Living here in San Diego, with my family for almost three decades, I have noticed a distinct pattern within my close circle: some come here for a job, but they leave for a purpose. Some leave San Diego to be with their aging parents back home, some move to Muslim-majority areas, and others leave to find places where they can provide better Islamic schooling for their children. It is a repetitive pattern. Come for dunya and leave for akhirah. I usually joke that San Diego exports “export-quality materials,” adding, “I am not export-quality, so I am stuck here.”

But there is another thing I experience often. After moving away, every single one of them says, “I miss San Diego. I miss ICSD (Islamic Center of San Diego). There is something special about the San Diego Muslim community that I just cannot explain.” All this time, I thought these were just pleasantries. I figured they said it so we “non-export quality” folks would not feel bad.

Right after the tragic shooting at ICSD, I finally understood why San Diego is special, and why ICSD is special. Alhamdulillah, Allah chose three shuhada from our community. These three familiar faces received what they sought year after year. Allah used them, accepted them as shuhada, and made them a means to protect all of our kids, teachers, and imams at the mosque. It could have been a much worse day. Allah answered our dua. He saved our children, while at the same time accepting the lifelong service of these three dedicated men in our community. I am here to share how all three of them taught me something profound.

Let me start with Brother Nader: a neighbor of the mosque. One day, when we were about to pray Janazah after Jumu’ah, a mentally unstable brother started yelling, objecting to praying Janazah in the mosque. After the prayer, some brothers were very angry with him, as this was the second or third time he had done this. Sheikh Abdel Jalil was approaching, and my shallow self also became angry at that brother. Out of nowhere, Brother Nader came close to me, gently steered me to walk on the other side, and said, “Brother, let’s make shukur to Allah that we are not like him. We could have been just like him. Allah blessed us.” It touched me so deeply. Ya Rabb, accept him as a shaheed. I saw the gulf of difference between him and myself. I saw how he lived with the presence of Allah and saw only Allah .

Then there is Brother Abul Izz: the face of ICSD. From the very first day I visited ICSD until today, we all knew him as the one person who took care of the mosque; he was everywhere.

You go to the kitchen, he is cooking and serving. You go to the store, he is at the storefront. If some place needs cleaning, he is the one you talk to. However, above everything else, I—along with thousands of other brothers—am a fan of his famous Syrian lentil soup. That bowl of lentil soup made my iftars so special. One day, in a light moment, I asked him, “Abul Izz, please give me the recipe for your lentil soup.” Brother Abul Izz told me, “When Umm Izz asks me to make it at home, it never turns out like the mosque version. It only happens at the mosque.” Ya Rabb, accept him. How can I go to the store and not see him there? He taught me that it is not skill that makes that lentil soup special—it is the mosque, and it is the people eating it who make it special. They are the guests of Allah . It is Allah who provides me that soup—Abul Izz is only a means. Abul Izz knows it; I do not.

Now, a giant of a man: Brother Amin. Last summer, almost one year ago, after Eid al-Adha, we had a massive gathering at a park. Muslims from all the San Diego mosques attended, and it was a very festive, very hot day. I saw Brother Amin standing tall in his uniform. I approached him and offered him a drink. With a smile on his face, he refused. I was surprised, but he told me he avoids eating or drinking while on duty to minimize the need to use the restroom. He taught me what it truly means to take “safety” as a mission. Now, when I read his last Facebook post, I understood why. He was serving Allah while standing tall in his gear—it was his ibaadah, not just a job that paid the bills. His understanding of Qalbun Saleem—a sound heart—profoundly touched me. He walked the walk.

These three men are from this community—men whom Allah selected and took as shuhada. I feel incredibly humbled and thankful to realize that I was living alongside such larger-than-life people. They were not celebrities, and they did not wear a display of “righteousness,” but they were friends of Allah who spent their days and nights trying to please Him.

Deep down inside, I know we have more people just like them in our community. All I know to do now is thank Allah , lower my wings, learn from them, and try to become like them. I finally understand the secret sauce that makes the San Diego Muslim community so special.

Alhamdulillah.

[Please consider contributing to the ICSD Victim & Family Support Fund: ICSD Victim & Family Support Fund]

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Deadly Attack At San Diego Mosque Sends Shockwaves