The Bonds That Allah Forbade Us to Break

🌿 The Silent Epidemic of Our Time

One of the great challenges of modern times is that we are becoming increasingly atomized. We live in a world where people break away not only from their relatives, but in many cases the nuclear family itself becomes estranged from one another.

Psychologists who study the breakdown of the family — the emotional and physical distance between relatives — call this one of the silent epidemics of our age. People are increasingly isolated, because modern society glorifies individualism to such an extent that many see no value at all in maintaining ties with family and extended family.

I once visited an elderly man on his deathbed. He was in his seventies, lying unresponsive in a hospital. In the waiting room sat two people, and I assumed they were his family. I was told one was a neighbour and the other a friend. So I asked: where is his family? "He's divorced." Does he have children? "Yes, a son — but he lives in another part of the country, and the two of them haven't spoken in twenty years."

This is not an isolated story. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins — they sever ties and go weeks, months, sometimes many years without speaking. And usually, when you trace the fracture back, it comes down to money: a dispute over an inheritance, an argument — and now both sides nurse a grudge for years.

🕯 A Forgotten Virtue

One of the most important virtues in the Islamic tradition is maintaining ties with family. Many of the mental-health struggles and burdens we carry come precisely from the fact that we have chosen to go through life alone. We have these relationships — the nuclear family, the extended family — and we simply don't make use of them.

The Prophet (ṣallā Allāhu ʿalayhi wa-ālihi wa-sallam) placed enormous emphasis on honouring these bonds of blood. And when you want to encourage someone toward good, you sometimes can't speak only of the distant reward of the next life — it feels too far off for them to imagine. So you mention the immediate benefits.

The Prophet said that maintaining ties with your relatives brings prosperity to your homes and that it lengthens your life. Everyone is chasing the secret to longevity — millionaires and billionaires spend fortunes to live a little longer. Allah tells us one of the most effective ways to extend your lifespan is simply this: do not sever ties with family.

⚖️ Even If They Are Not Good to You

Whenever maintaining ties comes up, people object: "My cousin is like this, my uncle is like that. They're not good people. They mistreated my mother. He's a thug, a drug dealer, this and that."

The Prophet said: maintain ties with them even if they are not virtuous. Look at his own life — he had relatives who plotted against him. Abū Lahab was the Prophet's own uncle, and he created endless problems for him. Yet the Prophet never severed the tie.

This is what nobility means. If you only keep ties with those who are good to you, there is no virtue in that at all. The real test of integrity is to be the bigger person — to say, "Even though you have your faults, I will still honour this relationship, because that is what Allah wants of me." If they don't pray, don't observe their duties, whatever list you want to draw up about how terrible they are — that is between them and Allah. You do your part, and Allah will deal with them.

🪦 The Sin That Hastens Death

There is a narration in which the Imam, delivering a sermon in Kufa, said:

اللّٰهُمَّ إِنِّي أَعُوذُ بِكَ مِنَ الذُّنُوبِ الَّتِي تُعَجِّلُ الْفَنَاءَ
Allāhumma innī aʿūdhu bika min al-dhunūbi llatī tuʿajjilu l-fanāʾ
O Allah, I seek refuge in You from the sins that hasten death.

A man stood up and asked: what is the sin that brings death closer more quickly? The Imam answered: to sever ties — to say, "I will never speak to my brother again because of some problem," or "I will never speak to my cousin, my aunt, my uncle again because of what they did to me."

If you choose that, understand: first, it is a sin. It is ḥarām. It is unjustifiable. "But it's hard, I feel hurt." What did you think this dunyā was about? It is trials and tribulations — Allah tests us. If everything were easy, why would there be such a great reward as Paradise? The reward is great precisely because it demands struggle, humility, humbleness.

It may be that Allah looks at you and says: I have apportioned for you a lifespan between sixty and ninety years. If you maintain ties with your family, I will let you live to ninety. But if you cut those ties, I will take your soul at sixty. Imagine — thirty years stripped from your life. Why? Over grudges. Over a decision to sever ties with one or another family member.

📿 What the Qur'an Commands

So serious is this that Allah speaks of it directly in the Qur'an. In Sūrat al-Raʿd (13:21), He describes the believers as those who maintain the relationships He has commanded them to keep:

وَالَّذِينَ يَصِلُونَ مَا أَمَرَ اللّٰهُ بِهِ أَن يُوصَلَ
wa-lladhīna yaṣilūna mā amara llāhu bihi an yūṣala
And those who join what Allah has commanded to be joined.

