major factors contributing to psychological distress and disorders are unresolved personal problems and childhood abuse, especially when—
Jacob exited the website and decided it probably wasn’t the best idea to read the blog. It was difficult to be talked about in the third person, as if he and his wife weren’t living, breathing human beings who deserved privacy and respect like everyone else.
I definitely don’t want to speculate on the veracity of the rumors of any adulterous affair, the writer had said.
Then why mention it at all? Jacob wondered. Why couldn’t you just focus on the “crazy Muslim woman�
�� gate, as your title suggested? In all of this, it was only Deanna who was guilty of public wrongdoing, so it was understandable that her name would be mentioned. But why not leave Aliyah out of it? With all the media sites having a field day calling her Jacob’s “whore” mistress, why couldn’t at least one reputable Muslim source take the higher ground? Aliyah deserved at least that small kindness from fellow Muslims, didn’t she?
Aliyah.
The thought of her made Jacob’s chest constrict in anxiety. He wondered how she was holding up. He saw her in passing at work, but she wouldn’t even look at him. And he couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t imagine what she thought of him now. She probably had no idea how any of this madness got started, and he didn’t have the words or heart to tell her the truth.
I wanted to marry you, Aliyah, he could say. And if you had accepted me, I would have rushed to marry you, even if it drove my wife crazy.
In his mind’s eye, Jacob saw Aliyah smiling, her head turned from the camera as she laughed at something Jacob was saying off-screen. Of course, he had never met Aliyah at the time the picture was taken, but he still liked to think of himself as the source of joy in her life, even back then.
But he could never say that out loud. It was bad enough that Larry was barely speaking to him in the midst of all this, and he didn’t know what to tell his brother. Jacob didn’t want Larry to know what he’d said to Benjamin and Sayed after Jumu’ah that day. Jacob was still holding on to the hope that the media fascination with the “crazy Muslim woman” would wear off soon so he could go on with his life.
But was that even possible? Jacob wondered. He hadn’t called or spoken to Deanna in more than a week, and he didn’t want to. Right then, he couldn’t stomach the sight of her, much less the sound of her voice or her presence. How then could he resume life as usual, even if this public saga died down?
“She needs professional help,” Benjamin had said after Jacob explained what had led his wife to physically assault Aliyah. Jacob hadn’t wanted to divulge what happened to Deanna when she was eight years old, but the media had already leaked rumors about it (one of the only rumors that turned out to be actually true). Aliyah herself had already told her uncle that Deanna kept mentioning some “Bailey” person that day. So Jacob felt obligated to give Aliyah’s uncle a full understanding of what was going on, especially since his family was being directly affected.
Yes, I know she needs help, Jacob had thought. He had said the same to Deanna herself on several occasions. “You can’t keep all that stuff bottled up inside,” he would say. “It will kill you.”
“I’m fine,” she’d snap. “You’re the only one who can’t seem to get over the past. Maybe you should get professional help.”
“Then at least go to the masjid more often,” he suggested, intentionally ignoring her insult. “Study Qur’an or tafseer or something.”
“I don’t need to study Qur’an,” she’d say. “I’m living it.”
Jacob pushed back his swivel chair and stood. He was worried about Deanna, this he couldn’t deny, no matter how hard he tried to put his mind on other things. But he was at a loss for what to do. After more than eleven years of marriage, he was exhausted. He wanted to be a support for his wife during this difficult time, but like Deanna herself had said, he could use professional help himself. Months ago, it had been a desire for an expert perspective on his own troubles that had inspired him to make the one and a half-hour drive to see Dr. Melanie Goldstein.
Though Jacob had no childhood trauma that he was suppressing, he had years of marital trauma that he needed help understanding. He still cared about his wife and probably always would, but this recent incident sapped the last bit of marital patience from his chest. Yes, marriage was about support and compromise, but there was only so far the human heart could extend itself for someone else’s sake. Jacob feared that he was at the end of his rope.
“I should’ve never married you!” Deanna had said the night before she attacked Aliyah. “You’re nothing like I thought you were!”
Psychological distress or not, Deanna should not speak to her husband like that, Jacob felt. Had it been the first time or under different circumstances, Jacob probably could have overlooked the outburst. But how many verbal insults and physical threats was he supposed to take in the name of patience and compromise? She hung divorce over his head like a taunt, and he never knew whether she was speaking in anger or earnest. The slightest offense set her off. Meanwhile, she said and did things that, had they come from him, would be viewed as oppressive and abusive.
“I want to help other women,” she often said in books and interviews.
Help them what? Jacob was often left wondering. Manipulate and abuse their husbands before their husbands can manipulate and abuse them?
