Ramadan in the Flushing, New York, US | A Chinese Muslim's Journey
Ramadan in the Big Apple: A Muslim's Journey
The last two days of the first week of Ramadan, my wife and I finally embarked on our long-awaited trip to New York. We were at the train station by the crack of dawn, before 7 AM, with the sky still dark. Even for a Monday, the station was buzzing with people; I figured a lot of folks, like us, were taking advantage of spring break. We'd planned this trip over a month ago. My wife's main goal was to see a special exhibition at the Asian Society Museum. I threw in, "Let's check out the Metropolitan Museum of Art while we're at it!" But as for what to do with the rest of our time, we were drawing a blank. My wife basically just threw up her hands, saying aside from wanting some good eats (most trips for us Muslims eventually boil down to that one line: "Let's get some good food"), she had no other demands.
When I think of New York these days, my mind doesn't immediately go to iconic landmarks like the Statue of Liberty or the World Trade Center. It feels like "freedom" and the concept of "global trade" are showing signs of continuous decline, perhaps on the brink of being swallowed by the tides of history once again. Instead, what pops into my head are the rumors floating around: daily shootings, rats scurrying through the subways, and all that jazz. The reports and the spread of these stories aren't really about genuinely caring whether New Yorkers are doing well; it's more about proving that folks in New York are worse off than we are. Faced with that kind of information environment, I just decided to go with the flow and document whatever I saw and heard, getting a firsthand feel for everything.
Flushing, Queens: The New Chinese Capital in America
We booked our hotel in Flushing, Queens. When we made the reservation, there was only one reason for choosing that spot: it was cheap. After a full day of hitting the museums, we got back to Flushing around 8 PM. New York, which had been bright and sunny all day, was now buffeted by strong winds, with icy raindrops occasionally hitting us. As my wife and I shivered our way out of the subway station, the streets were still packed with people. Suddenly, my wife shouted, "Sugar-roasted chestnuts!" I gazed at the sign, which looked just like the ones back home in China, and felt a bit disoriented. I said, "We've really come home this time." When I spotted a "Zhang Liang Malatang" (a popular Chinese hotpot chain), I was even more convinced. Most of the people walking around were Chinese faces, the sidewalks teeming with pedestrians, just like Shanghai's People's Square during rush hour. Mandarin was understood everywhere, and most of the signs on both sides of the street were written in Chinese. If you stepped away from the bustling commercial strips into the residential areas, you'd hear passersby talking on the phone with family in a Northeastern Chinese dialect, while a mother behind you might be reminding her school-aged daughter in Mandarin to study hard. If an American were knocked out cold and thrown into a sack, then dropped onto a street in Flushing, they'd wake up in a panic, convinced they'd been sold to China.
Of course, if you're looking for a quiet and safe place in New York, Flushing and its surrounding areas can probably fit the bill. Otherwise, Chinese people wouldn't choose to settle here. Compared to the old Chinatown downtown, a brother I met at the mosque who lives in Flushing put it this way: "It's safer here. Old Chinatown is Manhattan, after all, and you've got all sorts of characters there." I readily agreed. Following the Chinese is the way to go. Chinese people are known for "voting with their feet"—if more and more Chinese are flocking to a place, it pretty much tells you it's at least safe to live there. My wife and I chose a Malaysian restaurant there for our iftar (breaking the fast) that night. The restaurant had a halal certification, but the staff told us the Hainanese chicken rice wasn't halal. In the States, you see this kind of restaurant quite a bit. It’s a good reminder to always ask, even with a halal sign, because when it comes to halal, you can never be too careful.
Masjid Syed Jamaluddin Afghani: A Dawn Prayer Revelation
This mosque, Masjid Syed Jamaluddin Afghani, is one of four in the Flushing area, named after the renowned modern scholar, Afghani. You can tell from the name that it was founded by the Afghan community. Naming mosques after people is nothing out of the ordinary and pretty common. Not far from here, there's Masjid Hazrati Abu Bakr Siddique, and the Islamic Center in Midtown Manhattan is Masjid Usman Bin Affan. There are countless mosques named after Ali, too. So, a mosque named after a person doesn't really tell you much. This mosque is about two blocks from me, so I decided to go there for Fajr (dawn prayer).
