Latest news with #MasjidAl-Taqwa
The Guardian
24-03-2025
- General
- The Guardian
‘That was my home': faith communities without worship spaces after LA fires
Before the Masjid Al-Taqwa, a mosque in Altadena, was reduced to rubble in the Eaton fire in January, it was a space that belonged to all its worshippers. When the urge for prayer stirred the soul during off-hours, a faithful follower could borrow the key and have the place to pray. Now without a mosque during Ramadan, members are worshipping in diaspora. The weekly communal prayer services are temporarily held in a park community room. After hours at a Muslim elementary school, members break their fast together. It's a fragmented spiritual existence. 'It is a huge void,' said Jihad Shakoor, 48, about losing the mosque. He looks around the utilitarian community room after a prayer service. 'It just feels like now it's a whole different chapter.' The Eaton fire destroyed more than 14 houses of worship. Some of these religious institutions have the resources to find stable alternative locations for their congregants. But for smaller, family-run places of worship, recovery is a rockier process. Some have no alternative worship site yet. Others are adjusting to a state of 'temporary normalcy'. But all face uncertainty. In Altadena, a historic Black center of life, these small, family-run places of worship are one of the originating fibers of the town's social fabric. These were places close enough for residents to walk to and have intimate conversations with their Higher Being. The fire that burned down the mosque also took the home and office of the Masjid Al-Taqwa founders and board members, Aaron and Delores Abdus Shakoor – Jihad's parents. It's a common phenomenon in the fire-ravaged town, where faith leaders lived and worked in the same neighborhood they served. For these family-run places of worship, the road to recovery is often marked with tension over how to rebuild. Congregants who crave normalcy and want a quick rebuild are often met with a sobering question: how long are they allowed to grieve? 'It's a hard balance,' said Jihad, chair of the mosque's disaster relief relocation committee. 'I wish there was more patience in the community.' 'It just doesn't seem like it's going to happen that fast,' said Jihad. 'And it doesn't seem like it's something that makes a lot of sense to rush.' Churches, according to Henry Louis Gates Jr, a professor and author of The Black Church, were the first institutions built by Black people that operated independently of white society. Smaller churches such as the Abounding Grace Ministries in Altadena provided spiritual nourishment through a family-run ethos. Thomas C Bereal Sr, the founding pastor, has presided over the Pentecostal church in different capacities since 2009, with most of his family by his side. His daughter, Jessica Vance, serves as director of worship and executive of operations. His son-in-law, Rand Vance II, is head deacon. For generations, church has been a family affair. 'That's just been life,' said Jessica, 34. 'When other kids were going to Halloween parties. I was going to Hallelujah Nights.' Then in January, it was all gone. Jessica, who lived a few blocks from the church, lost her home. Many congregants suffered the same fate, compounding the tragedy and fraying the church's social fabric. When a house of worship is lost, so too are the connections. 'When we lose the building, we start losing that part of the fabric of the community,' said Dwight A Radcliffe Jr, academic dean at the William E Pannell Center for Black Church Studies at Fuller Seminary. 'We lose the connection to community figures who helped build those churches.' Worship services have not resumed since Abounding Grace Ministries burned down. Once, the tan structure on North Fair Oaks Avenue was a center of spiritual music and family history. Now, it is a ghostly field waiting for bulldozers to clear the twisted debris. A nearby church, the Hillside Tabernacle City of Faith, which sustained damage in the fire, set up a temporary alternative worship space in a city about 13 miles east of Altadena. For now, the Abounding Grace Ministries remains in limbo in part because Bereal is still processing the losses alongside his members. Jessica and her family now live with him. Often, his four-year-old grandchild asks to return to the home that no longer exists. 'I'm moving forward as slowly as it takes,' said Bereal, 71. 