It was a blustery February morning, and just a few days before my 40^th birthday, when my cell phone rang. I thought perhaps it was someone offering me early well wishes. But it was my mom, calling with news that would forever alter the course of my life.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as I sat down. “How are you?”
“Not good,” she whispered like a frightened child sharing a dark secret. “You know I’ve been feeling really down lately.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, matching her breathy tone.

She was talking so quietly that I cupped my hand over my left ear so I could hear her.
“I just swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills,” she blurted out.

My eyes widened as I sprung to my feet, nearly tripping over my toddler.

“A bunch? Like, how many?” I asked.

“I dunno,” she replied. “A lot.”

I raced to the kitchen, my hands trembling as I fumbled to dial 911 from the landline while trying to keep Mom talking to me on my cell.

A few moments later, I told her that the paramedics were on their way. She mumbled something incoherent. I could already feel her drifting away.

“Can you hear me?”

Numbing silence filled the line. Desperate to keep her awake, I continued talking, my voice growing louder each time I spoke.

“Are you still with me? Mom? Mom!”

Sensing the intensity to my tone, my 8-year-old son asked what was wrong. I wanted to comfort him, but I had to keep focused on Mom. Meanwhile, my toddler, who had only just realized his grandmother was on the phone, threw his goldfish crackers to the floor and pleaded to speak with her. He reached for the receiver with his tiny, cheddar-stained hands and shrieked, “I talk to Ga-ma!”

“Not now,” I said gently.

Both my boys burst into tears as my mind raced with worry. I paced the floor and repeatedly asked, “Are you still there, Mom? Keep talking to me.”

But I only heard a hint of monosyllabic mumbles, then a thud.

I stopped for a moment and stood beside the sliding glass door, shifting my weight from my right leg to my left as I stared out at the falling snow. I kept my eyes fixed on a specific tree branch in an effort to still my mind even as my restless stomach churned.

The wind whipped wildly, which made the snowflakes look as if they were engaged in a vicious game of tug-of-war. Blowing in umpteen different directions, the blustery scene depicted my current state of mind: frenzied, scattered, unsettled. My anxious eyes darted back and forth between the ticking clock, my wailing kids, and the straining pine trees in the backyard.

Finally, I heard the paramedics in the background and for the first time in forever, I took a breath.

I shot off a text message to my brother.

“Call me,” I wrote. “Mom just tried to kill herself.”

Even as I hit “send” with my quivering thumb, the moment seemed surreal. Did this really just happen? How? Why?

As I drove to Missouri, I tried to imagine what was running through my mom’s desperate mind as she ingested an entire bottle of sleeping pills. I envisioned her in her soft flannel pajamas, sitting on the cold tile bathroom floor, swallowing one handful of pills after another. My eyes squeezed shut and a lump formed in the back of my throat. I knew clinical depression was scary, but I’d never seen it up-close-and-personal.

When I stepped inside the hospital room, Mom’s eyes revealed a mixture of sorrow, regret, guilt, and fear. I sat next to her on her bed. She clasped my hand in hers, gripping it tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said softly, staring at the floor.

It’s okay,” I replied.

The truth was that it wasn’t okay. Not even a little bit. But what else could I say?

I stayed with her for several days, trying to soothe her by offering hugs and encouraging her by offering advice.

“Go to group therapy. Go to individual therapy. Do anything and everything to help you feel better,” I suggested. “Snarf up every resource possible.”

But instead of concentrating on getting better, she seemed more concerned with how her behavior would be perceived.

“What will people say if they find out what I did?” Mom asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

After she was released from the hospital, I went back home to Indiana. The following month, I was cautiously optimistic when Mom invited me, my husband, and our sons to visit her for her birthday and stay through Easter weekend. I took it as a good sign that she wanted to reconnect with her grandsons, so we packed our bags and drove west.

Though it was great to spend time with Mom, she was anxious and unsettled, worried that the kids might make a mess in her house. This was a far cry from the woman who in the past would often jump into the lake to entertain her grandsons. She spoke slowly and methodically yet still stumbled on her words. She seemed uncomfortable in her own skin. She wouldn’t even sit down to eat meals. Instead she stood by the sink, nervously nibbling at her food like a rodent.

One morning when the house was quiet, Mom approached me and said meekly, “Christy. I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

I didn’t want to rush her or force her, but I was desperate to hear what she had to say.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” she said, squeezing my hands as if to relay some sort of message to me through code.

“Honest about what?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. I pressed her a bit more.

“You can tell me, Mom. Whatever it is, I’ll help you. What are you not being honest about?”

“We’d better get ready,” she said tersely, releasing my hands. “The boys want to go to the zoo today.”

Just like that, the moment was gone.

At the zoo, the kids had fun seeing the animals and riding the train, but I couldn’t get past the vacant stare in Mom’s eyes. It was like she was looking past everybody—like she wasn’t all there. Anytime I tried to engage with her, I’d get the same response: “I’m tired.”

That evening after tucking the boys into bed, I asked Mom if she wanted to talk. She looked at me with a pained expression, like she was gripping a hot plate without a pot holder.

“Well, I…um, I,” she muttered.

I don’t know if she couldn’t speak or wouldn’t speak or what was going on. But her mind definitely seemed muddled. I knew something was gnawing at Mom, but I didn’t know how to pull it out of her.

When I laid down to bed that night, tears welled up in my eyes as I confided to my husband, “I think Mom may still be suicidal.”

I hated to admit it out loud, and yet, I could sense a definite heaviness to her spirit.

“Why do you say that?” Eric asked.

“I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s definitely not herself. She’s apologized profusely for trying to kill herself, but earlier today she told me that she’s not been completely honest with me, and when I asked her what about, she clammed up. Have you noticed how empty her eyes look?”

“What do we do? Your dad won’t listen. He’s adamant that she’s getting better.”

“But clearly she’s not. I wish I could get her to confide in me, but I feel like us being here is stressing her out more,” I said. “If the boys’ energy is causing her anxiety to spike, maybe we should take off and let her and Dad have a quiet holiday weekend.”

“Okay,” Eric agreed.

The next morning, I found Mom in the kitchen. She wasn’t eating, cooking, or doing dishes. She was simply standing in her housecoat staring into space. Until she caught a glimpse of my oldest son. Then her eyes moved to him and she watched him intently, like she was memorizing his every move. She did the same when my younger son entered the room. When I sat down, she acknowledged me with a weak, forced smile like she was using every last bit of energy to keep from crying.

I approached her and said softly, “Mom, we’ve decided to leave early.”

“When?”

“Here in a few minutes,” I said. “Eric’s packing the car.”

Confusion, sadness, and relief simultaneously spread across her face.

“Why today?” she asked.

“I can tell you’re struggling, Mom, and I know the boys have a lot of energy. I want you to be able to rest so I think it’s best if we get out of your hair.”

Her lips began to quiver, her brows furrowed, and she said with palpable remorse, “I’m sorry, Christy. I’m so sorry.”

It was a phrase she had repeated numerous times over the past three days so I didn’t think much of it. I replied in the same way I had all weekend—by telling her, “It’s okay.”

We hugged and I told her I loved her.

“Things will get better,” I whispered into her ear. “I promise.”

Those were the last words I ever spoke to my mother.

Six weeks later, my phone rang again. When I answered, I heard my dad’s voice, low and scratchy, say my name, followed by a long pause.

“She did it again,” he said quietly.

My gut clenched as all the color drained from my face.

“What?” I asked.

“She was doing better. She seemed stronger….” he said, his voice cracking.

My entire body began to tremble.

“It’s far worse this time,” he continued. “She swallowed hundreds of pills of all different kinds.”
My knees buckled.

“No-no-no-no,” I repeated.

How could this be happening again?

“I’ll jump in the car,” I told my dad as tears sprang to my burning eyes. “I can leave right now and be there by midnight.”

“Even if you left now, I don’t think you’d make it in time to say goodbye.”

Wait. What? Goodbye? Oh, Jesus!

My breath caught in my throat as my heart splintered.

When I got news in the middle of the night that Mom had died from the overdose, my world faded to grey.

Why? Why? Why? Why?

A thousand other questions bombarded my brain, but this was the predominant one. I could not, for the life of me, make sense of the fact that my sweet, loving, kind, compassionate mom would choose to take her own life. It defied logic and left me feeling helpless, hopeless, and hollow. How was I supposed to go on? How was I to let go of the guilt that gnawed at me round the clock? How was I to ever smile again? None of it seemed possible.

“Everything’s possible with God,” well-meaning people told me. But their platitudes and looks of pity only pissed me off. They didn’t know what it felt like to be leveled by grief. Though friends encouraged me to find peace through prayer, I did the opposite and gave God the silent treatment. What did I have to say to Him, anyway? I was angry that He had not only taken away my mom but that He had allowed her to exit the earth in such a terrible, tragic way. Having been a Christian all my life, I’ll admit it felt strange to cut Christ from my life, but I didn’t know what else to do. Many days, I found myself curled in the fetal position, sobbing and gasping for air.

Over the next six months, everything was a chore—driving, cooking, reading, even sleeping. Then one night I fell into a deep slumber and was met by a vivid dream that seemed to carry with it a distinct message.
I was at home when suddenly bright blue skies began to darken as a slight breeze tickled the shutters. Instantaneously, the sky transformed into a greenish-black hue. A small hiss followed a rumble, then a booming crash. The ground shook with a sinister force. Giant tree limbs snapped. Heavy shutters broke. Tin mailboxes crumpled. Wooden dog houses cracked. As the wind continued to howl, dirt, debris, and trash swirled through the air like frenzied snowflakes. Fence sections and lawn ornaments crashed through windows and dented car doors.