I left home a little before 5:45 AM, and folks in Flushing were still fast asleep. The only people out on the streets were those like me, responding to the call that "prayer is better than sleep," and Koreans heading to church activities. It was my first time seeing churches hold events so early. As I walked, I kept looking at the churches along the road; people were constantly going in, and the music was already blaring inside.
It took about fifteen minutes to get to the mosque. It was too dark to see the whole building, but luckily, a few people wearing hats went in ahead of me, showing me where the door was. Once inside, Fajr hadn't started yet, but there were already about twenty people gathered, mostly South Asian faces, all silently waiting for the Imam to arrive. About five minutes later, there was still no sign of the Imam, and at this point, some folks started to get a little antsy. Someone quickly pushed an elder from the community forward to lead the prayer. An older gentleman in front of me seemed to have a different opinion, suggesting we wait another five minutes, and if the Imam still didn't show, then start. But nobody paid him any mind; they stuck to the schedule and prayed on time.
Post-Prayer Greetings: A Lingering Connection
After the prayer, I, as usual, shook hands with the people passing by who were also praying. The others in the mosque weren't in a rush to leave after the prayer; instead, they greeted each other and chatted. Greeting everyone after prayer can actually take a fair bit of time; when there are a lot of people, you feel like you're saying salam a hundred times. Have you ever experienced the "hand-shaking" (shaking hands and exchanging salams) after Eid prayers? I go through this almost every morning after Fajr in our "P-town" (Princeton). After the Imam finishes saying salam to the left and right, the crowd slowly starts to stir. Two strangers who meet will shake hands, smile, and say salam. If you've met a few times, you'll also ask, "How are you doing?" And if you're really familiar, it's like old friends who haven't seen each other in eight hundred years; their eyes meet, a look of surprise and delight crosses their faces simultaneously, then comes the handshake, the salam, and that's not even enough for the ritual. They'll also give each other a hug and exchange a few pleasantries. As other familiar faces pass by, the cycle begins anew.
About ten minutes later, most of the people in the mosque had pretty much left. At this point, the main prayer hall was filled with the sound of an old man and a younger man arguing. They seemed to disagree on the time for imsak (the start of fasting before Fajr). The old man spoke with great conviction, saying that most of the Ulama (scholars) believe that the Fajr time and imsak are the same, and you can pray after imsak. As for ending 15 minutes earlier, that's just for caution. His powerful voice seemed a bit out of place with his frail, trembling body. The younger brother, who was likely the mosque's spokesperson, spoke much softer and more politely. He was probably explaining to the old man what the mosque's regulations were, and so on. The old man cut him off, sticking to his point, and told him, "I don't want to hear what the mosque says. What the mosque decides has nothing to do with me. I just want to tell you what the scholars explain." With that, he limped off, leaning on his cane.
Honestly, it took me years to figure out this issue myself. Imsak is simply the beginning of Fajr time, and iftar (breaking fast) is the beginning of Maghrib time. Ending imsak 15 minutes early and delaying iftar by two or three minutes is purely a precautionary measure. Once you understand that, it becomes much easier to grasp the timing of imsak and iftar. Of course, this was a prime example of the confusion I experienced in my earlier years due to not knowing any better. Understanding the Deen greatly helps in practicing it; a muddled account simply means a muddled life.
A Sudanese Brother and a Tire Thief's Den
While they were arguing, I sat against the wall, reciting Quran and eavesdropping (as they say in Northeast China) on their "chit-chat." A young man sitting across from me seemed undisturbed by their discussion; every time I looked his way, he was quietly reading the Quran. When only the two of us were left in the mosque, I got up and walked over to him, pretending to look at the bulletin board above his head, all while trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation. To my surprise, as soon as I got in front of him, he greeted me: "Brother, where are you from?" My heart leapt with joy, and the floodgates of conversation immediately opened. We briefly introduced ourselves. He was Sudanese, named Wasim, and a medical student.
