Zakat on Children
Surau are traditional Minangkabau educational institutions. Adolescent boys would sleep there, learning social skills, customary knowledge, martial arts, and of course, religion. Over time, some surau became renowned for their students’ expertise in religious sciences or silat. A few remain active today, serving as places of worship for followers of certain Sufi orders.
The education system and its facilities have since changed. Teenagers no longer study the Qur’an, practise silat, or sleep in surau. Children now attend afternoon Qur’an lessons at Taman Pengajian Al-Quran (TPA). For Islamic studies, they go to madrasas or pesantren. Those interested in martial arts train at modern academies with comprehensive facilities.
I likely belong to the last generation to experience sleeping and studying in a surau. Many interesting aspects of the teaching methods at these traditional institutions are worth noting. One was an approach that emphasised understanding to strengthen conviction. The teacher not only imparted knowledge but also guided students to comprehend and believe in what they learned. I witnessed this one day when a congregant from another village came to ask about zakat on a child.
The surau was an ordinary village one, named Surau Parak Pisang because the location was originally a banana plantation. From just before independence until the early 1960s, the surau was led by a respected ulama. His students came from various nearby villages and even distant districts.
By the time I studied there, the founder had passed away. Leadership of the surau was continued by one of his students from the founder’s family. Although no longer as busy as before, the surau remained a reference for religious matters for the surrounding community. During major religious celebrations, congregants from various villages would gather to observe them. Former students would come with their families, often filling the surau beyond capacity.
One day, a visitor arrived at our surau. A tense-faced man with a troubled expression. “Teacher, I wish to pay zakat for my child,” the visitor said to our teacher.
“Of course, that is permissible, if your child has reached the nisab…” replied the teacher calmly.
“So, what is the nisab that obligates zakat on a child, Teacher?”
The teacher picked up his cap, stroking and flicking it thoughtfully. “Since it is rare for people to pay zakat on a child, I am also uncertain about the nisab,” the teacher answered after a moment. “Come back next Sunday. We will seek certainty together.”
On Sunday, after dawn prayers, I was assigned to help the teacher sort and arrange books from the surau library. The books came in various shapes and formats. Some were folio-sized, others quarto, and some even smaller. Their covers were made of cardboard or goatskin. Most were in Arabic, some in Malay using Arabic script. The teacher examined each book, slipping in small paper markers to note the needed chapters, and I arranged them neatly on a mat.
Once the books were marked and neatly arranged, I was asked to buy ketupat pitalah, a rice cake dish named after its region of origin. Sunday was market day in our village. Katupek pitalah with jackfruit and cabbage in a thick coconut gravy was a favourite breakfast for many. We had our breakfast while waiting.
Around nine o’clock, the awaited guest arrived. After drinking coffee and chatting briefly, the teacher and the guest began examining the neatly arranged books. I sat near the steps, watching them. As a child, I did not understand much of what they discussed. The teacher opened the marked chapters, showing and explaining the contents to the guest. Each book, once examined, was set aside. By midday, the teacher had finished checking all the books. I was then asked to return the books to the library room, simply placing and stacking them. At that time, I did not yet know how to arrange them in the large bookcases in that room, which held three tall cabinets full of neatly ordered books.
After the midday prayer and lunch, the teacher spoke with the guest. “We have examined all the books on zakat together. You have seen for yourself, there is no book that obligates zakat on a child, let alone mentions the nisab for it,” the teacher began.
“So what the people in my village said is a lie, Teacher?”
“I do not know whether he was lying or not. Perhaps he has a different book about zakat,” the teacher replied. “But as far as the knowledge I have received and the books I have read, there is no zakat on a child.”
“So what should I do, Teacher?”
“What should you do? Act upon what you believe. Do not just follow what others say. If you believe what the person from your village said, then do it. But if you do not believe it, then do not do it.”
“And what about according to you, Teacher?”
“The ulama are the heirs of the prophets. I only convey what God revealed to the Prophet. Since we found no verse or sunnah regarding zakat on a child, what should I tell you?” The guest then shook the teacher’s hand and took his leave.
More than a decade later, I asked the teacher why he had gone to the trouble of taking out all those books to inform the guest that zakat on a child does not exist in Islamic law. Could he not have simply told the guest that directly?
“Worship must be based on conviction. Conviction is gained through knowledge. Knowledge, in turn, requires evidence and reasoning. Those books contained the evidence and reasoning so that a person could truly believe in the knowledge.”