He had accepted the role of Imam at the small downtown masjid six months ago. The community was diverse: born-Muslims from Pakistan and Egypt, new converts from Texas, and Nigerian brothers who worked at the 24-hour gas station. Every Friday, they stood shoulder to shoulder. But the khutbah — the sermon — was always in Arabic.

“ Brothers and sisters in Islam ,” Omar said in clear English. “ The Prophet, peace be upon him, said: ‘The best of you are those who learn the Quran and teach it.’ But how can we teach it if we do not first understand it? Today, I will say the khutbah in Arabic, as our tradition asks. But line by line, I will also say its meaning in your language. So that no one leaves this masjid without knowing what Allah has sent down for them. ”

Abu Faisal was last. He gripped Omar’s hand with both of his. “I was wrong,” the old man said gruffly. “The Prophet said, ‘Make things easy, not hard.’ You made Jummah easy for our children.”

Halfway through, an elderly Bengali auntie in the front row wiped a tear. She leaned to her daughter and whispered, “ For twenty years, I only moved my lips. Today, I finally understood. ” After the prayer, the line to shake Omar’s hand stretched to the wudu area.

But last week, a teenager named Adam had stayed behind after prayer.