There’s a bitter irony that repeats itself across human history: those who have the most often feel the least responsibility, while those who have the least carry the heaviest burdens. Our world is stitched with contrasts skyscrapers beside slums, excess beside hunger, waste beside need. Yet Islam calls us to notice these contrasts not with defeat, but with conscience.
When the powerful eat until their plates shine, and the poor go to bed with echoing stomachs, something in the spiritual order of the world shifts. Oppression isn’t always loud. Sometimes it is as quiet as ignoring the hungry neighbour while building a bigger kitchen.
Islam does not measure wealth by how much one accumulates, but by how one uses it. The Prophet ﷺ once said, “He is not a believer whose stomach is filled while his neighbour goes hungry.” This isn’t merely a moral reminder it’s a diagnosis. A heart that can rest comfortably while nearby suffering goes unseen is a heart that needs treatment.
What makes this moment in our ummah particularly urgent is that hunger today is rarely due to scarcity. The world produces enough food to feed everyone. Hunger is often the result of inequality, mismanagement, and choices made by the powerful. And choices, unlike fate, can be changed.
Islam teaches that wealth is a trust. You don’t truly own what you have you are simply responsible for it. That responsibility reaches far beyond charity boxes and Ramadan campaigns. It reaches into our attitudes, our spending habits, and the way we think about comfort.
Zakah is not just a financial obligation. It’s a reminder that the poor have a share in our wealth by divine right. Sadaqah is not simply generosity it is cleansing, a softening of the heart, a rebalancing of what power and privilege have tilted.
The Qur’an paints a vivid picture of people on the Day of Judgment asking the people of Hellfire: “What led you to Hell?” And the first answer they give is, “We did not feed the poor.” Feeding the poor is not just kindness; it is part of a Muslim’s spiritual survival.
But the conversation must go deeper than meals. It’s about dignity. It’s about a world where no one feels small for asking, and where those who give do so quietly, gratefully, knowing that Allah may accept the charity of the one with less before the charity of the one with abundance.
If you have been blessed with comfort, let it make you softer, not harder. Let it push you toward service, not indifference. Let your table become a source of barakah for others, and let your wealth be a pathway to Jannah, not a barrier to it.
The world may continue its imbalances, but a believer never accepts injustice as “normal.” The Qur’an calls us to stand firmly for fairness, even when we stand alone. And each act of feeding, each moment of compassion, each refusal to turn away restores a small part of the balance this world so often loses.
Hunger is not just a physical ache. It is a reminder to those who can feed that their test is still unfolding.
And Allah sees everything who hoards, who shares, and who walks the earth with the kind of mercy that makes angels take note.
This conversation carries into how we build communities, how we raise our children, and how we carry our role as an ummah entrusted with empathy.