The scene was chaotic and scary. I glanced out the window, helpless and weak. Then, just as quickly as it built, the storm died out, and the world grew eerily still. I stepped outside to assess the damage and my jaw dropped at the sight of the devastation. Our beautiful house—a house I had always perceived to be strong and indestructible—was now a shell of its former self.

As I walked the perimeter of the house, I saw that it was uprooted from its foundation. It became evident that we wouldn’t have access to power or water anytime soon. It was going to take a lot of time and effort to rebuild this foundation—to start fresh. As a result, we would not be living comfortably for quite some time.

There was a silver lining, however. Despite such extensive damage, we determined that we could stay in the house, which provided a degree of comfort.

I stood in stunned silence, beholding the wreckage that surrounded me. I couldn’t believe the massive devastation that had leveled my life in the blink of an eye. But…I had survived.

For the first time since Mom’s suicide, I woke up with a sense of peace. I knew I would still face challenges and cry countless tears. But I had survived the worst, and though my foundation was shaky, I was still standing. And I could feel God standing beside me.

In the weeks and months ahead, I began surrounding myself with others who needed love and support, and, together, we journeyed through our pain: we shared tears, smiles, and embraces, and we held one another up, day in and day out. I learned that being in a community is perhaps the most important piece of life’s puzzle when it comes to maintaining a healthy existence. I also found that even in the deepest, darkest pit of despair, one can find a sliver of light, a glimmer of hope, a hint of peace. And that is what propels us forward, enabling us to breathe in, breathe out, and carry on.

My leaves reflected the moonlight. I looked up at the moon, and it looked back at me brightly. But even its lights seemed somehow unfamiliar to me.

I slowly turned my flower head to the right to watch my brothers and sisters. They all looked pretty exhausted from the long journey, and in their face I saw the same concerns as mine. They, too, felt like strangers here.

Feeling a little bit depressed, I sighed and just wanted to sleep, but in this precise moment a move in the dark bushes that separated the garden from the fence attracted my attention. I caught sight of a small hyacinth. She looked at me curiously, as I smiled at her with mild exertion.

My smile was returned immediately, and visibly excited she gave a sign to those behind her. All of a sudden, there appeared a bevy of hyacinths, closely followed by – I could not recognize them right away – small carnations and roses.

Chatting and giggling, they hopped over to me and I realized that they were thrilled. A small carnation stumbled while running and fell to the ground. The hyacinth, which I saw first, ran back to her and helped her up.

The flower children surrounded me, eyeing me curiously. I smiled back at them kindly, a little nervous. Unexpectedly, they all erupted into laughter. I hadn’t seen such vivid flower children for a long time.

The hyacinth took the little carnation that had stumbled by the hand and started to speak:

“You and your siblings did arrive just now, didn’t you?”

I nodded, hoping that she was old enough to guess that I simply wanted to have my peace and quiet. But unfortunately, she apparently wasn’t… None of these little children were.

A murmur went through the swarm of children.

“Wow! Then you are a tulip, aren’t you? We have heard of you tulips. You guys are the first tulips coming from there,” said the hyacinth, pointing east. Her big eyes were shining with enthusiasm.

Yes, the East. From there, I came here; from a land where the sun rose and sometimes only reluctantly went down again.

My petals cramped. It had been very painful to leave that wonderful place, my home and my people.

As if reading my gloomy thoughts, the hyacinth said:

“It’s really beautiful here in the West! God showers us with water and it is pleasantly cool, sometimes even colder than we would like. Besides, we are well treated. The people are really fond of us.”

These words reminded me of the magnificent brightly lit tulip festivals, which used to be celebrated in the Ottoman Empire, of the nights made into days, and of the wonderful names we have been given, like face of the beloved or lucky star. At once I felt warm all over my carpels.

But once again, grief seized my flower head, and my sepals sank slightly due to their oppressive severity. “How long are you here, now?” I asked the kids, only to divert my attention from these thoughts.

The hyacinth shrugged her leaves:

“I don’t know exactly, but I think it was my great-grandparents, who were brought here.” The other flower children nodded doubtfully. They didn’t know anymore.

“Do you actually know anything of the country from which you, and…” – I briefly swallowed – ” … I originated?” They shook their heads. They were so young, so inexperienced. I smiled and sighed acquiescently, because I had to suppress my fatigue.

“Would you love to learn something about your country from me?” I asked.

The hyacinth politely set me straight:

“Here is our homeland. Here we were born, and here we are living in peace and joy with each other. I know my homeland. But I would pretty much like to hear something about the country where you and our great-grandparents come from.”

Smiling back at her, I was slightly confused about this answer. She was very smart, for sure, and would be a wise flower.

“Well, then sit down. I want to tell you about my homeland that is also the land of your ancestors.” They bounced close, and formed a semicircle around me with their eyes curiously focused on me.

“I am a tulip and I used to live and prosper in the Ottoman Empire, where I was surrounded with every imaginable flower. The Turks love us so much so that we have become an important part of their art and literature.”

Again a murmur was heard, and I had to smile about the naive way of these children. My fatigue and my gloomy mood slowly vanished. It was nice to relive those memories again.

“I don’t want to dive too deep into this topic. But we all are common motifs of the so-called Quatre-Fleur style of the Ottomans in the crafts.” It still made me very proud when I thought of it.

The hyacinth intervened:

“In this country, people say that we flowers have our own language. Each of us has a very special meaning for them and is given away as a present on certain occasions.”

I looked at her in surprise and let her continue. It sounded exciting.

“And not only have the flowers special meanings, but their colors as well.” The children in the semicircle nodded in agreement. “Tulips, for example, symbolize love and affection. Lovers present each other red tulips. Orange symbolizes fascination and blue means a promise of fidelity.”

My stamens trembled with joy when I heard that. How beautiful, indeed!

“This brings me back to the Ottomans,” I smiled at the children. “They also have something like a language of flowers, but somehow different from yours. They, for example, place yellow roses on the window sill, which is saying something like: there are sick or old people living in this house. In this way, passersby were prompted to behave quietly, which they did.”

I gave the flower children a short while to digest this new information, which apparently pleased them.

“By the way, do you actually know where I originally come from?” I asked them. They shook their heads. “My ancestors once left their home as well and were brought into the Ottoman Empire.”

The astonished hyacinth interrupted me:

“Does that mean that this isn’t the first migration?”

I gave her a nod. “Your ancestors were not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last who moves from one place to another in this wide world. There have always been trade relations between nations, and this will certainly remain so.”

The children smiled at me.

“And from where did you come to the Ottoman Empire?” the little carnation asked me timidly.

“Well, my real home … We tulips were already mentioned by the Greek writer Xenophon, who lived from 430 to 354 BC. And in the fourteenth century the Persian poet Hafez introduced my species into literature. He called us Lale, and this name so much appealed to the Ottomans that they adopted it.”

“In Turkish garden culture we had our heyday with Sultan Ahmet III. At that time, a whole era was named after us: The Tulip Era – Lale devri, which began in 1718. The tulip hype exceeded all bounds. There were 1323 different varieties.”

“Do they only have tulips over there?”

I shook my flower head. “No. The Ottomans had many flowers, including hyacinths as well. A part of the courtyard gardens of the Sultan were always reserved for you, the hyacinths; and this is still the case today.”

The hyacinths giggled again and whispered to each other. “See, I told you,” the first hyacinth whispered to the others.

“The poet Fazli, an Ottoman poet, often wove the hyacinth motif into his poems,” I continued. “And in Edirne and Istanbul, there are meadows covered with fragrant hyacinths.”

“Do you also know where we came to the Ottomans from?” another hyacinth, tall but very thin, asked.

“From the gardens of Baghdad and Aleppo,” I told her. A murmur rose again. The crowd of children thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

“How exciting,” they blurted.

Thus I added, “by the way, you folks came to Europe in the sixteenth century.” While they kept on jabbering with each other, the little pink carnation looked at me expectantly. Then she squeaked hesitant and softly:

“Have you also got flowers like me in the Ottoman Empire?”

I smiled at her. “Carnations, you mean?”

She nodded eagerly, and her cute petals shook with her head.

“Of course, even at the time of Theophrastus, in 300 BC, you were already growing. But I guess it was the Arabs who brought you to the Ottomans. At least, you got your name from them. The Arabs call you Qaranful, which is probably derived from the Latin Caryophyllus or from the Greek Karyphillon. And the Ottomans call you Karanfil.”

The eyes of the flower children widened and they tried to repeat the name slowly. Apparently they liked it very much.

For the first time, a small rose spoke up, slowly and gracefully as is to be expected from a rose:

“And what about us? What did we mean to the Ottomans?”

Again, I had to smile. What a question!

“Roses are sacred to all Muslims and, therefore, also to the Ottomans. They play a major role in Turkish culture.” The roses looked at me in surprise. “The Ottomans never left rose petals lying on the floor because rose in their tradition symbolized the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him.”

“Wow,” the children whispered reverently, as with one voice. The carnations and hyacinths respectfully looked up at the roses. They, in turn, humbly looked at me, waiting for me to go on, which I did:

Again, the flower children were whispering to each other. At the sight of them, I rejoiced. Now, they were my new neighbors. What luck! With them, I would certainly never get bored.

I looked over at my tulip siblings. They had already made themselves comfortable and were sound asleep. Out of the blue, I felt tired again. “Dear children! Tomorrow I’ll tell you more, if you want. But for today, it’s enough.”

A disappointed murmur rose. But the hyacinth encouraged me.

“Okay friends. She’s right. It’s enough for today. We should go back. Our parents are probably already worried. It’s getting late.”

“But I certainly would like to know more about my ancestors in Albania,” the little carnation complained.

“Arabia! Your ancestors came from Arabia! Just listen more carefully,” the hyacinth chastened her. She stood up and pulled the others behind her. “And now let’s go home!”