'I just don't see going – as we say – business as usual. Because it's not.' Before the pandemic, Abounding Grace Ministries' services drew hundreds, but isolation changed the contours of worship. Long after stay-at-home orders were lifted, some congregants continued engaging virtually. Still, a core group of about 20 always showed up, said Bereal. For those people, he hopes to build a bigger and stronger church – just not yet. The congregation may be a part, but they remain in each other's prayers. 'I think that's what we're supposed to do as believers,' said Jessica. 'It goes beyond the four walls. And this is where true ministry happens in times like these.' The Masjid Al-Taqwa, a historically Black mosque that grew out of the Nation of Islam, has been rooted on Lake Avenue since 1999. Finding a new temporary space has been challenging. The mosque's board is considering a few options for a temporary lease, said Jihad. Until then, their weekly prayer sessions will be held at the Jackie Robinson Center in Pasadena through the end of April. This will take them to the end of Ramadan, a holy time of prayer, fasting and reflection. The fragmented nature of worship is bittersweet for Sakeenah Ali, 40, a mosque member since 2017. Both Muslim and non-Muslim community leaders have offered grace and support. Ali is grateful to be in a supportive temporary worship space. But during Ramadan, she's used to being at the masjid daily. 'That was my home,' she said through a flood of tears about the loss of the mosque. 'It still feels like you're just ripped apart from your spiritual house.' The last 10 days of Ramadan are the most sacred, said Ali. They are marked by overnight prayer sessions – logistics which seem nearly impossible under these current conditions. During this unusual Ramadan, a saying from the Quran is often repeated: with hardship, comes ease. 'You will have difficulties in your life, but don't lose faith,' said Aaron, the mosque's founder and board member. Masjid Al-Taqwa and the Abounding Grace Ministries have now joined an unlikely fellowship of religious institutions devastated by natural disasters. In 2023, wildfires swept through the town of Lahaina in Maui and took the 200-year-old Waiola church, the final resting place for members of Hawaiian royalty. In March, nearly two years after the Lahaina fire, Waiola held its first monthly outdoor worship service on church grounds. The debris has been cleared, but no structure has been rebuilt yet. Being back on the land was healing, said Anela Rosa, the church's Kahu Pono or licensed pastor. Goosebumps bloomed on the arms of congregants who drove from far off locations on the island to attend the historic service. In its long history, Waiola church has suffered many disasters – and it has been rebuilt each time. To Altadena's religious community, Rosa, 65, has advice: be patient and have faith. 'As much as the church is a structure, the people are what's more important,' said Rosa. 'We can rebuild the church. We cannot rebuild people.'
CBS News
01-03-2025
- General
- CBS News
Muslim families gather for the first night of Ramadan after losing mosque during Eaton Fire
Muslim families who lost their mosque during the Eaton Fire gathered in Pasadena for the first night of Ramadan on Friday. "The fact that Ramadan is coming up in this time period with so much pain and devastation, it couldn't have come at a better time," said real estate broker Jihad Abdus Shakoor. "You have some sense of comfort that Ramadan's here. You're going to have a lot of community involvement, a lot of unity, a lot of love." Aaron Abdus Shakoor, Jihad's father, founded Masjid Al-Taqwa more than 40 years ago. However, after the Eaton Fire destroyed it in January, the family will not gather at the Altadena mosque for the first time in 20 years. "It's very difficult because it's a place where we pray," Aaron said. "It's a place we have jumah (Friday prayer) and connect." The family lost a home, their real estate office and other properties during the wildfire. "It's something that you have to make adjustments to, but I'm confident we'll get through all this," Aaron said. The community is helping them raise funds online to begin recovering. Meanwhile, New Horizon School in Pasadena welcomed the Shakoors' tight-knit congregation to its campus and offered them the space to celebrate the holy month of worship. "We'll be breaking fast there," Aaron said. "We'll be having our evening prayer." During Ramadan, Muslims fast from sunrise until sunset every day. "Hopefully, that normal energy of Ramadan will uplift the spirits of everyone in the community," Jihad said. "All of the faith-based communities came together and everyone seems to want to help each other. Which, I think, is probably the best thing that's come out of all of this devastation."