But apparently his desire to marry Aliyah was the ultimate affront. Jacob understood how the prospect of polygyny could send any woman over the edge, but in his case, it hadn’t even been a prospect. It had been a hypothetical. Deanna herself talked openly about men she would (hypothetically) marry if she weren’t married to Jacob. And she’d say this to Jacob himself. At least Jacob had the decency to speak his thoughts aloud to friends, not to his wife. How did Deanna think it made him feel to hear his wife talk about desiring to marry one of his friends? Yet she goes ballistic after hearing about him having the same conversation?
“We like to see you all get jealous,” Deanna had said once, explaining the psychology of women talking about other men to their husbands. “We need to know you appreciate what you have.” She’d laughed then added, “We like to see you squirm.”
Why then hadn’t Deanna laughed it off when she learned of his thoughts about Aliyah? Why couldn’t she view her jealousy and “squirming” as merely signs that she appreciated her husband? But that’s how it always was with Deanna. She made the rules, and he had to play by them, even as they oddly and consistently leaned in her favor.
No, he couldn’t live with Deanna another day, Jacob realized. Maybe he would never be able to marry Aliyah, the woman he’d wanted to marry all along, but that didn’t mean he should live in misery for the rest of his life. He imagined that being single was better than remaining in this heart-wrenching marriage.
Jacob’s only hesitation in going forward with a divorce was the thought of his sons being from a broken home. But, as he heard relationship experts say, It’s better to be from a broken home than in one.
Then again, maybe this line of thinking was merely a trap of Shaytaan, Satan trying to destroy his life.
Jacob sighed and ran a hand over his face in confused exhaustion. It was time to get advice from Muslims he trusted then turn to Allah for guidance and direction through Istikhaarah, the prayer and supplication made when making a decision. Because he needed to make a decision.
***
“You should see this,” Reem said Sunday evening as she sat on the couch in Aliyah’s living room. Reem had stopped by earlier to teach Qur’an and exercise, and now she was chatting with Aliyah before heading home. Nikki had picked up Ibrahim a half hour before, so Aliyah was able to relax and spend time with Reem without feeling as if she had to divide her time between her friend and her son.
Aliyah’s heart dropped in dread when Reem turned her laptop toward Aliyah. “What is it?” Aliyah said.
“Just read it.”
Aliyah shook her head, already feeling the beginning of a headache. “I can’t deal with any more surprises. If it’s bad, just tell me.”
“Then I’ll read it to you,” Reem said.
“Okay.” Aliyah exhaled the word, wishing Reem would leave the public saga alone. Reem was Aliyah’s only friend these days, and Aliyah didn’t want the constant reminder of all she’d lost during the #CrazyMuslimWoman and #HotMuslimMistress drama.
“It’s a status Nicole posted yesterday.”
Aliyah clenched her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest. Aliyah knew that Nikki didn’t like her, but as pathetic as it sounde
d, Aliyah was grateful that Nikki’s disdain was at least due to an actual problem that had occurred between them. Why couldn’t Nikki stay out of the public scrutiny on the unknown? Nikki had absolutely no idea what was going on, so couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?
“I’m sure all of you have heard the rumors about my husband’s ex-wife and Brother Jacob,” Reem read aloud.
Aliyah grunted and rolled her eyes, angry frustration building inside her.
“And some of you have posted Facebook statuses about home wreckers and dumping single and divorced women as friends. You know who you are,” Reem continued. “And though I hate getting involved in these stupid discussions, I have a few things I want to say. I haven’t been Muslim long, but I must say I’m grateful that Allah chose Aliyah, Ally Thomas, to be the one who helped open my heart to His religion. I was going through a lot during the time we met, and she’ll probably never know just how much she helped me face each day. Those phone calls, coffee dates, and woman-to-woman talks kept me from literally breaking down. I was suffering from depression, and seeing a text or email from her checking on me or sharing a verse from the Qur’an or hadith from the Prophet, peace be upon him, really lifted my spirits. She taught me the meaning of real sisterhood and love for the sake of Allah. And yes, she even welcomed me as a SECOND WIFE to her husband. You can think what you want about what happened between us, but I’m going to tell you what I KNOW happened: Allah brought Aliyah into my life because He wanted to show me the beauty of Islam. And, sorry if my words offend, but this is the truth: Sisters, after reading your posts and listening to your gossip and tale-carrying, I thank Allah I met that sister before I met any of you! I might have run away from Islam if I was exposed to your ugliness during that time. So as for all the gossip, slander, and foolishness you guys are spreading about our Muslim sister, I say this: Fear Allah! I swear by Allah, I only know good of that woman. And I would be honored if Allah blesses me with even half the knowledge, dignity, and faith she shows each day. And I pray that Allah blesses her in this life and the next for all the good she’s done for me, her son, and yes, even MY HUSBAND, mashaAllah. And for those who still can’t shut up about something you know NOTHING ABOUT, I leave you with the words of Allah in hopes that you have at least *some* concern about your souls on the Day of Judgment: ‘Behold, you received it on your tongues, and said out of your mouths things of which you had no knowledge; and you thought it to be a light matter, while it was most serious in the sight of Allah’ (24:15).”