Soon after, another older uncle joined us. They seemed to know each other. The uncle asked Wasim if he was busy, and the young man said, "You know how it is in the hospital; I can only bounce between the mosque and the hospital." I asked, "So you don't go shopping then? How do you get your groceries and stuff?" He just said, "Amazon." The uncle, listening in, chuckled and said, "I still prefer to buy things myself, especially fruits and vegetables. I have to see them with my own eyes." We chatted casually about various topics. They asked me about the situation in China, and I shared my thoughts on Flushing. I told them that what surprised me most about Flushing was how Chinese people online always complained about people here stealing tires. I asked if it was true. Wasim thought for a moment and said that theft is pretty common. "There's a well-known shop around here," he explained, "if you lose something, you go to that shop, and nine times out of ten, you'll be able to buy your stolen item back."
Chinese Muslims in Flushing: A Scattered Community
Compared to Wasim, the uncle was an old hand, very familiar with Flushing. I asked these two brothers living in Flushing if they had ever seen any Chinese Muslims here. The young man thought for a bit and said he knew a young man named Omar, whom he often saw on Fridays and at some hadith (Prophetic tradition) study classes. Besides him, he hadn't seen anyone else. The uncle seemed to know Omar too. He said that the first time he saw that Chinese man, he had long hair. The uncle gestured with his hand to show the approximate length. He told Omar, "Hair this long isn't very good." The second time the uncle saw Omar, he was surprised to find that Omar's hair was cut very, very short. I asked, "Besides Omar?" They tried hard to remember. "Yes, there was one more, but not Hui Muslim like you." I pressed a bit further, "Was Omar a convert or born Muslim?" They said he was a convert.
I then voiced my confusion. I told them it seemed difficult to find Chinese people in the mosque, and it wasn't like the Indo-Pakistani or other ethnic groups who have their own mosques. The uncle immediately corrected my second point. He said, "Mosques are the same everywhere, so there's no need for Chinese people to have their own mosque. That's Islam." The uncle told me to observe the churches in Flushing; there are so many of them, almost every denomination has its own church, and people from different denominations usually don't go to each other's churches. "But here, all the mosques are the same. Chinese people can go to any mosque. Every mosque has the same prayer, the same Jumu'ah. People from different backgrounds can enter confidently. Maybe Chinese Muslims are just spread out among all the mosques." The uncle's words were confirmed later during my stroll; there was one main road where almost every intersection had a Korean church.
The Mosque's True Form: A Hidden Gem
After about an hour of chatting, the uncle got up and motioned for us, inviting us to see the mosque's true "form." The place where we had just prayed was probably less than 100 square meters, and I was thinking, in such a large city, how much room could there possibly be for imagination? Following the uncle's lead, we walked out of the main prayer hall and turned towards a basement entrance. I followed him skeptically. When he opened the door, Wasim and I were both blown away, exclaiming that it was a whole other world! It turned out the place where we had just prayed was just a temporary side hall; the real mosque hadn't been used in winter because the heating hadn't been fixed. Including the basement, this mosque had three floors. The basement was a common area, with even a room for washing the deceased (ghusl). The second and third floors were the men's and women's prayer halls, respectively.
I asked the uncle, "Are there many women?" The uncle said that on Eid, the third floor was packed. I estimated that would be a few hundred people. I asked the uncle how much such a mosque cost and if it was funded by Muslim donations. The uncle said, "About $3 million. Donations from ordinary Muslims definitely aren't enough. There are always some wealthy individuals who cover the vast majority of the costs." Next, we followed the uncle to the first floor. The uncle pointed to a small room by the entrance of the main prayer hall, explaining that it was a restroom for those who didn't have time to go downstairs for wudu. I remarked, "New York is different; everyone's always on the go." The uncle then pointed to an uninstalled iron gate leaning against the wall and mysteriously said, "This iron gate was bought from China." My eyes bulged out as I confirmed with him, "Are you saying this iron gate with the crescent moon decoration on it?" It's quite ironic, I thought. Back home, we might not even be allowed to use such decorations, yet you bought them from China. The uncle chuckled and said, "Chinese people can sell anything!" And he cracked up.
