It is a hard story for me to talk about for many reasons. It brings back bad memories and puts me and my family in a suspect light. But I know that people can benefit from the lesson of Omar Hammami’s journey and death.
It is a cautionary tale.
Many people try to paint him with broad strokes. The FBI called him one of their most wanted. CNN called him a Jihadist rapper. Fellow jihadis call him a hero: those were the same people that later killed him. He called himself Abu Mansoor al-Amriki.
To me, Omar Hammami was a kid. I met him when I was first introduced to my husband to be. In those days my husband, Omar, and a few other convert brothers travelled together in a pack. Omar, while one of the youngest pack members, was often the loudest and most energetic.
A scraggly-bearded teenager in thobes, Omar was a frequent guest in my home where he would chat for countless hours with my husband, share meal with us, and on occasion eagerly offer his help when we were in a bind. He was a good friend to my husband and me.
But in his experiences from Alabama to Somalia, Omar became the perfect mix of an impassioned, angry and frustrated young man.
Read the rest of my article at OnIslam.net to find out how Omar fell prey to radical ideals, joined a terrorist organization and was murdered by that same organization, and why it matters.
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