Iqbal leans over to scoop up their 8-month-old baby, Tasneem, who scampers along the carpeting. Moiz takes the video game controller from Tarek Zagade, a 14-year-old who is losing a game of Madden NFL football to his buddy Salman Mehter, 17.
“Here, let me help you come back,” Moiz says, but a few minutes later, Salman has vanquished his mentor, too.
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On Faith
Tarek, who after years of home schooling attends Briar Woods High School in Ashburn, is trying to find his place between the devotion of his parents — his father is from India and his mother is U.S.-born — and the secular lives of his fellow students.
Religion never comes up at school, he says, but there are times when he feels as if he has to drag his family into American ways, as when his parents wanted to name his baby sister “some terrible name, a ‘Lion King’ name, Zaina or something like that.” They finally chose Noreen, thanks to pressure from their American-born kids.
The boys banter with Moiz about Eli Manning’s passing style and rib him over his passion for old-school video games from the dark ages of Atari. The boys are deep into their game — Colts-Giants, no Redskins fans here — when Moiz calls over, “We’ll pray at the end of the quarter, okay?”
Tarek’s parents “wanted me to get through to him, see what’s in his mind,” Moiz says, “ ’cause at home, he just gets back from school and goes to his room.” What he does there, what his adolescent mind makes of the clash between his parents’ ways and the culture’s notions of Islam, can be scary to parents who grew up in an unquestioning, authoritarian environment.
They don’t need to worry, Tarek says — his passion is ice hockey, not politics. But Moiz knows that “a lot of American kids really struggle with Islam. They may pray at home but drop it entirely at school. They hear about jihad and all these strict laws that weren’t even applied through most of Islamic history.”
Moiz says Islam will adapt to American values only when U.S.-born Muslims — guys like him who know football and video games as well as they know the Koran — are handed the torch of leadership.
In the meantime, he tries to show immigrant parents the advantage of America’s questioning culture.
“What helped me stay away from extremists — either religious crazies or wild partying — was always questioning, doubting whatever I was taught,” he says. “That’s the American way, and that fits perfectly with Islam, but not with the rigid, closed Islam that too many of the imams from other cultures bring here.”
As the sun sets, the boys, Moiz and his wife move into the living room and turn toward Mecca. Moiz and the boys stand side by side in front, his wife behind them. Tarek leads the chanting in Arabic. For 10 minutes, silent contemplation alternates with the soft rhythms of prayer as they bow and prostrate.
When they finish praying, Moiz and Iqbal check their smartphones and the boys head back to their game.
“Oreos and milk?” Iqbal offers.
Zehra Fazal wraps a hijab over her hair, takes a deep breath and steps onstage, transformed into Zed Headscarf, Muslim punk rocker and bisexual.
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