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 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.”
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