A Mosque's Distinct Identity & Community Pushback
Stepping outside, the day had also brightened up considerably. The uncle pointed to the entrance. "That spot used to be the original main door," he explained. "We moved the door inward a bit so we could squeeze in two more parked cars." Space is at a premium here, so making smart use of every square foot is absolutely crucial.
I looked back at the mosque again, and it was then that I truly saw its distinct identity as a mosque. The not-so-tall minarets on either side stood in clear contrast to the surrounding buildings. Mosques like this are actually a rare find in urban areas. When you factor in the cost, having a dome and minarets means you need a completely undeveloped plot of land, which is practically a pipe dream in Manhattan.
Of course, they also run into some bumps in the road here. For instance, neighboring residents complain that during Jumu'ah (Friday congregational prayer), there are too many people, the loudspeakers are too loud, and they demand the mosque keep its windows closed, and so on. The uncle, with a slight hint of disdain, scoffed, "The prayer itself is only half an hour, and it's not like it's every single day. They clearly just don't want a mosque here and are looking for trouble."
However, there are exceptions. Wasim mentioned that his landlord, who is Chinese, has actually been eager to visit the mosque with him. I encouraged him, saying, "You've absolutely got to bring him. Don't forget about our Chinese brothers and sisters!"
Dar Al Taqwa Islamic Center: Another Welcoming Spot
After wrapping up my chat with them, I made my way to another mosque, and this one was much more polished by comparison. Wasim had told me about this mosque, saying that scholars often give lectures there, and he really enjoys going. The people at this mosque were also very courteous. When they saw me come in, they warmly asked where I was from and then inquired about where I was planning to break my fast that evening, insisting that I come back because they had iftar (breaking fast) meals ready. Before I left, one of them pointed to the door and said, "The mosque door is always open. You're welcome to come any time." Alhamdulillah!
Streets Lined with Diverse Houses of Worship
As I walked along the main thoroughfares, it was striking to see church after church, often right next to each other, especially Korean churches at almost every intersection. It truly made me ponder the diverse religious landscape of this city.
The last two days of the first week of Ramadan, my wife and I finally embarked on our long-awaited trip to New York. We were at the train station by the crack of dawn, before 7 AM, with the sky still dark. Even for a Monday, the station was buzzing with people; I figured a lot of folks, like us, were taking advantage of spring break. We'd planned this trip over a month ago. My wife's main goal was to see a special exhibition at the Asian Society Museum. I threw in, "Let's check out the Metropolitan Museum of Art while we're at it!" But as for what to do with the rest of our time, we were drawing a blank. My wife basically just threw up her hands, saying aside from wanting some good eats (most trips for us Muslims eventually boil down to that one line: "Let's get some good food"), she had no other demands.
When I think of New York these days, my mind doesn't immediately go to iconic landmarks like the Statue of Liberty or the World Trade Center. It feels like "freedom" and the concept of "global trade" are showing signs of continuous decline, perhaps on the brink of being swallowed by the tides of history once again. Instead, what pops into my head are the rumors floating around: daily shootings, rats scurrying through the subways, and all that jazz. The reports and the spread of these stories aren't really about genuinely caring whether New Yorkers are doing well; it's more about proving that folks in New York are worse off than we are. Faced with that kind of information environment, I just decided to go with the flow and document whatever I saw and heard, getting a firsthand feel for everything.
Flushing, Queens: The New Chinese Capital in America
We booked our hotel in Flushing, Queens. When we made the reservation, there was only one reason for choosing that spot: it was cheap. After a full day of hitting the museums, we got back to Flushing around 8 PM. New York, which had been bright and sunny all day, was now buffeted by strong winds, with icy raindrops occasionally hitting us. As my wife and I shivered our way out of the subway station, the streets were still packed with people. Suddenly, my wife shouted, "Sugar-roasted chestnuts!" I gazed at the sign, which looked just like the ones back home in China, and felt a bit disoriented. I said, "We've really come home this time." When I spotted a "Zhang Liang Malatang" (a popular Chinese hotpot chain), I was even more convinced. Most of the people walking around were Chinese faces, the sidewalks teeming with pedestrians, just like Shanghai's People's Square during rush hour. Mandarin was understood everywhere, and most of the signs on both sides of the street were written in Chinese. If you stepped away from the bustling commercial strips into the residential areas, you'd hear passersby talking on the phone with family in a Northeastern Chinese dialect, while a mother behind you might be reminding her school-aged daughter in Mandarin to study hard. If an American were knocked out cold and thrown into a sack, then dropped onto a street in Flushing, they'd wake up in a panic, convinced they'd been sold to China.