There are connections we are simply not permitted to sever, and among them are our ties with our relatives. This single verse was invoked by Imam al-Ṣādiq (ʿalayhi al-salām) on at least two occasions in his life.

🩸 Seventy Dinars for the Cousin Who Drew a Knife

The first occasion was on his deathbed. As is the custom, the Imam began to dictate his final will. (A person may direct how one-third of their wealth is distributed; the rest follows the shares fixed in the Qur'an — but that third is yours to give to charity, a friend, a relative, as you wish.) A servant of his household, Sālim, was present.

The Imam had a cousin named al-Ḥasan al-Aftaṣ. He instructed his family: "Give him seventy dinars" — seventy real gold coins.

Sālim was astonished. This was the very same cousin who, in a heated argument years earlier, had drawn a knife and tried to stab the Imam. She asked him: you are passing wealth down to a man who once tried to kill you — why would you do that?

Look at his answer. He said: do you not want me to be among those whom Allah praises in His Book — "those who join what Allah has commanded to be joined"?

Most of us, yes, have annoying cousins we'd rather not stay in touch with. But for 99.9% of us, no cousin has ever tried to stab us. (And if yours has — please don't tell me; I don't want to know.) Yet here is the Imam, with such nobility that even in the face of an attempt on his life, he holds no grudge. From his own wealth he gives this man a share.

And consider what happens when you return good for evil. When al-Aftaṣ received that money, imagine how his heart was softened. Sometimes a single kind gesture is all it takes to put out the flames of animosity.

🕊 The Fragrance of Paradise

The Imam continued. He spoke of how Allah created Paradise and made its very scent beautiful. The hadith tells us that even if you were to travel a thousand years away from Paradise, you would still catch its fragrance.

And then the Imam said: this Paradise — whose scent reaches you across a thousand years — there are two groups who will never so much as smell it. Forget entering it; they will not even catch its fragrance. Who are they?

The one who abuses and mistreats their parents, and the one who severs the ties of kinship.

See how serious this sin is. Some of us treat it so lightly — "to hell with them, I never want to see them again" — and then we come to the majlis, we pray, and we imagine that on the Day of Judgment we'll be fine. But you may stand there thinking everything is in order, only to discover you violated one of the greatest of rights, and you will be stopped. It is not a game. It is not a joke.

🌙 The Imam at His Cousin's Door

The second occasion involved another cousin, ʿAbdullāh ibn al-Ḥasan. The Imam was descended through the line of Imam Husayn; ʿAbdullāh was from the progeny of Imam Hasan, and some among that line carried a jealousy toward the descendants of Husayn.

The companion Ṣafwān al-Jammāl narrates: I was sitting in a gathering where both Imam al-Ṣādiq and ʿAbdullāh ibn al-Ḥasan were present, and a fierce argument broke out between them — voices were raised, and a fight nearly erupted. The gathering broke up in tension. The Imam went home; ʿAbdullāh went home; I went home.

Early the next morning, I had business to attend to. I went out — and there was the Imam, standing at the doorstep of his cousin. I asked him: why are you up so early? What are you doing at your cousin's door? He said: when I returned home last night, I was reading a verse of the Qur'an that filled me with worry. Which verse? Sūrah 13, verse 21 — "those who join what Allah has commanded to be joined."

Now, in that argument, who was right and who was wrong? The Imam was infallible; without doubt, ʿAbdullāh was in the wrong. If it were you or me, how would we respond? "I did nothing wrong. They have to come and reconcile. I will not lower myself." This is our mentality in every dispute — everyone wants to stand on a pedestal. But the Imam, the one who was wronged, came to his cousin's door. And they reconciled.

Notice: the Imam reconciled the very next morning. He did not wait a week, a month, a year. Some of us love to hold grudges over the silliest things — for a day, a week, a year.

🩸 Don't Pass Your Grudges to Your Children

And here is something even worse. When some of us fall out with a relative, we don't merely sever ties ourselves — we transfer the enmity to our children.

How often does it happen? Two brothers dispute over who inherits the family business. One washes his hands of the other, vows never to speak to him again — and so commits the ḥarām of cutting ties. Then he marries, has children, and forbids them from having any relationship with their uncle. "You are not allowed to speak to him. You are not allowed to speak to that side of the family — because you must be loyal to me."

