Putting our House in order

My earliest memory of a mosque is being with my father in London’s Brick Lane Mosque. He was a member of its management committee and that gave me, an infant, the right to roam freely the four floors — including its vast basement — as I waited for him to finish meetings. I remember seeing Hebrew writing on a plaque on the top floor. There were mezuzahs on doors, respectfully preserved by the Muslim elders. I played with my brother on the second floor amid the dusty ebony pews left over from the mosque’s days as a French Huguenot church. European Judaism, Christianity and Islam were woven into the historical fabric of Brick Lane Mosque.

At weekends, I learned how to recite the Quran in Brick Lane. On special occasions, such as the annual remembrance of the birthday of the Prophet Mohammed, the Mawlid al-Nabi, we children loved the heartfelt collective singing of rhythmic Arabic odes with our Bengali elders.