“Didn’t you forget something”, the hyacinth asked the flower children. As if on command they all turned again to me and shouted:

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Tulip!”

I laughed. The hyacinth had a very good grip on them.

“You are welcome,” I replied. “Good night!”

“Good night,” they echoed back, and with a broad grin and still fidgety, they retreated. I was alone again, and at once felt a little lonely. So I hurried back to my brothers and sisters.

This country seemed to be very exciting, at least more exciting than I would have thought. I smiled and suddenly did not even remember why it seemed so strange to me in the beginning.

A question can be defined as any sentence that has an interrogative form or function (Cotton 1988). Asking and answering questions are among the most common human behaviors we experience in many different areas of our lives (Samson, Syrowsky, Weinstein, & Walberg 1987). For instance, as mentioned in Sahin and Kulm (2008)’s study, questions have been used for many purposes such as provoking students and making them listen carefully, analyzing their thoughts and thinking critically. Moreover, the questioning method serves to initiate discussion and review material. Unsurprisingly, research has found that classroom talks are dominated by teachers’ questions (Redfield & Rousseau 1981). Indeed, teachers use anywhere from 35 to 50 percent of their instructional time posing questions (Cotton 1998). Thus questioning is a common and pivotal teaching skill which needs special attention for maximum benefit. Additionally, the type of questions teachers ask and how often these questions are posed to students also needs examining.

Question types

The questioning method has been a well-studied topic in education for centuries because it has been thought to be a good measure of a teacher’s quality (Stevens 1912). Therefore, a number of studies have taken place to examine the types of questions asked by teachers. Even though different categorizations have been set out in various researches, it is possible to see that there are several types of questions studied most and these include: higher-order, open-ended, divergent, evaluative, lower-order, factual, convergent, closed, and procedural questions. But when looked at these questions closely, it is possible to group them under two categories, probing and factual, based on the answers you expect from your students. The first group of categorization might include higher-order, open-ended, divergent, and evaluative question types under probing since all those question types require students to think deeply, provide wider responses, and justify answers. Indeed, Sahin and Kulm (2008) found that probing question was like the first group of question types requiring the following:

• Asking students to explain or elaborate on their thoughts
• Asking students to use prior knowledge and apply it to the current problem or idea
• Asking students to justify or prove their ideas (p. 3).

Examples of probing questions include:

1. How do you know that these fractions, 3/7 and 9/21, are equivalent?
2. Why do you agree with your friend?
3. How do you know that your answer is right?
4. What if you were in his shoes, what would you do to stop him from stealing?
5. If you were the President of the United States, would you liberate Libya? Why or why not?

The second group consists of lower-order, convergent, closed, and procedural questions that require students to recall specific facts and provide short answers. Sahin and Kulm’s (2008) study described indicators of factual questions which was very similar to the second group of questions:

• Asking students for a specific fact or definition (Vacc 1993)
• Asking students for an answer to an exercise
• Asking students to provide the next step in a procedure.

Examples of factual questions include:

1. What is the definition of a ratio?
2. When is the Independence Day of America?
3. What do you get when you divide 16 by 4?
4. Do you agree with him?
5. How many blue chocolate candies do you have in your M&M bag?

In practice, 60 to 80 percent of teachers’ questions are factual and around 20 percent of them are probing questions according to Cotton (1998). So it is important for teachers to be knowledgeable about those questions types.

How to develop questioning skills

Cotton (1998) found that teachers’ questioning method was the second most used teaching skill after lecturing in K-12 education. This is an interesting finding because even though it is used widely in teaching, research shows that teachers receive little training on how to ask, what to ask, and when to ask questions and how much time they need to wait after they pose a question. For instance, Sahin (2011) found that training or workshops on questioning was not a common practice in Texas. Four teachers said that they never took a course or a workshop specifically focusing on questioning and wait time. Interestingly, they said that they still used different questions to teach what they teach. When they were asked how they developed their questioning skills, they attributed it to watching and observing a good teacher as the number one technique to learn how to ask questions.

Another common method to learn how to pose questions is going out in the field and working in a classroom with real teachers and students as described by a middle grades mathematics teacher:

When I was an undergraduate, the time in the classroom, the classroom experience, going out in the field, being in the classroom with actual teachers and helping them out, seeing how they are doing it. You pick up things and you get exposed to different strategies in the classroom. So, I think, having the exposure in the classrooms is very beneficial because you are taught a lot with a lecture at A&M or at any college but real life exposure out in the classrooms with real kids, what kind of questions kids are asking and how they are responding to the questions, I think, is very helpful (Sahin 2011, 39).

Also the importance of workshops on questioning techniques and wait time cannot be ignored since teachers tend to and are encouraged to attend workshops regularly to grow and become better teachers. But Sahin’s findings illustrate that teachers cannot locate a specific workshop on questioning. There was only one teacher who said that she attended a workshop on teachers’ questioning method in her fifteen years of teaching. So, trainings or workshops on different teaching skills should be organized and teachers should be highly encouraged to attend a certain number of professional development workshops each school year.

Wait time

Questions and wait time are two sides of the same coin. As a coin cannot be valid without one of the sides, questioning techniques will not be successful without sufficient wait time. More precisely, you may ask quality and timely questions to your students but it will not extract learning unless you provide them with enough time to absorb and process the question and produce an answer. Cotton (1998), in her review on questioning and wait time, defined wait time as “the amount of time the teacher allows to elapse after he/she has posed a question and before a student begins to speak” (p. 5). Interestingly, research shows that the average wait time teachers allow students to generate response is one second or less (Rowe 1974). Naturally, no one can expect students to understand a question, process it, and formulate a response in such a short period of time.

Increasing a wait time of three or more seconds is an immense improvement for better responses and eventually for more effective student learning. Studies such as Cazden (2001) have revealed that three or more seconds of wait time help students give longer responses, provide better responses with more evidence of learning, further elaboration, encourage more questioning, and added engagement with increased student-to-student and student-to-teacher interactions. This is why it is crucial for teachers to go through trainings to develop proper wait time habits encouraging further student learning.

The use of questioning skills in daily life

Scholars, religious leaders, and/or prophets can be categorized as teachers as well since they are in a position to communicate to people certain things by lecturing, preaching, or posing questions. In that sense, Socrates was not alone in his use of questioning techniques to teach something or convince someone about a misunderstood value. The following story presents an excellent example of a well-constructed questioning method with enough wait time. In the story, Turkish scholar Said Nursi talks about how wrong or exaggerated fear can make one’s life unbearable:

An important man (may God’s mercy be upon him) was afraid to travel by boat. One evening, we went to Galata bridge to take the ferry to Eyup. He did not want to get on, saying that he feared he would drown. When I asked him how many boats were in the Golden Horn, he replied that there might be as many as one thousand. When I asked him how many boats sank each year, he replied usually one or two, and sometimes none. I made this analogy: “Since a year has 365 days, your chance of drowning is 1:365,000. Why does such a small chance scare you?” I asked: “How much longer do you expect to live?” He answered: “Maybe 10 years; I am old already.” I continued: “As there are 3,650 days in 10 years, your chance of dying today is 1:3,650. But since we do not know when we will die, you could die at any time. So repent and weep! Write your last will and testament!” Seeing the truth in my words, he got on the boat even though trembling. (Nursi 2007, 401-2)

In the example, Nursi uses a series of questions to help a person overcome his fear of boarding a boat. In this example, Nursi achieved a couple of things through questioning: first, he asked a series of (factual) questions to help the person determine his underlying beliefs about death. Nursi formulated this information in such a way to show the man how small the possibility of a boat sinking was through a set of factual questions. He posed each question cleverly and effectively to help the person realize how his feelings of death were exaggerated. Also, Nursi gave his addressee enough time to think about the questions, use prior knowledge and apply it to a current problem or situation. He did not rush him to give answers. Moreover, the information Nursi obtained was not something that his addressee did not know, rather it was a tool to help the person overcome his fear of death when boarding a boat. In a short period of time, Nursi persuaded the person that his fear was needless through the use of a questioning technique combined with adequate wait time. As Myhill and Dunkin (2002) stated, “Just like a good barrister, a good teacher knows how to use questions for maximum impact” (p. 8).

In conclusion, teachers’ questioning skills are one of the primary and most influential set of pedagogical skills in use in classrooms. Therefore, teachers should be trained in order for them to become knowledgeable about what to ask and how to ask. Additionally, teachers should know that they should wait at least three seconds after posing a question for more effective student responses and understanding. Teachers’ questioning skills and wait time should complement each other for better outcome. Colleges, districts, and schools should seek ways to improve both prospective and in-service teachers’ questioning skills.

References

• Cazden, C. B. 2001. Classroom discourse: The language of teaching and learning. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.
• Cotton, K. 1998. Classroom questioning. North West Regional Educational Laboratory. Retrieved from http://www.learner.org/workshops/socialstudies/pdf/session6/6.ClassroomQuestioning.pdf
• Nursi, Bediüzzaman Said. 2007. The Letters. NJ: Tughra Books.
• Myhill, D., & Dunkin, F. 2002. What is a good question? Literacy, 8.
• Redfield, D. L., & Rousseau, E. W. 1981. A meta-analysis of experimental research on teacher questioning behavior. Review of Educational Research 51, 237–245.
• Sahin, A. 2011. Teachers’ awareness and acquisition of questioning. (Manuscript submitted for publication).
• Sahin, A., & Kulm, G. 2008. Sixth grade mathematics teachers. Intentions and use of probing, guiding, and factual questions. Journal of Mathematics Teacher Education, 11(3), 221-241
• Samson, G. E., Strykowski, B., Weinstein, T., & Walberg, H. J. 1987. The effects of teacher questioning levels on student achievement. Journal of Educational Research 80, 290–295.
• Socrates.(n.d.).Wikipedia. Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Socrates
• Stevens, R. 1912. The questions as a measure of efficiency in instruction: A critical study of classroom practice, Teachers College Contributions to Education, 48, 95. New York: Columbia University, Teachers College Press.
• Vacc, N. N. 1993. Implementing the professional standards for teaching mathematics: Questioning in the mathematics classroom. Arithmetic Teacher, 41(2), 88–91.

