Women’s mosque forms in L.A., the first in U.S.

A mosaic of more than 100 women of all ages attended the inaugural Women’s Mosque of America’s jumma’a, the Friday call to prayer, on Jan 30. It was a landmark day for women in the Muslim community because, although women-only mosques exist in some other countries, including China, this is the first all-women’s mosque in the United States. To top it off, the women met at the Pico Union Project, a multifaith venue just west of downtown Los Angeles.

It seemed only natural to attend this nondenominational service, which promotes sisterhood among women, with my own sister. There was something very “Red Tent” about the service, and we couldn’t help but notice, both of us a rabbi’s daughter, the significance of being in the city’s oldest synagogue — formerly the home of Sinai Temple — attending an all-women’s service. My sister nudged me during the prayers to point out a Star of David stained-glass window overhead.  

As afternoon light filtered through windows and tinted the room a soft hue, devout women knelt and prayed in unison, many dressed in traditional garb, including a hijab (head covering). The room was flooded with striking colors from their stunning garments: fuchsia, periwinkle, turquoise and hot pink.

Echoing the women’s movement that so changed progressive Judaism in the 1970s and ’80s, including the advent of women rabbis, this was the longtime dream of M. Hasna Maznavi, 29, a Los Angeles filmmaker, who said she always knew she wanted to start a mosque. On Jan. 30, she stood on the bimah of this historic venue and saw her dream become a reality, as she assumed her role as founder and co-president of the mosque. Alongside her was co-president Sana Muttalib, 31, an attorney.

“In recent years, I started growing more disillusioned with my mosque-going experience,” Maznavi said during an interview two nights before her mosque’s unveiling. The daughter of Sri Lankan immigrants, she attended one of California’s biggest mosques, where men and women were equally on the board (her older sister was president of the mosque’s youth group). But as the mosque experienced increased funding, the building was renovated into a more traditional style, with women sitting in the balcony (according to custom) while men congregated on the ground floor. 

“Something that started to happen was that the architecture started to trickle down into the culture,” she continued. That division eventually led Maznavi to consider initiating what she called “mosque reform.” She began by posting on Facebook, recruiting friends to participate and forming a group of like-minded Muslim women. Eventually, a mutual friend connected her to Muttalib, who, much like  Maznavi, had become dissatisfied with her mosque’s custom of separating men and women.

“The women who were coming to this mosque were so talented and amazing, and they were oftentimes not bringing their whole selves to the mosque, just a piece of them,” Muttalib said. She wanted a safe place for devotion, where women could celebrate themselves, unapologetically and unfragmented.

Although they hadn’t met before, the two women became friends quickly because of shared outlooks. At one point in the jumma’a, right after the prayers had been uttered, the two stood talking in a corner of the prayer hall, smiling and hugging like childhood friends. 

“Every single weakness that I have is a strength of hers,” said Maznavi about collaborating with Muttalib. “I really feel like it’s a match made in heaven,” she added.

During the jumma’a — which was exclusive to women and children, with only boys 12 and younger allowed — young kids wove in and out among women, and one young boy even hid behind his mother’s bright clothing, bashfully peaking at the women around him.

Edina Lekovic of the Muslim Public Affairs Council led the mosque’s first khutbah, or sermon. “I am proud and overwhelmingly humbled,” Lekovic said to the congregation. Lekovic, who was moved to step out of what she described as “her comfort zone” for the occasion — the fact that a woman would be delivering the khutbah was a source of heated controversy within the Muslim community — said she did it for two reasons: One was a passage in the Quran that says men and women are equal partners. “But there was another reason why I accepted this invitation,” Lekovic said, as a baby’s wail from outside the building was heard by all, “and that’s because of the little screamer that you hear outside of the four walls that we’re in.” She said she wants her daughter to grow up in a community where a women’s mosque is normal and not far-fetched, “and for that, I thank Allah, and I thank all of you for making it possible.”

After the sermon, the prayers began, and the women stood in five lines, facing the altar (in the direction of Mecca) as they went through the motions, standing shoulder to shoulder, bowing and rising as Lekovic adopted the role of imam (prayer leader) and recited the prayers. 

After the completion of the service, the congregation was asked to sit in a reflection circle. My sister and I squeezed our way into the vast lasso of a circle. It was then that the reality of the service started to sink in, when the multitude of voices were heard. 

“We are all with you,” one Jewish woman told the group, to a round of applause. “Sitting in this circle is so liberating,” said a Muslim woman. “I’m just so happy to be here, and to be a part of this growth and this experience,” said another, on the verge of tears. 

“As salaam alaikum” — peace be upon you — another woman said to the group, and her fellow sisters responded in harmony, “Wa alaikum salaam” — and upon you, peace.