I also learned the Fatiha, the first sura of the Koran, from my mother, who encouraged me to recite it when I had trouble falling asleep as a child. I now recite it when we visit the tombs of my grandparents and uncles and aunts, kneeling by them, one hand on the marble. But I have found myself lately reciting the Fatiha when I am anxious, for example on airplanes, as I have become increasingly fearful of turbulence during flights. I do not recite it unconsciously, unaware of the meaning of the act, but as skeptical as I am, I still find it soothing. Perhaps what it ultimately conjures up is my mother's protection, not God's. But she expressed this protection through this religious gesture, which she probably learned from her own mother. To be a Muslim, to me, is precisely to have inherited these gestures, the rituals with which I grew up, and which have become a part of me.