Loyal to you? Who are you? Where is the loyalty to Allah? This person not only commits a major sin — a sin so grave that they will not even smell the fragrance of Paradise — they now pressure their children into severing ties too. You think Allah will not question you about this? You think there are no consequences, that you can do whatever you want? It is not like that.

There is nothing — nothing — worth severing these ties over money. For the sake of money you would deprive yourself of a loving relationship with a sibling, with a cousin. And if we are this attached to the dunyā, what is the difference between us and those who fought Imam Husayn? They sold themselves for the world — and so have we.

This happens constantly in our communities. The father's whole side of the family is cut off, no contact between the cousins — and why? Often because the wife is unhappy with the husband's family. It is not right. We have to have humility. We have to have taqwā.

🕊 The Letter Between Two Brothers

There is a beautiful account of Imam Husayn and his brother Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥanafiyya. There was a disagreement between them — and notice, disputes are natural; it is normal for there to be disagreements. But a dispute does not mean we sever ties. Have your argument, and then say: let us agree to disagree. I am upset with you, but I will not cut you out of my life.

If we don't learn this, we will end up very lonely. Some of us have a one-strike policy — not even baseball's three strikes — one strike and the person is out, the whole family is out. We need more patience than that.

Muḥammad decided to write to his brother. (And note: when a conflict is too intense to face the person directly, at least write. Put your thoughts on paper. Don't be impulsive — put away the WhatsApp, put away the phone. Think about what you want to say, so your tone isn't misread.) This letter is recorded by Shaykh Ḥasan al-Daylamī in his book.

Muḥammad wrote: My brother, my father is ʿAlī and your father is ʿAlī — in this we are equal. But there is a difference between us: your mother is Fāṭima, and mine is not. Even if my mother possessed all the gold and silver in the world, she would not measure up to your mother. So, my brother Husayn — when my letter reaches you, come to me and let us reconcile, for you are more deserving of this distinction. I expect someone like you to be the one to let bygones be bygones.

⚖️ Even the Relative Who Has No Faith

The Imams give us the very models of how to handle conflict. Someone once came to the Imam and asked: what about relatives who are not even Muslims — who don't share my religion at all? Does that mean I may sever ties with them?

The man said: I have relatives who are not upon my path. Do they have a right over me, or may I keep them at arm's length because they're not believers?

The Imam answered: the bonds of kinship are such that nothing can sever them — even, God forbid, if your relative is an atheist. You are not permitted to cut them off; you should still maintain a connection. What they believe is their business. You do your best to guide them, to be a good role model.

And believe me — many people find their way back to Allah precisely because of a relative who kept the tie alive, a cousin who stayed in touch. If you sever ties with those who aren't religious, how will they ever come back? One of the very means of their return is the relationships we refuse to abandon.

The Imam then taught that a relative who is a Muslim has two rights over you: the right of kinship, and the right of Islam — that you do not sever ties, but maintain them.

📿 Five Practical Steps to Mend Broken Ties

"As you're speaking," someone might say, "I have seventeen relatives blocked on WhatsApp. What do I do?" Here are five practical things you can do to mend these broken relationships.

One — be the one to initiate the reconciliation. I know it's hard. I know you've already declared you'll never bring yourself down. But be the one to initiate. When Imam al-Ṣādiq was insulted by his cousin, who initiated? Did ʿAbdullāh come and ask forgiveness? No — the Imam did. If we call ourselves Shīʿa — and Shīʿa means follower — how can our claim be truthful if the Imams were always the ones to initiate reconciliation, while we insist, "I won't lower myself until they come to me"?

Allah tells us in the Qur'an about three groups on the Day of Judgment. You might assume it's only two — Paradise or Hellfire. But there is a third. There are the Companions of the Right Hand, who are Paradise-bound; the Companions of the Left Hand, who are Hell-bound; and a third group — al-sābiqūn, the foremost. When it is time for prayer, they rush to pray. When there is an opportunity to give, they are first to give. And when there is a dispute, they are the first to reconcile. If we want to be among the foremost, we must be humble.

Look at how Islam always rewards the humble one more. When two believers exchange greetings, the Imam said, Allah distributes seventy rewards between them — sixty-nine to the one who gives the salām first, and only one to the one who responds. Why? Because the one who initiates is more humble. So if there is tension between you and a relative tonight, in the name of the Prophet, say: that's it. I will not hold this grudge anymore. I'll go on WhatsApp, on Telegram, on every app, and unblock them — it might take ten minutes — and then I'll say salām. I have decided to bring myself down.