Every human is precious with a special quality, and there are quite many of them at specialist schools. It is just a matter of being able to see that potential within every person, and be appreciative of

When I was requested to complete one of my practical teaching experiences at a specialist school,¹ I was worried. At the time, I was enrolled at a university to become a teacher, expecting to teach only at mainstream schools. The fear of unintentionally hurting the feelings of handicapped people in general was a big concern for me.

I prepared myself for the difficult task ahead. I was certain that this experience was going to be quite different to what I had previously encountered in regular schools, but what I experienced from the first day was beyond my imagination. I was surrounded with little children who could not see, hear, talk or walk. Normally, lunch time would mean kids running around and jumping with joy. It wasn’t like that here. Instead, there were a lot of students on wheelchairs, some walking slowly from one part of the room to another, some just sitting quietly, and some crawling on the floor. As I was watching them, I noticed a little boy approach. He crawled next to me and then patted the floor. I interpreted this as him asking me to sit next to him, so I kneeled down and said “Hello.” He reached over and gave the toy he was playing with to me and then crawled away slowly. For a brief moment I held the toy in my hands looking around confused. I did not know what to do.

Mike² was one of the four students in my class. He was visionally impaired. He could not walk either hence had to use a wheelchair. What was so lovely about Mike was his responsiveness; he would respond to everything, even to a question directed at someone else or to a conversation other people were having. Mike was one of the triplets; according to my mentor “he was the unlucky (!) one.”

Sam was another student also with limited vision. Some days he would surprise us by recognizing the person who walked in through the door; however, most of the time, he could not see objects that stood right in front of him, often tripping over them. Walking was also a difficult task for him; his teachers were teaching him how to use a cane. He was a popular boy at school. He would talk to everyone and most importantly, he would never forget them. His parents were considering enrolling him into a different specialist school due to his exceptional memory and fast learning skills.

Shane was the third student who could not speak. He was also using a wheelchair. Teachers were working vigorously to teach him how to use a machine that would assist him with his speech and also how to operate an automatic wheelchair.

Lana was the last student of the class who had difficulties with walking. In order to walk she needed support or had to use a walking stool. She displayed signs of timidity next to strangers, yet her friendliness towards the three boys in her class was remarkable. She would constantly talk to them and attempted to walk towards them. She was very responsive to some of our questions, but not to everything. If you insisted on a response, she would place her head on the table and start to ignore you.

Eating was an issue for both Sam and Shane; they had to be given some kind of a special formula instead of regular food. The formula was made up of a milky substance and it satisfied their hunger. It provided them with all the necessary minerals and vitamins that they could not receive from regular diet. Although teacher-aids would come at certain times to give the students food, it was not to satisfy their hunger; rather, it was to give them the opportunity to experience different tastes.

Everything in this school was new to me, so I was extremely cautious with everything I had to learn. Teachers and staff seemed to be very nice and talkative to the children. Initially I could hardly even talk to the students. If they had a question, I would reply with a smile. With each passing day, I grew confident. Before long, I was like their regular teachers who constantly talked and laughed with them. I began to assist my mentor by moving students around with wheelchairs.

The friendship and the relationship students had with one another were genuine, pure and innocent. They were just like other children; thinking about toys, playing games, and more importantly, cherished the love they received from family and friends. They had wants, needs, fears, likes and dislikes just like you and me. The importance of being able to “see the person, not the disability” meant a lot to me.

At this school each student had a machine called the “Big Mac.” The teacher (my mentor) would record information about students’ day at school and parents were also expected to record issues relevant to home. Every day, these Big Macs would travel to and from home with the children. The teacher and parents would listen to them. Shane had to use a more advanced machine called “FL4SH” to help him with his speech. He had to press a button with his head to indicate what he wanted to say. Every day Shane’s mother recorded news and jokes on this machine. During my entire time there, she recorded a message almost every day. My mentor would describe Shane’s mother as the best parent she had ever seen. It was at this school, I realized the sacrifices both parents were required to give and how much they should all be applauded for it.

Normally, it took students a long time to learn my name. I believe it is due to the difficulty of its pronunciation. However, at this school, the time it took for the students to learn my name was quite shorter than any other schools I went for placements. Mike was the first to pronounce my name… He would repeat my name so many times that it would be impossible for those nearby not to memorize it. I tried desperately to reply to all of his calls, but it was an impossible task.

Sam was a Sesame Street fan like any other child; his favorite toys were a vacuum and a car that had the pictures of Elmo and the Cookie Monster on them. He carried these toys wherever he went. He would hug, kiss and talk to them. One day, he began to say things like, “Rukiye the vacuum is sad” or “the car is crying!” I asked him, “Why Sam?” He replied, “Because, they can’t talk.” I smiled and suggested, “Why don’t you teach them how to talk, Sam?” I encouraged him to continue talking and to tell them “don’t be sad, don’t cry, be happy.” He never forgot this conversation. He began to repeat the words “don’t cry, be happy” to his toys, whenever he was next to me. I just loved the way he taught the vacuum how to talk. He would say “don’t cry vacuum, you can talk now” then he would press the “on”’ button, to which the vacuum would respond by saying words like “Hello.”

Sam’s birthday was another memory I would never forget. It was his ninth birthday. The following day, my mentor asked Sam to talk about his birthday to his classmates. He told everyone that he and his brother were sharing the same party due to having birthdates that were not too far apart. He continued talking about blowing candles and everyone clapping. He concluded by saying “Then I went into my room.” When my mentor asked follow-up questions like, “did you stay in your room after that?” and “didn’t you enjoy the party Sam?” rather than answering the question, Sam continued to describe the cake, candles and the singing of the “happy birthday” song. I was saddened by the story of Sam’s birthday party. I tried to contemplate how it must feel to not be allowed to attend your own birthday celebration. My mentor assumed that it was to prevent Sam from screaming loudly as he always did when he became over excited.

One day, I witnessed Sam’s unique emotional state with my own eyes. He was crying, constantly stomping from one place to another as he violently smashed and threw toys around. Even his favorite toys were amongst the victims. His sickness triggered this lovely boy to go through such a drastic emotional transformation.

On another occasion as we were waiting for the other students to arrive, Lana asked me to bring her a book. She imitated her teacher and pretended to read the book to Sam and me. She repeated the words “you can walk, he said; I can walk, she said” on every page. I wondered why she concentrated on these particular words. Was it because of the difficulty she experienced while walking? Perhaps, in her own way, she was expressing her desire to walk.

Observing these lovely children helped me realize how little we are thankful for what we have. We have so much, yet often we fail to display our gratitude. We often compare ourselves to those who are more fortunate, rather than thinking about those who have much less. If we are disappointed about not having the latest shoes, shouldn’t we remember Shane, Mike or Lana, who could not walk? If we complain about not having the best eye color, shouldn’t Sam or Mike be remembered, who could not see? If we cannot be bothered to talk with our family at dinner, shouldn’t we remember Shane? Because no matter how much he wanted to say a simple sentence like “I love you,” he was not able to.

It was my last day at this specialist school; a place I initially had doubts about attending. I bought each student a toy, and showed them how it lit up when shaken. That day, moments before I left the class, my four students chanted, “Rukiye…Rukiye… Rukiye!” They had made up a song with my name. As I pushed Mike’s wheelchair towards his bus, he was still shaking the toy madly as he shouted with joy, “Rukiye, Rukiye look, I’m lighting it, I’m lighting it!” I wondered if he really saw the lights. I was extremely sad to leave them, but I had completed the requirements of my placement. I can never forget these lovely students. Their smiling faces, especially Mike’s shy giggles and Lana’s loud laughter are still echoing in my ears.

About a month had passed when I went back to the school for a short visit. I was curious as to whether the students would still remember me. It was heart-breaking not seeing Lana and Shane there because they were away that day. Sam and Mike were having their snacks; the usual, cheese balls for Sam and sandwiches for Mike. Mike did not say my name which he repeated so many times before. Instead, he smiled and giggled as I spoke to him. This was enough to cheer me up; it seemed as though he recognized my voice. My mentor asked, “Sam who is this?” To which he responded “Rukiye” with a huge smile. I spoke with Sam for a while and then said a last “goodbye” to both, as their teacher-aid took them outside for recess. During our short conversation, Sam did not forget to update me on the mood of his car: “Rukiye, car is crying… don’t cry car, be happy!” Eventually, the students may forget me. But one thing is for certain, I will never forget them…

Notes

1. In the Australian school system, institutions that provide education to disabled students are known as “Specialist Schools.”
2. Names of students have deliberately been changed for privacy reasons.

However, it is not my husband, but rather my son, whom I want to talk about now. The anniversary of my son’s death was yesterday. It is probably in vain to talk about the last days of his life, because people already know that part of the story. He was part of an incredible story, but unfortunately he was on the wrong side.

My son learned at an early age how to become a man like his father, one who was devoted to his work and driven by success. His father did not spend much of his time with his family, but on those occasions that he did, he spent most of the time talking about his successes and the growing influence of his business. It was easy to tell that my son was captivated by his father’s success. To him, his father was an angel who had descended from heaven to tell him stories of miracles and wonders.