Washington Post
21-02-2025
- General
- Washington Post
Their mosque burned down in LA-area wildfire. They're still determined to gather for Ramadan
PASADENA, California — All that remains of Masjid Al-Taqwa is a sign that bears its name. The mosque in Altadena, which served a tight-knit Muslim community for 42 years, burned to the ground in one of the Los Angeles area's deadliest fires in January — leaving the congregation heartbroken and without a place to pray and break their upcoming Ramadan fast together.
Arab News
21-02-2025
- General
- Arab News
Their mosque burned down in LA-area wildfire. They're still determined to gather for Ramadan
PASADENA, California: All that remains of Masjid Al-Taqwa is a sign that bears its name. The mosque in Altadena, which served a tight-knit Muslim community for 42 years, burned to the ground in one of the Los Angeles area's deadliest fires in January — leaving the congregation heartbroken and without a place to pray and break their upcoming Ramadan fast together. With that weighing on their minds, about 20 mosque members and a few connected families met on a recent Saturday at a local Islamic school to pray and share a meal, their first together since the fire. Many who came are living in motels or with family after losing their homes in the Eaton fire, which killed 17 people and scorched thousands of homes and over 14,000 acres across Los Angeles County. With Ramadan just days a way, their volunteer imam, Junaid Aasi, had good news to share. Clad in a white robe, black jacket and prayer cap, he walked onto the plush blue prayer rugs and placed a small karaoke machine in the middle of the multipurpose room at New Horizon Islamic School. Aasi announced the school was offering this space for four nights each week during Ramadan. There were gasps of relief, and utterances of 'Alhamdulillah,' an Arabic phrase that means 'praise be to God.' Aasi said many in the community have been anxious about Ramadan and having this room, even if only for some days each week, is a blessing. 'Ramadan is not only a time when we pray and eat together, but we also help and support each other and others in the community,' he said. 'This year, with so many who have lost so much, it's going to be more important than ever.' The imam, with a secular job as an IT professional, has volunteered at the mosque for the past 25 years. He has been revisited the property since the fire. Sometimes, he says, he can still see everything the way it was when he closes his eyes. The place where people would perform wudu — the ritual washing of hands, feet and face before coming in to pray. The thick carpets where they prayed. Copies of the holy Qur'an. A fig tree outside. 'I still can't believe it's all gone,' Aasi said. He said many members are still displaced and hurting emotionally. 'One member just texted me that they were on their way here but stopped to check out their (burned) home,' Aasi said. They were so overwhelmed, he added, that they couldn't bring themselves to the gathering. Aaron Abdus-Shakoor, one of the mosque's founders and current board president, lost his home, the building that housed his real estate business and several investment properties around Altadena. He said the mosque, which began in the 1970s as a meeting place for Nation of Islam members, evolved into a mainstream, multicultural Muslim community. It was called the Pasadena-Altadena Daawa Center until members in 1997 renamed it Masjid Al-Taqwa, which means 'pious and god-conscious.' 'All these years, we've been good citizens,' Abdus-Shakoor said. 'We've always kept our doors open and have tried to be a positive influence in the community.' In the early days, the communal Ramadan celebration only happened on Eid Al-Fitr, which marks the end of the holy month, he said. But for many years now, members have hosted a daily community iftar, the evening meal during Ramadan, which breaks the day-long fast. For many, the mosque has been a second home. Salah Eddine Benatia, an Algerian immigrant, has only been in the country three months. He discovered Al-Taqwa online and had been riding the bus from Pasadena for prayers. 'I felt so warmly welcomed by this community,' he said. 'I miss home a lot especially around Ramadan. I was so sad when I heard the mosque burned down. Being here gives me a sense of being with family.' Farzana Asaduzzaman, who has lived in the neighborhood since 2016, said Ramadan at the mosque has always been 'a family affair.' 'Everyone brings food, we fast, we break our fast together,' she said. 'The kids would play Uno, make arts and crafts, and assemble Eid gift bags. We would put up heaters in the outside area, sit down, sip hot chai and talk for hours.' Asaduzzaman, her husband and their three children, ages 14, 10 and 3, lost their home in the fire as well. They spent two and a half years renovating the property before it burned down. 