Two — don't expect an apology. This is a big one. Some of us set a condition: "I'll reconcile only if they admit they wronged me, only if they confess." Baba, what are you — a priest? Why must they confess to you? Is there a hadith that says reconciliation requires the other person to apologize first? Did ʿAbdullāh ibn al-Ḥasan apologize to the Imam? No. The Imam didn't wait for it. Whether they apologize is between them and Allah. On the Day of Judgment, Allah will not ask you, "Did so-and-so apologize to you?" — He will ask what you did. Believe me, your life will be far more at ease. There's a saying — not a great one, but useful here: lower your expectations and you'll never be disappointed. (Just don't apply that one to marriage.)

Three — set healthy boundaries. Let's be honest: some relatives are genuinely toxic — abusive, abrasive, doing real damage to your life. Islam says you cannot cut them off — but you also can't lose your mind. So the solution is not to sever; the solution is boundaries. A cousin who hurt you in the past doesn't mean you now have to be best friends, taking selfies together. Sometimes the answer is to keep some distance while keeping some communication — a salām now and then, a formal visit occasionally, an arm's-length tie. You decide what's appropriate: a message a week, a message a month, whatever the norm is. There is nothing wrong with setting boundaries. (We are speaking here of ordinary disputes — not extreme cases of abuse, which are another matter.)

Four — make duʿā for those you have issues with. This is not easy; at first it will feel disingenuous, even hypocritical. "O Allah, please bless my cousin with a new car — a Toyota, nothing better than a Toyota." The first time it won't feel natural. But do it a second time, a third, a fourth — because duʿā softens the heart. It becomes very hard to hate someone you are constantly praying for. It's almost as though you trick yourself back into loving them. Allah teaches us the duʿā of the believers:

رَبَّنَا اغْفِرْ لَنَا وَلِإِخْوَانِنَا الَّذِينَ سَبَقُونَا بِالْإِيمَانِ وَلَا تَجْعَلْ فِي قُلُوبِنَا غِلًّا لِلَّذِينَ آمَنُوا
Rabbanā ghfir lanā wa-li-ikhwāninā lladhīna sabaqūnā bi-l-īmān wa-lā tajʿal fī qulūbinā ghillan li-lladhīna āmanū
Our Lord, forgive us and our brothers who preceded us in faith, and place no malice in our hearts toward those who believe.

If this is asked for ordinary believers, how much more for your own family? And know this: any duʿā you make for others — especially those who have wronged you — the angels respond, "Answer the prayer of your servant, and grant him the same as what he asked for others."

Five — remember who you are doing it for. When you reconcile, always remember: you are doing it for Allah. And nothing done for Allah is ever wasted. Suppose you reconcile and they continue to mistreat you, and you think, "Why did I even bother? I wasted hours trying to fix this." No — you wasted nothing, because everything done for Allah is preserved:

مَا عِندَكُمْ يَنفَدُ وَمَا عِندَ اللّٰهِ بَاقٍ
mā ʿindakum yanfadu wa-mā ʿinda llāhi bāq
What is with you runs out, and what is with Allah endures.

What is with you perishes; what is done for Allah is what remains, what lasts.

🩸 Muslim ibn ʿAqīl — The Cousin We Commemorate Tonight

On this night we commemorate the beloved cousin of Imam Husayn. One of the reasons Husayn achieved such a great victory on the Day of ʿĀshūrāʾ is that he built a family — and an extended family — that was bound to Allah.

When Imam Husayn was receiving thousands of letters from the people of Kufa, frustrated with the Umayyads and pleading for godly, competent leadership — "Come to us, we have no imam, we want you to lead us" — the Imam chose to test the truth of their words. He would not move on mere talk; he needed to know there was a real will to stand under his banner. So he sent his cousin and ambassador, Muslim ibn ʿAqīl.

The Imam wrote to the people of Kufa: "O people of Kufa, I have received your letters and understood your request. I am sending to you my ambassador, my brother, my cousin, and the trusted one of my household." Muslim and Husayn had grown up together in Medina; Muslim had been raised and mentored by the family.

Muslim took the letter, bid farewell to Husayn, to his own young daughter, to his cousins and family. Some narrations say he returned to Medina for a final ziyārah before setting out. When he reached Kufa, he was welcomed by thousands, who gave their pledge of allegiance to Husayn through him. He stayed and began preparing the ground for the Imam's arrival. Those who have been to Kufa know the masjid where he stood, where the people prayed behind him in their multitudes.