Of course, if you're looking for a quiet and safe place in New York, Flushing and its surrounding areas can probably fit the bill. Otherwise, Chinese people wouldn't choose to settle here. Compared to the old Chinatown downtown, a brother I met at the mosque who lives in Flushing put it this way: "It's safer here. Old Chinatown is Manhattan, after all, and you've got all sorts of characters there." I readily agreed. Following the Chinese is the way to go. Chinese people are known for "voting with their feet"—if more and more Chinese are flocking to a place, it pretty much tells you it's at least safe to live there. My wife and I chose a Malaysian restaurant there for our iftar (breaking the fast) that night. The restaurant had a halal certification, but the staff told us the Hainanese chicken rice wasn't halal. In the States, you see this kind of restaurant quite a bit. It’s a good reminder to always ask, even with a halal sign, because when it comes to halal, you can never be too careful.
Masjid Syed Jamaluddin Afghani: A Dawn Prayer Revelation
This mosque, Masjid Syed Jamaluddin Afghani, is one of four in the Flushing area, named after the renowned modern scholar, Afghani. You can tell from the name that it was founded by the Afghan community. Naming mosques after people is nothing out of the ordinary and pretty common. Not far from here, there's Masjid Hazrati Abu Bakr Siddique, and the Islamic Center in Midtown Manhattan is Masjid Usman Bin Affan. There are countless mosques named after Ali, too. So, a mosque named after a person doesn't really tell you much. This mosque is about two blocks from me, so I decided to go there for Fajr (dawn prayer).
I left home a little before 5:45 AM, and folks in Flushing were still fast asleep. The only people out on the streets were those like me, responding to the call that "prayer is better than sleep," and Koreans heading to church activities. It was my first time seeing churches hold events so early. As I walked, I kept looking at the churches along the road; people were constantly going in, and the music was already blaring inside.
It took about fifteen minutes to get to the mosque. It was too dark to see the whole building, but luckily, a few people wearing hats went in ahead of me, showing me where the door was. Once inside, Fajr hadn't started yet, but there were already about twenty people gathered, mostly South Asian faces, all silently waiting for the Imam to arrive. About five minutes later, there was still no sign of the Imam, and at this point, some folks started to get a little antsy. Someone quickly pushed an elder from the community forward to lead the prayer. An older gentleman in front of me seemed to have a different opinion, suggesting we wait another five minutes, and if the Imam still didn't show, then start. But nobody paid him any mind; they stuck to the schedule and prayed on time.
Post-Prayer Greetings: A Lingering Connection
After the prayer, I, as usual, shook hands with the people passing by who were also praying. The others in the mosque weren't in a rush to leave after the prayer; instead, they greeted each other and chatted. Greeting everyone after prayer can actually take a fair bit of time; when there are a lot of people, you feel like you're saying salam a hundred times. Have you ever experienced the "hand-shaking" (shaking hands and exchanging salams) after Eid prayers? I go through this almost every morning after Fajr in our "P-town" (Princeton). After the Imam finishes saying salam to the left and right, the crowd slowly starts to stir. Two strangers who meet will shake hands, smile, and say salam. If you've met a few times, you'll also ask, "How are you doing?" And if you're really familiar, it's like old friends who haven't seen each other in eight hundred years; their eyes meet, a look of surprise and delight crosses their faces simultaneously, then comes the handshake, the salam, and that's not even enough for the ritual. They'll also give each other a hug and exchange a few pleasantries. As other familiar faces pass by, the cycle begins anew.
