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Hail Mariam - Hardcover

Al-Marashi, Huda

 
9798217112968: Hail Mariam
Hardcover
ISBN 13: 9798217112968
Verlag: Penguin Young Readers Group, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

Hail Mariam is an interfaith Muslim take on Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret drawn from the author’s own experiences in Catholic school.

Sixth grade wasn’t supposed to be this complicated.

Iraqi American Mariam Hassan transfers to a local Catholic school and before her first day her parents remind her that she might be the first Muslim her classmates have ever met. No big deal, right? Just represent an entire religion while making new friends, keeping up with schoolwork, and figuring out who she is.

When Mariam’s younger sister, Salma, is diagnosed with a serious lung condition, her family faces endless doctor visits and sleepless nights. Mariam tries to lighten their burden and keep her own problems to herself—including the fact that she’s just been cast as Mary in the school’s Christmas nativity play.

Mariam wants to honor her faith and her new community, but she’s terrified of crossing a religious line. Can a Muslim girl be the lead in a Christian story? What will her family think? And why does she feel like every decision she makes represents all Muslims?

Mariam discovers that faith, much like friendships, isn’t about perfection—it’s about connection. As she leans on her family, friends, and school community, she begins to see the power of interfaith cooperation and learns she doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Hail Mariam is a celebration of the beauty of finding common ground.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Huda Al-Marashi writes for both children and adults. She is a coauthor of the middle grade novel Grounded, which won the Walter Dean Myers Honor award, and the author of the memoir First Comes Marriage: My Not-So-Typical American Love Story. Her other writing has appeared in various anthologies and news outlets, such as the New York Times, Washington Post, LA Times, and al Jazeera. She is a fellow and mentor with the Highlights Foundation Muslim Storytellers Program, and she lives in San Diego, California with her husband and three children.

