Sunday Afternoons at the Mosque

For the greater part of my formative years, our family spent Sunday afternoons at the mosque. Like most other kids there, my siblings and I had Arabic class at 11 am, Religion class at Noon, Sermon/Prayer at 1 pm – and then down to the Social Hall to hang out and eat pizza, French fries, and Lebanese spinach and meat pies. As the afternoon wore on and families slowly made their way out, my father would lead us upstairs to the library. There we would join our mother as she catalogued boxes and boxes of Islam-related books and periodicals. Sometimes we helped. Sometimes we played. Regardless of what we were doing, we always found ourselves ultimately drawn to the interesting conversations of older community members. These members would eventually become the Board of Elders. More often than not, this group of fascinating storytellers and opinionated “Uncles” would gather in a corner of the library and discuss everything from world politics to building maintenance to marriages, births, and the passing of beloved friends. My siblings and I relished being flies on the wall at those moments. Sometimes our mother would give us stacks of cards to alphabetize from the old school card catalog. We would purposely seat ourselves at the table closest to the “Uncles” so that we could listen in. At times the Imam of the center joined these informal gatherings. The Imam, an Al Azhar graduate and a trained social worker, was very unusual for that time because of his professional qualifications and the fact that he didn’t sport a beard. We were scared of him and I think he knew it – he took great delight in focusing his attention on us in that gathering of grown-ups. Calling us by name and point blank asking us questions that required actual responses from us, his well-intentioned attempts to involve us were met with caution on our part. But he was known for his humor and his jokes brought laughter all around – so much so that sometimes we had to excuse ourselves. We would run laughing all the way to the immense prayer hall, a wide-open carpeted space, where we would chase each other around and spin and spin and spin until we fell down dizzy. The time we spent in the library, whether helping to arrange books on the shelves according to the Dewey decimal system, or listening to the memories of older community members, really contributed to the formation of our Islamic identities and our sense of the importance of service to the community. We watched our mother create the first Islamic library in the state through hard work and persistence. Organizing rummage sales on the mosque grounds to fund the purchase of books and spending countless hours typing labels, cataloguing and labeling books for placement on the shelves – our mother’s commitment to community improvement was evident. The level of professionalism that our mother brought to the creation and maintenance of the library enriched everyone who came through its doors. Known for its collection of well over a thousand titles, as well as an extensive Arabic language collection, including books, periodicals, and audio-visual materials, the library drew visitors and journalists from around the country. Our library became the hangout of choice for the community’s founders. There was a real sense of history there. For over three decades now, our mother has been creating an archival history of the community for posterity. Formally involved with our area’s Church and Synagogue Library Association, our mother consulted her many Jewish and Christian friends who had organized religious libraries and archives at their places of worship. Her efforts have not only created something wonderful and lasting for the Muslim American community – but have, in the process, contributed to fostering positive and productive relations between various faith groups in our city.

My parents’ commitment to community development and bridge building continues to inspire us. Together our parents succeeded in helping to create a community environment that impacted positively on the lives of their children and others. How do I know they succeeded? Because the desire to help foster a strong and secure Islamic identity for my children is strong in me. I ask myself everyday – how can I best honor my parents’ continued efforts? How can any of us build upon the hard work and dedicated efforts of those who so lovingly prepared the ground upon which we tread? Like those who came before us, we must translate desire into action and give community the importance it warrants.