'Our masjid may be gone and our neighborhood may be gone, but our community is strong,' she said. 'This is our support system. We'll be together for Ramadan, no matter where it is. We'll find a place where we can see our kids run around and where we can gather and be together again.' For Mohammed AlDajani, a second-year medical student, the mosque was a five-minute walk from his condo, which was also lost in the fire. For AlDajani, who had no relatives or friends nearby, the mosque fulfilled the need for social and spiritual nourishment. 'The masjid was actually a nice incentive for me to move here,' he said. 'It's a place that has helped ground me in this community.' AlDajani said, unlike many mosques he has attended, Masjid Al-Taqwa's members represent many nationalities and ethnicities — Arab, African American, Afghan, Indian, Bangladeshi, Turkish and North African among them. 'I found that very unique,' he said. Last year was his first Ramadan in Southern California. The mosque's youth painted a mural of the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, a disputed holy site that has become a flashpoint in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. As a Palestinian American, AlDajani said the community project touched him profoundly at a time when his heart was broken by the suffering of those in Gaza. He said he learned about the Altadena mosque's destruction even before he found out his home was gone. 'It's just like my chest sank when I saw the images,' AlDajani said. 'It was difficult because I was there for morning and night prayers every day. It was my little haven. It doesn't feel right, having that empty space there.' As he tries to find a place to rent, AlDajani says the mosque community has been 'keeping him afloat.' 'Our prayer group still meets on the weekends,' he said. 'I was anxious about Ramadan. It's nice to know we'll still be able to gather and pray, and this haven will still exist.' Sakeenah Ali's children, who attended Elliott Magnet Middle School across the street from the mosque, lost their school in the fire. 'They would hear the afternoon call to prayer from their school, which was very special,' she said, adding that she went out and saw the mosque burn and the parking lot covered in ash. 'Cars were on fire, trees were smoldering,' Ali recalled. 'You could hear explosions everywhere – boom, boom.' But she believes that her community is resilient. 'The key is to keep showing up,' Ali said. 'Make sure we have our prayer time, stay connected and be consistent. We are going to rebuild.'
Yahoo
21-02-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Their mosque burned down in LA-area wildfire. They're still determined to gather for Ramadan
PASADENA, California (AP) — All that remains of Masjid Al-Taqwa is a sign that bears its name. The mosque in Altadena, which served a tight-knit Muslim community for 42 years, burned to the ground in one of the Los Angeles area's deadliest fires in January — leaving the congregation heartbroken and without a place to pray and break their upcoming Ramadan fast together. With that weighing on their minds, about 20 mosque members and a few connected families met on a recent Saturday at a local Islamic school to pray and share a meal, their first together since the fire. Many who came are living in motels or with family after losing their homes in the Eaton fire, which killed 17 people and scorched thousands of homes and over 14,000 acres across Los Angeles County. See for yourself — The Yodel is the go-to source for daily news, entertainment and feel-good stories. By signing up, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Policy. With Ramadan just days a way, their volunteer imam, Junaid Aasi, had good news to share. Clad in a white robe, black jacket and prayer cap, he walked onto the plush blue prayer rugs and placed a small karaoke machine in the middle of the multipurpose room at New Horizon Islamic School. Aasi announced the school was offering this space for four nights each week during Ramadan. There were gasps of relief, and utterances of 'Alhamdulillah,' an Arabic phrase that means 'praise be to God." Aasi said many in the community have been anxious about Ramadan and having this room, even if only for some days each week, is a blessing. 'Ramadan is not only a time when we pray and eat together, but we also help and support each other and others in the community,' he said. 'This year, with so many who have lost so much, it's going to be more important than ever.' The imam, with a secular job as an IT professional, has volunteered at the mosque for the past 25 years. He has been revisited the property since the fire. Sometimes, he says, he can still see everything the way it was when he closes his eyes. The place where people would perform wudu — the ritual washing of hands, feet and face before coming in to pray. The thick carpets where they prayed. Copies of the holy Quran. A fig tree outside. 