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Chapter 1When I close my eyes, Jesus with the flaming heart—­the one from the portrait hanging above Ava’s bed—­appears in my mind like a hologram. He is life-­size but see-­through.And I know exactly why he’s here.Prophets are too holy to be drawn or represented, but I’d glanced at Jesus’s portrait while we were playing board games on the floor.Okay, more truthfully, I stared at Jesus. I couldn’t help it. His light brown eyes; his long, wavy hair; the beard that parted for the deep cleft in his chin. I had so many questions.How did the people who drew Jesus know what he looked like?Is this a Christian Jesus? Like, if Muslims were allowed to draw pictures of prophets, would they draw Nabi Isa differently?What kinds of thoughts are you allowed to have about a picture of a prophet? Are you supposed to admire them and think they look nice? Or are you supposed to be in awe and sort of scared of them? And is it right to have feelings about the picture? Or is it wrong?Well, apparently it was wrong because this vision of Christian Jesus is here now to warn me.I quickly open my eyes and vow, Ya Allah, I promise I will never look at another image of Nabi Isa again. And then I add on a prayer for forgiveness because I probably need that too.Ya Allah, I’m sorry I convinced Mama to break our no-­sleepover rule for this.Yesterday, I wore Mama down for hours with a very convincing three-­point argument. It was truly some of my best work.
1. Ava’s dad and brother were camping for the weekend, so there wouldn’t be any boys in the house.2. Ava lived up the street, and I could walk home in theunlikely event of an emergency.3. Summer was almost over, and didn’t my parents, who love me, want me to do this one fun thing with my one friend, the only best friend I’ve ever had, before I start at a new school, where I know no one?
But the fun ended as soon as Ava and I stopped playing for the night. I wish Mama had told me that this might happen. I don’t know why I thought it would be fun to follow the rules at Ava’s house—­to eat her mom’s broccoli casserole dinner, and to go to bed when her mom said (which was WAY earlier than when I go to bed at my house, and we weren’t even done making our friendship bracelets for each other), and to sleep on Ava’s hard floor in a hot sleeping bag.
I stare at the strawberry-­shaped alarm clock on Ava’s nightstand and count down the hours until morning. I’m afraid to close my eyes because Jesus is probably still there, waiting for me.So I’m stuck holding my eyes open while Ava snoozes away under the canopy of her comfortable, beautiful bed.I’m stuck in this house that smells more like essential oils than cooking oil.And I’m stuck rehearsing how I’m going to tell Mama that now Ireally can’t go to the middle school she chose for me anymore.Our Lady of Mercy Catholic School is covered in pictures of Jesus.Chapter 2If Mama and Baba weren’t so busy eating their dinner, they’d see me shaking my head at their poor choices.After I got home from the sleepover last week, it didn’t seem smart to say, “Remember how I insisted on bending our family rule? Well, I did something wrong, and it made me see Jesus.”The point was for me to learn a lesson, which I totally did, and it was up to Allah to send Mama her own vision. Because, honestly, I’d already tried to explain very nicely why it was a bad idea to send me to a new school, and all that had gotten me was an angry “khalas” or “yakaffee.”But I guess Allah didn’t send down any signs for Mama, because I’m starting at this new school tomorrow, and she hasn’t announced a change of heart.I push around the rice and marga on my plate. There’s no way I can put any food into my Tummy of a Thousand Butterflies.Why are parents bad at seeing when they’re making their kids’ lives hard?Mama doesn’t understand that kids in America usually have athing that they do outside of school, like sports, art, music, or acting. A kid like me can’t start at a new school and find a lunch group right away. The onlything I’m good at is being good. In our house, that means doing well in school, listening to your teachers, and following your religion.All the things Mama was good at too. She loves telling me how she had to be at the top of her class. In Iraq, that was how you got accepted into medical school right out of high school.That’s why she signed me up for the local K–­8 Catholic school as soon as she heard it was more challenging than the public school. Mama says that school is too easy in America, and learning about a religion, even if it isn’t my own religion, is an added bonus. Mama thinks I’m going to make friends who aren’t allowed the same things I’m not allowed.No crushes. No boys. No immodest clothes.But yes to visions of holy prophets!“Shbeech?” Mama catches my gaze as she reaches for another serving of rice.I wish she wouldn’t jump to asking “What’s the matter with you?” She should say something lovely like “Darling daughter, you seem troubled this evening.”But before I can even answer Mama’s original, rude question, she moves on. Between bites, she adds, “I may be a few minutes late for you tomorrow.”My mouth falls open. I wait for her to say that she’s joking, but her face never breaks into a smile.Late? On my first day?No. No. No.I cannot be left standing alone at a new school while everyone else is getting picked up. It would be one thing if I had a friend to wait with or if I knew the yard duty staff, but at least give me a day!“But tomorrow is my first day.”“And if it is the first day?” Mama flicks her wrist in a way that shows she doesn’t see the problem. “Go read in the library. You’re in sixth grade this year, mashallah. You can wait for us and study.”“Library is a class,” I say. “An adult has to be there to supervise. It’s not a place for kids to hang out.” I’ve told her this a million times.Now Baba takes another helping of rice and says, “Shoofee, this is a new school. Maybe the library there is open, and if it isn’t, there’s no harm in waiting a few minutes.” He gathers his fingers together until their tips are touching, as if to say, “Wait, be patient.”Whenever I complain about getting picked up late, I know I sound selfish because Mama and Baba are both busy doctors. But tomorrow is different.“Mama, I’ll wait the very next day, but can you please be on time for my first day?”“Inshallah,” Mama replies, which Muslim kids know is not only leaving things to God’s will but also a way to avoid giving an answer.“ ‘Inshallah’ yes or ‘inshallah’ no?” I ask.“Don’t overdo it, Baba,” Baba says, calling me by my name for him. “ ‘Inshallah’ means ‘inshallah.’ ”The back of my neck grows hot and prickly. I’m used to Mama treating things that are big deals to me like they’re not that important, but Baba is supposed to defend me.I stare at Baba, waiting for him to feel bad and say more, but he’s focused on gathering each stray grain into the center of his plate. Salma does the opposite. She pushes around her rice, trying to make it look like she’s eaten more.Nobody even cares that Salma’s braids are coming undone because I’m the only one in the house who pays attention to how this family looks. I keep telling Baba to...

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Verlag
Penguin Young Readers Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2026
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 13 
9798217112968
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
208
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

Europaallee 1
Bad Hersfeld
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Deutschland