Unlike his father’s business obsession, my son developed an interest in machines. He dissembled and re-assembled all sorts of machines from a very young age and was able to combine different objects to come up with his own primitive inventions. Before he went to elementary school, he invented an automated knife that would spread butter on his bread and a machine that would bring him the remote control when triggered by pulling down on a string. Often, I found myself worrying about my son’s future education and wondering what this kid could possibly learn at school.

Unfortunately, within the first week of school, my worries about his education came true when my son was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD) and quickly became an outcast at school due to his hyperactivity. My divorce from his father during the same year only made things worse. I didn’t know what to do. Although it was not the best solution, I still thought it was best for my son to continue to study at a normal, public school.

In his second year, a fan club was formed to celebrate the superheroes that made this planet a better place to live. Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl, Frozone, Gazerbeam, Superman, etc., were all invitees of this club during their biweekly activities. My son, having grown up with the example of his successful father, soon developed an interest in this club. There, my son had found an excellent replacement for his father, whom he deeply missed since our divorce.

One day he returned from the club’s activities and was not the same person that usually returned from school. I hardly recognized him. The angry-looking, hyperactive outcast was gone, and in his place was a child who was destined to follow his dreams. During dinner, I asked how his day had been. He talked about a man that I “better marry,” because he wanted him as his father. Guess who it was: Mr. Incredible.

“I asked and he said he was single and he loved children,” my son insisted.

“But I’ve never met him!” I replied, smiling.

“I’m sure you’ll love him,” he said.

I was so happy that, after two years of misery and distress, we could have a dinner like mother and son.

The dream went on for a few months, until one night when he came home from a friend’s house, looking very distraught. I thought perhaps he had a fight with his friend, but it wasn’t that. He had tried to tag along with Mr. Incredible as his sidekick but had been kicked out of his car, because Mr. Incredible found him too young and didn’t want a sidekick. After all, Mr. Incredible always worked alone. Eventually, my son was able to accept the situation and he realized that what Mr. Incredible said was true, that he actually was too young. However, his awe of Mr. Incredible never faded. He always sought ways to get Mr. Incredible to accept and appreciate him.

By the time my son was in middle school, companies began to purchase his inventions. He was already well on his way to becoming as successful as his father had been. I frequently asked myself what this boy would accomplish in the future. He already had achieved what most people never would in an entire lifetime. Flying boots were his latest invention. He thought this would catch Mr. Incredible’s attention because flying would greatly improve Mr. Incredible’s ability to fight crime.

One night, he was brought home by the police. I literally freaked out. I thought he had done something horrible with one of his crazy inventions. Apparently, he had tried to help Mr. Incredible at the scene of a robbery, but everything had gone wrong and Mr. Incredible rejected him as a sidekick once more. Being an adolescent undergoing puberty he had difficulty in facing this latest rejection from his hero. He not only craved acceptance and appreciation but he needed them. From that day on, all the Mr. Incredible posters, stickers, and T-shirts were gone from our house. Instead, my son started putting up posters of villains and he started to idolize them.

I couldn’t tell anyone, but I was terrified when I found a paper in his room that said, “Revenge of the Bad Guys.” I hoped this was a sort of adolescent fury that would go away in time. And it did – at least I thought it did.

After he completed his university degree, my son started a company that focused on the research and development of defense systems. Because of his genius, he easily achieved immediate success and purchased two islands in the Pacific: one as his home to live with his fiancée and the other as his base of operations. I was a happy mother because after so many years of hard work and worries, I thought my son had finally overcome his difficulties and was moving on with his life.

My dream did not last long. After the government grounded all the superhero activities due to public unrest towards the superheroes, my son started popularizing his inventions that mimicked the abilities of these superheroes: flying boots, a machine that made any shape by freezing the humidity in the air, a never-ending rope that never broke, etc. I never thought that what he was doing was simply a disguise to hide his true goal: discovering Mr. Incredible’s secret identity and getting revenge for himself and for all those whose parents or spouses were hurt or killed by the superheroes. I found out about this from one of his journals that was later given to the police by his fiancée.

You know the rest of the story. My son was struck by a car that Mr. Incredible threw at him and was finally killed by the very jet engine he had invented and built. Mr. Incredible had once been my son’s hero and was now his murderer. What can I say? Congratulations, Mr. Incredible on another job well-done! I hope you can enjoy dinner with your family tonight as I’m writing these lines in sorrow …

Not long after, I saw a minuscule thing coming to me from that direction; I thought it was a bird of some kind. Strange enough, the bird came to me so abruptly that I heard its sound only after it passed me… Guess what? It was not a bird; it was a fighter jet. This time, I knew where to look, and I followed it for the short while it played pick-a-boo with me.

The following day, mom took me to the celebration arena for a national day. I couldn’t believe my eyes, everywhere was full of fighter jets; but my eyes looked for the one that mesmerized me the day before. And, it was standing right there, waiting for me to come. I approached it with respectful steps, and carefully touched it. It was so cold and tough, yet so beautiful. That day, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. The smell of the jet fuel coming from the engines was so powerful that even I could fly with that kind of a drink.

“Hey; come here” I heard someone calling me. There was really nobody around. “Follow the sharp smell, come on here,” insisted the voice. Was I daydreaming, or had I been poisoned by the jet fuel and lost my conscience? Yeah, yeah, the voice was coming from the rear-end of the engine. It was the nozzle that was talking to me.

The moment I realized who was talking to me, I found myself in the circular, hollow structure of the nozzle. I was too nervous and surprised at first, but after a moment of looking around admiringly, I spoke with the words: “I know the inferno fire that you are exhausting. Isn’t it beautiful? You are so powerful. You are the one that is powering this beauty in the sky.”

The nozzle was not happy to hear my words of flattery. “Hey little boy, you know something, but you don’t know everything. Yes, it is true that I am exhausting that violent river of gas. You are right that this stormy exhaust is in the heart of this beauty in the sky. But you have got to learn more. I am only a solid duct that is accelerating what comes into me. I have no power to compress that humongous amount of air into a volume as small as a bird’s nest. I am completely unable to heat up the air to inferno level. And, the beauty in the sky is not taken up there by me either.”

I was totally disappointed and frustrated by the nozzle. I had thought for an instant that it was my hero; but now, my dreams were destroyed. I felt all alone in a desert. The nozzle must have realized my situation, so it picked up again: “Come on. I am going to introduce you to the unseen heroes behind our mysterious beauty. I am going to show you the inside.”

I was truly perplexed. What else could be more mysterious than a speaking nozzle? The voice of the nozzle slowly diffused into the deep and dark hallway into the engine, and I followed it. Soon, I came by long towers that had a nicely curved shape. As soon as I stepped near them, the floor that the towers were built on started moving. In the midst of this earthquake and a blinding darkness, I could faintly see another row of towers that were stagnant. I threw myself towards them. As I was dealing with my horrified and troubled soul, I heard a thunderous voice that reverberated everywhere:

“How nice to see you here, Adam!” I was doubly shocked. Not only was this unseen thing talking to me, but it also knew my name. “Do you know me?” I replied. “How could I miss your glittering eyes fixed at us whenever we pass over you? I am the turbine, one of the unseen heroes. I am the one that powers the compressors that squeeze the air. I am the one that faces the hot air before it goes into the nozzle.”

Wow, this was the man; this was the legendary hero behind the beauty in the sky. I looked at its towers that displayed nobility and their curved surfaces that embodied beauty. As I was losing myself in admiration, I heard the voice again:

“These are the eyes that I have been seeing every time we passed over you. But I have to tell you something. What you are looking for is not me either, because I cannot create the hot air that energizes everything, including me. Despite the beauties and power embodied in me, I am not the essence that bears the real beauty you are looking for.”

What was that supposed to mean? First the nozzle, now the turbine; every time, I am being attracted, and then I am left alone with a sense of deception. Are these heroes making fun of my admiration of their beauty? If so, they don’t deserve my admiration anymore; if not, then why am I having this feeling of deception? Is it wrong to attribute hero status to something?

Lost in feelings and thoughts like these, I left the turbine, and proceeded further into the darkness. Not only didn’t I know where I was, but also I had no means to determine my whereabouts. In total silence and darkness, I sat at a place that felt like a smooth and large room. Suddenly, a wind started blowing with growing speed, and a constant noise occupied everywhere. I was alarmed and sought somewhere to cling to. With the help of lightning that seemed to come out of nowhere, I saw a cavity that looked safe. After a challenging crawl, I was there. Then, a second lightning came and everywhere burst into fires. As if winds from the hell were gushing out. My jaw dropped down, I stared at this miraculous display of fire.

“Welcome, finally you are here,” told a voice that was distinctly heard despite the violent storm. I felt like I am being driven through a scenario so that where ever I enter, I experience things that I was meant to. “Am I the hero of this scenario?”, I asked myself inside, and laughed at the idea. Upon seeing so many extraordinary things, my awe of the strange things was veiled with habituation. So, I couldn’t pay the respect that was due the voice I heard. Maybe because of this, I received a kick from behind, and I had to struggle against the winds of fire to get back to my seat where I was safe and comfortable.

“Hello, are you still there?” I asked. “Can you tell me where I am?” That distinct voice appeared again in my ears: “Indeed, I am here, but you weren’t!” I bowed my head with shame. Having hurt the only one that could help me in this situation was as foolish as it could be. “And I was with you all along from the start.” What was this? I didn’t know whether to feel ashamed because of my selfish and pragmatic sense of respect, or to burst into a thousand pieces for not having recognized the one who has been with me all along?

“This is as far as you can go in this story. You are in the place where the energy that empowers everything is revealed. It is the heart of the beauty that you have been admiring.” After a second of silence, “Did you find what you were looking for?” asked the voice. I had seen strange things, but none of them had satisfied my heart nor quenched my curiosity. A sad face was my response to the question, but I didn’t know if the voice could see my face. Apparently it did, so that it directed me to another place. “You see this violent fire going on, would you like to fly away with it?” Was this guy crazy? How in the world could I survive in fire? “Well then, there are two ways to get out of here. Either you go along the fire back to where you came from. Or, if you are not able to do so, you go forward.”

