In our time, acts of worship are no longer confined to the quietude of masājid or the seclusion of hearts seeking Allāh. Today, prayer mats meet camera lenses, and Qurʾān recitations echo not just in sacred halls, but across social feeds and viral reels. This digital shift brings with it a new kind of fitnah—where even the most intimate moments with Allāh may be unintentionally diluted by a thirst for visibility, applause, or validation. Tarāwīḥ, once a deeply moving nightly devotion in Ramaḍān, now risks being repackaged into public performance.

For many communities, the introduction of young ḥuffāẓ leading Tarāwīḥ is a cause of joy. These children are the embodiment of our duʿās—a generation being raised with the Qurʾān in their hearts. However, when their recitations are broadcast live, captioned with emojis, or critiqued online, we must pause. Are we celebrating their efforts or commodifying their spirituality? Is this nurturing their love for Allāh’s Words, or reshaping their relationship with Him into one governed by metrics—views, likes, and shares?

The essence of worship in Islām—niyyah (intention) and ikhlāṣ (sincerity)—is sacred. The Prophet ﷺ taught us that even the smallest deed can be magnified by sincere intention, and the grandest act can be stripped of reward if done to impress others. Allāh says in the Qurʾān: “...they do it only to be seen by people. And they do not remember Allāh except a little.” (Sūrah An-Nisāʾ, 4:142). The danger here is not technology itself, but allowing technology to alter why we do what we do. Worship, when done for the gaze of others, ceases to be worship.

Parents, imāms and mosque committees must be the guardians of our youth’s sincerity. Leading Tarāwīḥ should never feel like a performance review. Children must be shielded from the unspoken pressure to ‘go viral’. Encouragement is vital, but protection from early burnout and spiritual vanity is equally necessary. Even minor shifts in mindset—from “How did I recite?” to “How many watched me?”, can slowly chip away at the unseen barakah of their efforts.

We do not reject sharing khayr altogether. Moments of Qurʾānic beauty can uplift others and invite them to the path of Allāh. However, the sanctity of the prayer must remain paramount. A simple guideline could be to record minimally, post selectively, and focus on fostering character more than content. Let our youth find joy in being known by Allāh rather than being known by the algorithm. Let us also remind ourselves that the most honoured of worshippers on the Day of Judgement will not be those whose voices went viral, but those whose sincerity was hidden—even from themselves.

The Prophet ﷺ warned us of a time when the Qurʾān would be recited beautifully, yet its guidance would not go beyond the throats. That era, it seems, is now. But we can still reclaim our hearts. As Ramaḍān draws to a close, we ask Allāh to make our worship pure, unseen, and accepted. Let us continue to audit our intentions even after the month ends, and raise a generation who love the Qurʾān for what it is—a conversation with their Lord, not content for their audience.