'I still can't believe it's all gone,' Aasi said. He said many members are still displaced and hurting emotionally. 'One member just texted me that they were on their way here but stopped to check out their (burned) home,' Aasi said. They were so overwhelmed, he added, that they couldn't bring themselves to the gathering. Aaron Abdus-Shakoor, one of the mosque's founders and current board president, lost his home, the building that housed his real estate business and several investment properties around Altadena. He said the mosque, which began in the 1970s as a meeting place for Nation of Islam members, evolved into a mainstream, multicultural Muslim community. It was called the Pasadena-Altadena Daawa Center until members in 1997 renamed it Masjid Al-Taqwa, which means 'pious and god-conscious.' 'All these years, we've been good citizens,' Abdus-Shakoor said. 'We've always kept our doors open and have tried to be a positive influence in the community.' In the early days, the communal Ramadan celebration only happened on Eid al-Fitr, which marks the end of the holy month, he said. But for many years now, members have hosted a daily community iftar, the evening meal during Ramadan, which breaks the day-long fast. For many, the mosque has been a second home. Salah Eddine Benatia, an Algerian immigrant, has only been in the country three months. He discovered Al-Taqwa online and had been riding the bus from Pasadena for prayers. 'I felt so warmly welcomed by this community,' he said. 'I miss home a lot especially around Ramadan. I was so sad when I heard the mosque burned down. Being here gives me a sense of being with family.' Farzana Asaduzzaman, who has lived in the neighborhood since 2016, said Ramadan at the mosque has always been 'a family affair.' 'Everyone brings food, we fast, we break our fast together,' she said. "The kids would play Uno, make arts and crafts, and assemble Eid gift bags. We would put up heaters in the outside area, sit down, sip hot chai and talk for hours.' Asaduzzaman, her husband and their three children, ages 14, 10 and 3, lost their home in the fire as well. They spent two and a half years renovating the property before it burned down. 'Our masjid may be gone and our neighborhood may be gone, but our community is strong,' she said. 'This is our support system. We'll be together for Ramadan, no matter where it is. We'll find a place where we can see our kids run around and where we can gather and be together again.' For Mohammed AlDajani, a second-year medical student, the mosque was a five-minute walk from his condo, which was also lost in the fire. For AlDajani, who had no relatives or friends nearby, the mosque fulfilled the need for social and spiritual nourishment. 'The masjid was actually a nice incentive for me to move here,' he said. 'It's a place that has helped ground me in this community." AlDajani said, unlike many mosques he has attended, Masjid Al-Taqwa's members represent many nationalities and ethnicities — Arab, African American, Afghan, Indian, Bangladeshi, Turkish and North African among them. 'I found that very unique,' he said. Last year was his first Ramadan in Southern California. The mosque's youth painted a mural of the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, a disputed holy site that has become a flashpoint in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. As a Palestinian American, AlDajani said the community project touched him profoundly at a time when his heart was broken by the suffering of those in Gaza. He said he learned about the Altadena mosque's destruction even before he found out his home was gone. 'It's just like my chest sank when I saw the images,' AlDajani said. 'It was difficult because I was there for morning and night prayers every day. It was my little haven. It doesn't feel right, having that empty space there.' As he tries to find a place to rent, AlDajani says the mosque community has been 'keeping him afloat.' 'Our prayer group still meets on the weekends,' he said. 'I was anxious about Ramadan. It's nice to know we'll still be able to gather and pray, and this haven will still exist.' Sakeenah Ali's children, who attended Elliott Magnet Middle School across the street from the mosque, lost their school in the fire. 'They would hear the afternoon call to prayer from their school, which was very special,' she said, adding that she went out and saw the mosque burn and the parking lot covered in ash. 'Cars were on fire, trees were smoldering,' Ali recalled. 'You could hear explosions everywhere – boom, boom.' But she believes that her community is resilient. 'The key is to keep showing up,' Ali said. 'Make sure we have our prayer time, stay connected and be consistent. We are going to rebuild.' ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
