![]() ![]() After all, in the America of the 1980s, being Muslim was like being a spaceman. But, for the most part, our lives were scrubbed of all trace of God. My mother still prayed when no one was looking, and you could still find a stray Quran or two hidden in a closet or a drawer somewhere. Islam was shorthand for everything we had lost to the mullahs who now ruled Iran. ![]() After the Iranian revolution forced my family to flee our home, religion in general, and Islam in particular, became taboo in our household. Like most people born into a religious tradition, my faith was as familiar to me as my skin, and just as disregardable. My religion and my ethnicity were mutual and linked. In Iran, the place of my birth, I was Muslim in much the way I was Persian. Never before had I felt so intimately the pull of God. For a kid raised in a motley family of lukewarm Muslims and exuberant atheists, this was truly the greatest story ever told. ![]()
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