About ten minutes later, most of the people in the mosque had pretty much left. At this point, the main prayer hall was filled with the sound of an old man and a younger man arguing. They seemed to disagree on the time for imsak (the start of fasting before Fajr). The old man spoke with great conviction, saying that most of the Ulama (scholars) believe that the Fajr time and imsak are the same, and you can pray after imsak. As for ending 15 minutes earlier, that's just for caution. His powerful voice seemed a bit out of place with his frail, trembling body. The younger brother, who was likely the mosque's spokesperson, spoke much softer and more politely. He was probably explaining to the old man what the mosque's regulations were, and so on. The old man cut him off, sticking to his point, and told him, "I don't want to hear what the mosque says. What the mosque decides has nothing to do with me. I just want to tell you what the scholars explain." With that, he limped off, leaning on his cane.
Honestly, it took me years to figure out this issue myself. Imsak is simply the beginning of Fajr time, and iftar (breaking fast) is the beginning of Maghrib time. Ending imsak 15 minutes early and delaying iftar by two or three minutes is purely a precautionary measure. Once you understand that, it becomes much easier to grasp the timing of imsak and iftar. Of course, this was a prime example of the confusion I experienced in my earlier years due to not knowing any better. Understanding the Deen greatly helps in practicing it; a muddled account simply means a muddled life.
A Sudanese Brother and a Tire Thief's Den
While they were arguing, I sat against the wall, reciting Quran and eavesdropping (as they say in Northeast China) on their "chit-chat." A young man sitting across from me seemed undisturbed by their discussion; every time I looked his way, he was quietly reading the Quran. When only the two of us were left in the mosque, I got up and walked over to him, pretending to look at the bulletin board above his head, all while trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation. To my surprise, as soon as I got in front of him, he greeted me: "Brother, where are you from?" My heart leapt with joy, and the floodgates of conversation immediately opened. We briefly introduced ourselves. He was Sudanese, named Wasim, and a medical student.
Soon after, another older uncle joined us. They seemed to know each other. The uncle asked Wasim if he was busy, and the young man said, "You know how it is in the hospital; I can only bounce between the mosque and the hospital." I asked, "So you don't go shopping then? How do you get your groceries and stuff?" He just said, "Amazon." The uncle, listening in, chuckled and said, "I still prefer to buy things myself, especially fruits and vegetables. I have to see them with my own eyes." We chatted casually about various topics. They asked me about the situation in China, and I shared my thoughts on Flushing. I told them that what surprised me most about Flushing was how Chinese people online always complained about people here stealing tires. I asked if it was true. Wasim thought for a moment and said that theft is pretty common. "There's a well-known shop around here," he explained, "if you lose something, you go to that shop, and nine times out of ten, you'll be able to buy your stolen item back."
Chinese Muslims in Flushing: A Scattered Community
Compared to Wasim, the uncle was an old hand, very familiar with Flushing. I asked these two brothers living in Flushing if they had ever seen any Chinese Muslims here. The young man thought for a bit and said he knew a young man named Omar, whom he often saw on Fridays and at some hadith (Prophetic tradition) study classes. Besides him, he hadn't seen anyone else. The uncle seemed to know Omar too. He said that the first time he saw that Chinese man, he had long hair. The uncle gestured with his hand to show the approximate length. He told Omar, "Hair this long isn't very good." The second time the uncle saw Omar, he was surprised to find that Omar's hair was cut very, very short. I asked, "Besides Omar?" They tried hard to remember. "Yes, there was one more, but not Hui Muslim like you." I pressed a bit further, "Was Omar a convert or born Muslim?" They said he was a convert.
I then voiced my confusion. I told them it seemed difficult to find Chinese people in the mosque, and it wasn't like the Indo-Pakistani or other ethnic groups who have their own mosques. The uncle immediately corrected my second point. He said, "Mosques are the same everywhere, so there's no need for Chinese people to have their own mosque. That's Islam." The uncle told me to observe the churches in Flushing; there are so many of them, almost every denomination has its own church, and people from different denominations usually don't go to each other's churches. "But here, all the mosques are the same. Chinese people can go to any mosque. Every mosque has the same prayer, the same Jumu'ah. People from different backgrounds can enter confidently. Maybe Chinese Muslims are just spread out among all the mosques." The uncle's words were confirmed later during my stroll; there was one main road where almost every intersection had a Korean church.