Then the threats came: whoever supports Muslim will be executed. The mother grabs her son and pulls him away; the wife grabs her husband. Slowly the crowds dissolve. Muslim finishes his prayer and sees the numbers dwindling — the support base vanishing. By the time he walks to the gate of Kufa, he is alone. Everyone has turned back.

The moment things grow difficult, people leave. The loyal ones are always few.

Now there is a bounty on his head. He wanders the alleyways of Kufa as a stranger, with no food, no shelter — everyone too afraid to be seen with him. Tired and emotionally spent, he sits down on a doorstep of a small house. An old woman opens the door and sees a stranger at her step. "Yā hādhā, I am an elderly woman living alone; I am not comfortable with a strange man at my door." Imagine how a man of his standing felt hearing this. He said only, "Could you bring me a cup of water? I am thirsty." (What is it with this family and thirst?) She brought it; he drank; she took back the cup — but he did not leave. "Why don't you go back to your family, to your wife, your children? Who are you, sitting here in the alleyways?" He said, "O lady, I have no family here, no tribe to return to." "Then who are you?" "I am the ambassador of Imam Husayn — Muslim. I have been abandoned by the people of Kufa."

She said, "Yā Muslim, come into my house. I will give you safe refuge." He answered, "I need only one night. I will not overburden you. In the morning I will leave."

She prepared a room. He spent the whole night in worship, tormented by one thought: I wrote to Husayn that he has many supporters in Kufa. How can I now tell him there is no one left?

Her son was an agent of the Umayyads. He came home, sensed a guest, and pressed his mother until she made him swear to secrecy and told him: in the room is the cousin and ambassador of Imam Husayn; he is hunted, and we must shield him. The moment the son knew, he went straight to the authorities for the bounty.

Officers surrounded the house. Muslim heard the horses. "Bring me my sword and shield." He fought them off alone, so fiercely that they could not take him. They sent to Ibn Ziyād for reinforcements. He scoffed: "He is one man — why the difficulty?" They replied: "You did not send us against a merchant. You sent us against one of the lions of Banū Hāshim — a man raised by the Prophet's own household." They sent man after man until at last they surrounded and seized him, and dragged him to the palace as a captive.

Before Ibn Ziyād, who told him he would be executed for treason, Muslim made three requests: sell my sword and saddle to pay my debt; send word to Husayn that there is no one here, that he must not come; and grant me a proper Islamic burial. Ibn Ziyād granted only the first. No word would be sent — they wanted Husayn to come — and no burial, "for we do not regard you as a Muslim."

He asked for water before the execution, for he was wounded. As he raised the cup, a drop of blood from his mouth fell in, and the water turned red. He looked at it and thought: I am going to meet my Lord — and I will meet Him thirsty. It was the fate of Muslim, as it would be the fate of Husayn's family, to meet their martyrdom thirsty.

They took him to the roof of the palace and bound him. He asked to pray two final rakʿahs — "Allah knows how I love the prayer." As he prolonged it, the executioners mocked him: "It seems you are afraid of death, for you have stretched out your prayer." He answered, "By Allah, this is the briefest prayer I have ever offered." Then, facing the direction of Mecca, where Husayn was, he spoke his final words — that Husayn should turn back, that he should not come toward Kufa, for its people had betrayed them. At that moment they struck his neck, and his bound body was thrown from the top of the palace.

They did not stop there. They tied his body to a horse and dragged it through the streets of Kufa.

As Imam Husayn was travelling toward Iraq, a messenger brought him the letter: Muslim has been martyred. The Imam cried out, and he wept. Then he called for Muslim's young daughter. They brought her, and Husayn placed her in his lap, stroking her head — as the orphaned child looked up at her uncle.

🌙 What the Night Leaves Us

The whole arc of tonight's gathering is a single teaching: the bonds Allah commanded us to keep are not to be broken — not by old wounds, not by an argument, not by money, not even by difference of faith. The Imam went to his cousin's door the very next morning. From his deathbed he gave gold to the cousin who once drew a knife on him. And on this night we weep for Muslim, the cousin who carried Husayn's trust to the end and died alone in a city that abandoned him.

If our Imams — the wronged, the infallible, the betrayed — were always the first to forgive, to initiate, to keep the tie alive without waiting for an apology, then our grudges look very small. Be the one to initiate. Expect no apology. Set boundaries where you must, but never sever. Pray for the one you cannot yet love. And do all of it for Allah — because what is with us perishes, and only what is with Him endures.