With that directive, I started crawling towards the front, into the strong wind. I came across a thing similar to the turbine, and then another hallway similar to the nozzle. At first I was puzzled, because I had seen the same things that I had seen on my way previously. Had I made a mistake and proceeded backwards? That mustn’t be the case, since I had moved away from the fire.

After this stupefying similarity, I was at the mouth of the cave where everything starts. I was able to see the wings too. But now, the aircraft was moving. All of the storm that was going on inside was for accelerating. The force of the acceleration was so strong that I slipped from where I was clinging, and found myself stuck at the beautiful front curve of the wing. Strange enough, the same voice welcomed me again: “Finally you are here.” I didn’t know whether to reply to it or to lose myself while watching the beauty of the aircraft as it soared into the air with an ever increasing speed. It definitely felt like the divers who hear that beautiful voice when they go deeper than they should. I could not resist melting my body in the excitement of the maneuvers. After a while, we were hundreds of meters above where we had started. Now, the aircraft was cruising, and despite the rareness of the experience, it felt like sitting in the living room. With the steadiness of my state, I found myself emerging from the depths of excitement.

“Have you found the beauty you are looking for?” asked the voice again, to which I said yes. “Where do you think that beauty is coming from? From the engines or from the wings?” That question was most unexpected. The engine itself was not able to fly, it was only able to create a strong push. The wings were only beautiful. They did not actively do anything. They only stood there in the wind, and then, lift was there. Without the air, the wings would not create anything. As for the air, we are completely sunken in it, let alone flying. “I don’t know where the beauty is coming from. There seems to be something missing in the ingredients that created the beauty of flight. None of the ingredients seems to originate it. It looks like you put the engine, the wings and the air in the pot, and suddenly something that you did not put comes into being.”

“But you did not realize this point until you made this journey, despite that you have been witnessing the same beauty all along. “

Why was that the case? Why did I have to make this incredible journey in order to become aware of this uncertainty in the source of beauty?

“When you are not actually in a journey like this, you take all the mysteries for granted, because you consider them natural, ordinary. But once you are in the journey, you realize something different that exists neither in you nor in the things you come across. It is as if somebody is tracking what is going on, and whenever the necessary ingredients are there, he secretly adds the missing spice into it at the right amount. And, then? Behold the beauty!”

In a study conducted by social psychologists Tversky and Kahneman, people were asked to guess the percentage of African nations that were members of the United Nations. Two groups were first asked to estimate whether this number was lower or higher than a threshold: the first group was asked whether it is more or less than 45 percent and the second group was asked whether it is more or less than 65 percent. Then both groups were asked to give their estimates of the actual percentage. The researchers demonstrated that the group that was given the lower threshold estimated a lower value for the actual percentage of African nations that are members of the United Nations. The group that was given the higher threshold estimated a higher percentage. The pattern has held in other experiments for a wide variety of different subjects of estimation. A bias in the estimation of African members of the United Nations may not sound like a big deal, but how about decisions that affect people’s lives seriously?

Consider sentencing in court trials. Social psychologist Mussweiler and colleagues asked trial judges with more than 15 years of experience to consider sentencing demands made by non-experts in a legal crime case before issuing a final sentence. The two sentencing demands were 34 months and 12 months. The judges, despite their experience and despite the fact that the crime was the same, were influenced by the demands. Judges who considered the high demand of 34 months prior to their decision gave final sentences that were almost 8 months longer than judges who considered a low demand of 12 months initially. If prior exposure to a piece of information can make a difference as much as 8 more months in prison, then we ought to know what is going on. The examples above illustrate a psychological heuristic known as “anchoring and adjustment.” The heuristic suggests that when faced with a decision-making or estimation situation, people start with an anchor, or a reference point, and make adjustments to it to reach their final estimate. The anchor serves as a first approximation and then the person makes adjustments to it to reach a final estimate or decision. Why does the human mind utilize this heuristic? The answer is simple—we do not always have a whole lot of information to reach an accurate estimate or best decision.

Therefore, the mind sometimes needs shortcuts, especially under pressing circumstances. To understand this process, let’s have a look at the limitations of human cognition. Models of human cognition Cognitive psychologists and sociologists have worked to develop models of human social cognition. These models emphasize four aspects of our social cognition, which is the way we perceive others. The first is the role of prior knowledge versus information immediately available. For example, when we see a policeman directing the traffic, we use our prior knowledge in our perception. We may assume that he is carrying a gun and he has communications equipment to talk with his station. We deduce these features from our prior knowledge about the traffic police, even if we may not be in a position to observe that particular policeman’s gun or communications device. Relying on prior information in our judgments is called “top-down” processing as opposed to “bottom-up” or data-driven processing. Typically, relying on top-down processing, such as relying on stereotypes, requires fewer processing resources.

The second aspect is the limitation of our cognitive processing capacity. The human cognitive system is modeled to consist of our sensory organs, a sensory register (memory) that temporarily stores our perceptions of external stimuli, a short-term memory, a long-term memory, attention resources and executive control processes. When we receive information in the form of audio-visual or other sensory stimuli, they are processed by our cognitive system and transferred to our short-term memory. Through a process of encoding and categorization, the information is organized and stored in the long-term memory. A part of the long-term memory is “active” or readily accessible. Our further use of information in our long-term memory activates the information, and the lack of use deactivates it, making it less readily accessible. Our behavioral response results from our processing of information. According to this information-processing model of human cognition, the amount of information that can be processed by our cognitive system is restricted in terms of storage, flow and inference (Huitt, 2003).

The third aspect is the amount of cognitive processing that is determined by capacity (amount of free resources) and motivation. Factors such as interest, importance, and relevance determine the motivation to allocate more cognitive resources. We are more likely to devote more cognitive processing resources to subjects that are more interesting, important or relevant in our judgment. The fourth aspect is the interplay between automatic and controlled processing. Automatic processes require fewer resources. Given our limited processing capacity, time and other types of constraints have consequences for our cognitive processing. Under constraints, most individuals tend to simplify their processing by relying on less information, relying on automatic cognitive processes as opposed to conscious ones, or relying on prior information as opposed to information available in the circumstances. Anchoring is one such a simplification. The nature of the situation we are facing will determine which of these mechanisms will be selected. They will be reused or abandoned depending on whether they provide a sound basis for our responses to the social environment. If the simplifications lead to interpretations that harm us, we are likely to abandon them. If, on the other hand, there is no harm or there is a benefit, then we are likely to reuse those simplifications.

Anchoring effect Anchoring is defined as the effect of a prior judgment of an object, the anchor, on our future judgments regarding another object. These judgments may be about a numerical value, a probability, or even a moral or legal judgment. As an example, consider the situation where people are asked whether the population of a city is greater than or smaller than a value. Let’s say two groups of people are asked the same question with two anchors: Group A is asked whether the population of Houston is more than or less than 500,000. Group B is asked whether the population of Houston more than or less than 2,000,000. In this example, the values of 500,000 and 2,000,000 serve as anchors. Both groups are then asked: What is your estimate of the population of Houston? Experiments indicate that the people who were given the lower anchor on average give a lower estimate for the population and vice versa. How does anchoring happen? Cognitive psychologists tell us that human judgment is essentially relative or comparison based, even if we are not asked to make a comparison explicitly. So, in evaluating the present object or person, our minds search for an anchor. A particular anchor may be selected because it is readily accessible, because it is suggested to us, or “self-generated via an insufficient adjustment process” (Mussweiler et al). Our prior cognitive processing of the anchor increases the accessibility of anchor-consistent knowledge, which influences our subsequent judgments. For example, when we meet a person from a country, the first person we met from that country may become our anchor. If we had a positive experience with the first person, we are likely to interpret the actions of this new person with a positive light. While cognitive heuristics such as anchoring help us make quick decisions under constraints, they may also lead to errors. The price we pay for the economy provided by the heuristics is “systematically biased judgments under certain conditions.” (Bless et al., p. 24). For instance, a car dealer may offer you a very high price as an anchor and ask you to make a counter offer. Experiments have demonstrated that under such circumstances, the value of the initial offer has a significant effect on what people will be willing to pay for the final price of the car. If the initial offer is very high, the customer is likely to accept a higher negotiated price and vice versa. The anchoring effect can also be observed when we take a few characteristics of a person and consciously or subconsciously fit them to a stereotype.

In such cases, we may misperceive their motivations or misunderstand their circumstances. Sometimes the anchor can be manipulated by some person other than ourselves, as in the case of the car dealer. Sometimes, we may pick the anchor unintentionally based on information obtained from the mass media. As the mass media tend to focus on rare events that tend to be negative, the stereotypes formed based on information solely derived from the mass media may be misleading (Said, 1997). What are some of the lessons we can derive from our discussion of the anchoring effect? For one, we need to point the mirror at ourselves and ask: Are we forming stereotypes of others that may be inaccurate? Are we influenced by the anchoring effect in our judgment of other people? To see whether we may have anchors for evaluating people of different backgrounds consider your initial thoughts about Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Americans, Russians, Asians, Africans, Mexicans, etc. Are these anchors based on scientific data or news media coverage of events or personal encounters with one or more individuals? It may be infeasible to try to collect encyclopedic information about every nationality, religion, or culture that we encounter. But in matters that impact our society we ought to do a better job of researching a diversity of resources. But perhaps a more important lesson is this—the anchoring effect is here to stay as part of the reality of human cognition. If we would like to provide accurate, reliable information to people about ourselves, our culture and values, we should reach them before they form a negative anchor or stereotype. If we would like our cultural background, religion, or values to be understood without distortion, we need to reach out to as many people as possible around us and interact with them. We need to hold conversations, and share meaningful experiences with them to anchor their future judgments in an accurate reference point. The anchoring effect is demonstrated to be pervasive and robust in psychology. It is not likely to disappear in the foreseeable future. However, we do have the opportunity to reach out and help form positive anchors for better human relationships.