The Mosque's True Form: A Hidden Gem
After about an hour of chatting, the uncle got up and motioned for us, inviting us to see the mosque's true "form." The place where we had just prayed was probably less than 100 square meters, and I was thinking, in such a large city, how much room could there possibly be for imagination? Following the uncle's lead, we walked out of the main prayer hall and turned towards a basement entrance. I followed him skeptically. When he opened the door, Wasim and I were both blown away, exclaiming that it was a whole other world! It turned out the place where we had just prayed was just a temporary side hall; the real mosque hadn't been used in winter because the heating hadn't been fixed. Including the basement, this mosque had three floors. The basement was a common area, with even a room for washing the deceased (ghusl). The second and third floors were the men's and women's prayer halls, respectively.
I asked the uncle, "Are there many women?" The uncle said that on Eid, the third floor was packed. I estimated that would be a few hundred people. I asked the uncle how much such a mosque cost and if it was funded by Muslim donations. The uncle said, "About $3 million. Donations from ordinary Muslims definitely aren't enough. There are always some wealthy individuals who cover the vast majority of the costs." Next, we followed the uncle to the first floor. The uncle pointed to a small room by the entrance of the main prayer hall, explaining that it was a restroom for those who didn't have time to go downstairs for wudu. I remarked, "New York is different; everyone's always on the go." The uncle then pointed to an uninstalled iron gate leaning against the wall and mysteriously said, "This iron gate was bought from China." My eyes bulged out as I confirmed with him, "Are you saying this iron gate with the crescent moon decoration on it?" It's quite ironic, I thought. Back home, we might not even be allowed to use such decorations, yet you bought them from China. The uncle chuckled and said, "Chinese people can sell anything!" And he cracked up.
A Mosque's Distinct Identity & Community Pushback
Stepping outside, the day had also brightened up considerably. The uncle pointed to the entrance. "That spot used to be the original main door," he explained. "We moved the door inward a bit so we could squeeze in two more parked cars." Space is at a premium here, so making smart use of every square foot is absolutely crucial.
I looked back at the mosque again, and it was then that I truly saw its distinct identity as a mosque. The not-so-tall minarets on either side stood in clear contrast to the surrounding buildings. Mosques like this are actually a rare find in urban areas. When you factor in the cost, having a dome and minarets means you need a completely undeveloped plot of land, which is practically a pipe dream in Manhattan.
Of course, they also run into some bumps in the road here. For instance, neighboring residents complain that during Jumu'ah (Friday congregational prayer), there are too many people, the loudspeakers are too loud, and they demand the mosque keep its windows closed, and so on. The uncle, with a slight hint of disdain, scoffed, "The prayer itself is only half an hour, and it's not like it's every single day. They clearly just don't want a mosque here and are looking for trouble."
However, there are exceptions. Wasim mentioned that his landlord, who is Chinese, has actually been eager to visit the mosque with him. I encouraged him, saying, "You've absolutely got to bring him. Don't forget about our Chinese brothers and sisters!"
Dar Al Taqwa Islamic Center: Another Welcoming Spot
After wrapping up my chat with them, I made my way to another mosque, and this one was much more polished by comparison. Wasim had told me about this mosque, saying that scholars often give lectures there, and he really enjoys going. The people at this mosque were also very courteous. When they saw me come in, they warmly asked where I was from and then inquired about where I was planning to break my fast that evening, insisting that I come back because they had iftar (breaking fast) meals ready. Before I left, one of them pointed to the door and said, "The mosque door is always open. You're welcome to come any time." Alhamdulillah!
Streets Lined with Diverse Houses of Worship
As I walked along the main thoroughfares, it was striking to see church after church, often right next to each other, especially Korean churches at almost every intersection. It truly made me ponder the diverse religious landscape of this city.