Further reading

• Bless, H., Fiedler, K., Strack, F. 2004. Social Cognition, New York: Taylor and Francis.
• Huitt, W. 2003. The Information Processing Approach to Cognition. Educational Psychology Interactive. Valdosta, GA: Valdosta State University.
• Mussweiler, T., & Strack, F. 2001. The Semantics of Anchoring. Organizational Behaviour and Human Decision Processes, 86, 234–255.
• Said, E. 1997. Covering Islam: How the Media and the Experts Determine How We See the Rest of the World, New York: Random House.

The 300 to 500 sperms which strive to enter into egg meet with the cell layer (corona radiata) which is being serially positioned around the zona radiata. A liquid is secreted from this zona radiata which punctures the euchromosome¹ placed on tip of sperm. Each of various enzymes set free following the puncture of euchromosome is assigned to overcome a separate obstacle before the sperm. Duty of the hyaluronidase enzyme, for instance, is to puncture the outer cell layer (corona radiata) which is assigned to protect the egg. Resultantly, the sperm passes through this cell layer and sticks onto the zona radiata (zona pellucida). The quasi-trypsin dissolutive (proteolytic) enzymes are employed for overcoming the zona radiata. Only one or rarely two of the few sperms which stuck onto this zona radiata manages to penetrate into the egg. It has been estimated that plurality of sperms around the egg, contrary to their rarity, facilitates their entry into the egg.

The sperm penetrates into the egg with its tail but tail membrane stays outside. The protective membrane of the ovum (zona pellucida) starts diffusing calcium within the very first minutes of sperm’s penetration and resultantly, granules are released, receptors are exterminated and the egg becomes structurally transformed. Consequently, a thick layer is formed over the protective membrane (zona pellucida) for prevention of penetration of another sperm.

Following the sperm’s penetration into egg (cytoplasm), the “fusion” process starts. Fusion is the unification process of sperm and egg cells (pronuclei) each of which are separately containing 23 chromosomes. Thus, construction of a genetical library which is containing 46 chromosomes and being prerequisite of formation (creation) of a new human baby is completed. Afterwards, the first mitotic division gives way to a double-celled zygote and the embryo starts forming while settling into the secure base of the uterus. As the outcoming child is going to be a mixture, i.e., a genuine and particular blend of the genetic codes available in the inherited gene pool, he/she will have resemblance to his/her parents and thus to their reciprocal kins (paternal and maternal grandparents, uncles and aunts and etc.).

Prophet Muhammad and Genetics

Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, pointed in his various sayings and explanations to the fact that the baby in mother’s womb carries a number of genetic features (characteristics) which are being inherited from the parents:

When a Jewish person asked Him, “what is man created from?” he replied: “Man is created from a blend (mixture) of zygotes of both man and woman.” Then the Jew said: “Moses as well said the same before you.”²

Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, also shed light onto the fact of resemblance or inheritance of character by way of genes:

“Is bathing a must for women?” asked Umm Sulaim to the Prophet.

“Yes, it is a must when her seminal fluid outflows and seen,” he replied.

“Do women have wet dreams?” she asked.

“May God grant you goodness! How otherwise a child resembles to his/her mother?” He replied.³

….

As seen and understood by His above hadith (saying), He who was the great teacher of mankind was the first person who said that women do also see wet dreams.

He has also been the first person who articulated the concept of “dominancy,” which was not understood before 1850s.

He said:

“The child resembles to either side of the parents whose seminal fluid comes to the fore and surpasses the other’s in mother’s womb during the intercourse. If there is an equilibrium, then, resemblance is also in equilibrium for both sides.”⁴

“If, during the intercourse, seminal fluid of the man precedes and surpasses that of the woman, then, the child resembles to the father, and if semimal fluid of the woman precedes and surpasses that of the man, then, the child resembles to the mother.”⁵

“If seminal fluid of the woman surpasses that of the man, then, the child resembles to his/her maternal uncles, and, if seminal fluid of the man surpasses that of the woman, then, the child resembles to his/her paternal uncles.”⁶

In another one of His sayings, He points out to the fact that the recessive characters (features) in the grand ancestorial gene pool would dominantly and collectively emerge after following a couple of generations:

“A man having a blackish baby boy approached and said to the Prophet:

“I am suspecting my wife.”

“Do you have camels?” the Prophet asked him.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Then, how are their colors?” The Prophet asked.

“Red.”

“Is there any one with grey color among them?”

“Yes, there is.”

“Then, where did this grey color come from?” asked the Prophet.

“Presumably from a line of its ancestors,” the man responded.

“Here you are! This child of you is also presumed to be coming from a line of your ancestors,” the Prophet told the man.⁷

Dr. Arslan Mayda is a medical doctor at Sifa Hospital in Izmir, Turkey.

Notes and References

1. An euchromosome zone enriched by lysosome enzymes is noticed on stem of a mature sperm cell. The lysosome enzymes penetrate into the egg cell and impregnate it.

2. Ahmad Bin Hanbal, Aynee, Ramouz Al Ahadeeth, Kanz Al Ummal, Jami’ul Saghir

3. Bukhari, Muslim, Abu Dawoud, Aynee, Ahmad Bin Hanbal.

4. Muslim, Ibn Majah.

5. Bukhari, Ahmad Bin Hanbal.

6. Bukhari, Muslim, Abu Dawoud.

7. Abu Dawoud, Muslim, Ahmad Bin Hanbal, Ibn Majah.

When reviewing their lives and educational methods, we must keep their era and mission in mind. For example, global dissemination of God’s message became possible only after the time of Prophet Muhammad. Thus, all previous Revelations were restricted to a specific people and period, and so stressed certain principles. Also, God bestowed special time-dependent favors upon each Prophet and community. For example, Noah was endowed with steadfastness and perseverance; Abraham was honored with intimate friendship with God and being the father of numerous Prophets; Moses was given the ability to administer and was exalted through being God’s direct addressee; and Jesus was distinguished with patience, tolerance, and compassion.(1)

Their miracles reflected that which their societies valued the most at that particular time. For instance, medicine was highly valued by Jesus’ society. Thus, his miracles of raising the dead and curing the blind had the greatest possible impact upon his people. During the Prophet’s time, poetry and eloquence were highly valued, and famous poets were celebrities. The Qur’an, his most significant miracle, was a literary miracle. In the words of a non-Muslim translator of the Qur’an: ‘The Koran is the earliest and by far the finest work of Classical Arabic prose’. It is acknowledged that the Koran is not only one of the most influential books of prophetic literature but also a literary masterpiece in its own right.'(2)

While all Prophets share some of the praiseworthy qualities, each of them surpasses the others in one or more of them because of his mission.(3)

Moses as a Teacher

The Israelites lived a wretched life in Egypt before Moses was sent to them. Due to the Pharaohs’ despotic rule and oppression, slavery had become part of the Israelites’ character. To purge this trait, Moses was sent with stern and rigid rules: the Torah (Law). Thus, he was a somewhat stern and unyielding reformer and educator. The story of the golden calf indicates an important social lesson: Yielding on essential principles of faith is detrimental to a faith-based society. In Egypt, the cow was the main ‘tool’ used to cultivate the land that made Egypt rich. Eventually, its importance caused it to be raised to a divine status.

Although the Israelites were monotheists, this belief, symbolizing wealth, became ingrained in their subconscious. When they settled in the Sinai peninsula, God called Moses to Mount Sinai to talk to him. Moses left his brother Aaron in charge. During his absence, a Sumerian fellow (al-Samiri in the Qur’an) among the Israelites made a golden calf and declared it to be a god that Moses had forgotten. Fearing division, Aaron was lenient. Upon his return, warned the Sumerian and was angry with Aaron, as he had expected Aaron to prevent the reappearance of pagan beliefs. In other words, Moses was sensitive to matters that were critical to the community’s preservation. As monotheism was the main bond of communal identity, Moses worked to prevent future deviations.

Jesus as a Teacher

Jesus was sent to the Israelites at a time when the clergy had been corrupted by their unlimited power and materialism was prevalent. He invited his people to leave conventional wisdom behind in order to live by an alternative wisdom. His wisdom teachings consisted of short memorable sayings and parables that included ‘crystallizations of insight that provoked and invited further insight,'(4) such as: ‘If a blind person leads another blind person, they will both fall into a ditch’ and ‘Leave the dead to bury the dead.’

His parables included short stories and invitations to see the world differently, such as in the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). Both concise sayings (aphorisms) and parables are evocative and provocative forms of speech. But more importantly, they are invitations to see something previously unseen or to see things differently. We observe an important principle of education in this style: repetition. ‘No great speaker of one-liners tells a great one-liner only once, no great teller of great stories tells a great story only once.'(5)

How we see things and events makes all the difference in our thinking, attitude, and behavior. Jesus pointed to the world of conventional wisdom as a world of blindness, and invited his audience to see differently. Comparing Jesus’ alternative wisdom with that of the Prophet reveals many parallels:

Jesus Trained His Apostles

Let’s examine how Jesus trained his apostles by means of a program based upon a detailed pedagogical program6 that provided a comprehensive education.7 According to Schirrmacher, the main tenets were the following:

1. Jesus limited his group, for just as a parent can properly care for only a few children, he could train properly only a few followers at a time.

2. The goal of this intensive fellow-ship and dependence was mission preparation.

3. The training program followed a clear plan. The apostles were to be trained by living and working for several years with Jesus, who served as a prototype. He followed a clear order: He first preached alone, then preached while the apostles watched, then let them preach while He watched, and then sent them out in groups of two and afterwards discussed the results with them. This first, short-term assignment is described in Matthew 10:1-11, Mark 6:7-13, and Luke 9:1-6. Finally, he sent them out alone as described in Matthew 28:18-20. The Apostles trained other Christians in the same way.

4. His training program included all aspects of instruction and life, theory and practice, individual and group counseling, personal and public activity, activity and rest, professional and private life. Teaching and counseling formed a single unit.

Jesus’ miracles also played an important role here. Just like the miracles of other prophets, they removed the doubt in some believers’ hearts, challenged the unbelievers’ view, and further strengthened his followers’ bonds.

Analyzing how the Prophet interacted with his Companions reveals that he employed various educational methods. He emerges as a resourceful educator who sometimes asked, and at other times answered, questions. Sometimes he limited his answer to the question; other times he went beyond the question. Sometimes he illustrated a concept through parables, diverted a question to a different path, or told his Companions to write down his words. He drew figures and used body language, repeated a statement three times when it contained a critical lesson, and used symbolic language with implications or else clear and unambiguous words. He also used humor, puzzles, comparisons, and asking seemingly obvious questions to raise curiosity. The most important educational principle was using himself as a living example.

Teaching by Character. One of the first lessons of public speaking is that one’s character speaks louder than one’s words. The Prophet, whose words and actions were in perfect agreement, was a perfect leader and educator. For example, he often advised his Companions to pray during the night, for such a time provided an ideal, uninterrupted environment for reflection, thanksgiving, and prayer. His wife ‘A’isha related that he would wake up in the middle of the night and ask her for permission to pray. He prayed so much that one time she asked him if doing so was really necessary. He replied: ‘Shall I not be a thankful servant to my Lord, Who has bestowed upon me so many bounties?’

Gradual teaching of principles. Ibn Mas’ud, a Companion, relates: ‘We would learn 10 verses from the Prophet, and would not continue with new verses until we internalized and practiced those 10 verses.’

Be moderate and prefer ease over difficulty. The most authentic books of the Prophetic Traditions, Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim relate the following saying: ‘Make it easier and not difficult. Give good news (endear) and do not alienate and repel.’8 ‘A’isha related: ‘When the messenger of God was left with a choice, he would always prefer the easier option, other things being equal.’

Observing the learner’s circumstances. Bukhari 7:140 relates: ‘A man asked the Prophet for permission to fight in God’s cause. The Prophet asked him: ‘Are your parents alive?’ The man said: ‘Yes.’ The prophet told him: ‘Go and serve them as best as you can.” Many Companions asked him what was the best deed in God’s sight. The Prophet answered according to the situation. When Abu Dharr asked: ‘O messenger of God, advise me (a good deed).’ He replied: ‘Be God-conscious wherever you are, clean your sins by immediately following them with a good deed, and treat the people around you in the best manner possible.’ Another Companion asked: ‘O messenger of God, advise me (a good deed), but keep it short so that I can remember.’ He replied ‘Don’t get angry.’ The man repeated his question two more times, and the Prophet gave the same reply.

Teaching by dialog or asking questions. Questions demand attention. Starting a dialog with a question prepares one for the message. The Prophet made great use of this technique. Bukhari (2:9) relates that the Messenger of God asked: ‘If a river ran by your door and you bathed in it five times a day, would any dirt remain on your body?’ The Companions answered that no dirt would remain. He continued: ‘The daily prayer is such a river. God cleanses you of sins with these prayers.’ We also see this technique in Bukhari (32:1:6251), where Abu Hurayra narrates that the Messenger asked: ‘Do you know who is the real bankrupt among my people?’ The Companions answered: ‘The one without money or property.’ He said: ‘The real bankrupt is the one who comes on the Day of Resurrection with prayers, fast, and charity but nevertheless finds himself bankrupt on that day. He will have exhausted his good deeds because he reviled others, brought calumny against them, devoured their wealth unlawfully, shed their blood, and beat them. So his good deeds will be credited to the account of those (who suffered at his hand). If his good deeds do not clear the account, their sins will be added to his account and he will be thrown in the (Hell) Fire.’

Teaching by comparison and parable. Comparisons and parables help people understand a new concept. Bringing a similar concept as an example makes the new aspects of the concept in question easier to digest. Comparisons and parables that refer to common and strong experiences improve the memory of the new concept that is learned. Muslim (6:83) relates that the Prophet told his Companions: ‘A good friend is like a person who carries amber (which has a fragrant pleasant smell). If nothing else, his pleasant smell will get on you. A bad friend, on the other hand, is like a blacksmith. Even if the dust of his work does not touch you, its fumes do.’

Using body language. Our visual memory far surpasses our audio memory. We remember images and scenes with great ease and speed. With body language, a good educator can make a lasting impression. Bukhari (9:389) relates that the Messenger of God said: ‘One who cares for an orphan and I will be this close in Paradise,’ and he pointed to his index and middle fingers.

Taking advantage of the occasion. Bukhari (8:458) relates that the Companion Jarir ibn Abdullah al-Bajali relates that: ‘One night we were watching full moon with the Prophet. He looked at it and said: ‘All of you will see your Lord on the Day of Judgment just like you see this full moon. None of you will be denied the opportunity to see your Lord.’

Using humor. In Abu Dawud,9 it is related that a man asked the Prophet for a riding animal. The Prophet asked: ‘Would it be alright if I put you on the calf of a female camel?’ The man said: ‘O Messenger of God, what good will that do me?’ and received the following reply: ‘Isn’t every camel the calf of a female camel?’

These are just a few of the many methods the Prophet used to educate his people. Other methods include, but are not limited to, the following: teaching by drawing, diverting the answer toward a different path, asking for the question to be repeated, letting the audience answer, teaching by approval, repeating to emphasize and establish, hiding the culprit or target or subject, describing a concept briefly and then in detail, leaving something ambiguous for the audience to discover, listing and then describing, combining encouragement and discouragement, teaching by stories and stories of past people.

Conclusion

Prophets were sent to the humanity to deliver God’s message in the most effective manner. Every Prophet strove to accomplish his mission by using those educational methods that were best suited to their mission. Today’s educators and parents can learn many lessons from their lives.

Footnotes

1. M. F. Gulen. Online at: www.pearls.org/prophets
2. N. J. Dawood, The Koran (Penguin Classics: 1997).
3. Gulen, www.pearls.org.
4. M. Borg, Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time: The Historical Jesus & the Heart of Contemporary Faith (Harper San Fransisco: 1994). Online at: www.united.edu/portrait/wisdom2.shtml.
5. Ibid.
6. T. Schirrmacher, Jesus as Master Educator (1999). Online at: www.visi.com/~contra_m/ab/schirrmacher/educator.html.
7. A. B. Bruce, The Training of the Twelve (Kregel Publications: 2000 [1894]).
8. M. Khan (trans.), Sahih al-Bukhari: The Translation of the Meanings (Darussalam Publishers: 1997), 1:163 and A. H. Siddiqi (trans.), Sahih Muslim (Kitab Bhavan: 2000), 12:42. All subsequent Tradition citations are taken from these two sources.
9. Harf Information Technology, Hadith Encyclopedia (Egypt: 1996).

O you who believe! Refrain from cherishing suspicions about others for some of such suspicions are a grave sin, and do not spy. And let some of you not backbite the others. Would anyone among you love to eat of the flesh of his dead brother? (You see that) you abhor it. Fear God. Surely God is the All-Relenting, the All-Compassionate.

Ibrahim Adham, one of the famous Muslim Sufis, left a table of food where a Muslim was backbitten, and said:

– I came here to eat food, but you have begun eating rotten flesh.

Khalid Rabi’, a famous Muslim saint, narrates:

– Some people were backbiting a man at that time in the mosque. I warned them not to do that but later when they began backbiting another one, I also happened to utter a few ill words about him. That night I had a dream in which a tall, dark man offered me a dish of bacon. I refused it saying that bacon was regarded as foul and therefore forbidden by my religion. He responded to me:

– You ate something fouler than this in the day just past.

When I woke up, I felt the smell and taste of that bad flesh in my mouth and stomach. I asked for God’s forgiveness for forty days.

To those who backbit him, Hasan al-Basri, one of the most famous Muslims ascetics who lived in the seventh century, sent a present with a letter in which he wrote:

– I have heard that you talked ill about me. By doing so, you took over my sins and gave me your spiritual merits. I request you to accept this present in return for the good you did me.

Imam Sha’rani, a Muslim scholar and saint who lived in Egypt in the 16th century, writes:

After the people receive in the Hereafter the records in which the deeds they did in this world are registered, some people will say to God Almighty: ‘O God! Where are the prayers and fasts I did and the alms I gave? None of them have been recorded here.’

God replies to them:

– Whatever good you did was recorded there. However, you were not able to keep those good deeds. You gave their merits to those you backbit. Go and look at the records of your brothers whom you backbit! You will see them there!

Again Imam Sha’rani writes:

Together with his people, the Prophet Moses, upon him be peace, prayed to God for rain for three days, but even a drop of rain did not come. When Moses asked God about the reason why rain did not come, God answered:

Your prayer is unacceptable by Me, for there is one among you who always talks ill about his brothers and backbites them.

The Prophet Moses entreated God to inform them who that man was so that they could expel him from among them. However, the Almighty responded:

O Moses! Would you like to cause me to backbite a man?

‘Abdullah ibn Masud, one of the leading Companions of the Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, used to say to those who backbit others:

– Stand up and do wudu’! For what comes out of your mouths is not less foul than what comes out of your bowels.