House Sparrows are among the most frequent visitors to my birdfeeder. That is probably because my birdfeeder is right in the heart of their natural habitat. House Sparrows, as their name suggests, live wherever human beings live. Their habitat is our habitat, and we have been a vital part of their ecosystem ever since human beings started practicing agriculture.
House Sparrows originated in the Middle East. As agriculture spread out from that region throughout Europe and Asia, so did the House Sparrow. Since the age of colonization, House Sparrows have firmly established their habitat in most places around the world. In the countryside, they feast on seeds, and in the city, they feast on leftover food and crumbs and are often found around garbage containers. The only places these birds are hardly ever found is in ‘the wild’: in ecosystems untouched by human interference. Their whole existence playfully challenges our rigid boundaries between nature and culture.
In the Ottoman Empire, these city dwellers were held in high regard. Since they frequented the places people frequent, they were often found around the beautiful mosques of Istanbul. In Surah An-Nur, ‘The Light’, the twenty-fourth chapter of the Qur’an, we are reminded: “Do you not see that all those who are in the heavens and the earth, and the birds with outspread wings, glorify God? Each one knows its mode of prayer and glorification, and God has full knowledge of all they do” (Qur’an 24:41). The people of Ottoman Istanbul realized that House Sparrows were their fellow Muslims, and, as such, they ought not to keep them away from their mosques but rather invite them in to pray together. And that is how one of my favorite forgotten stories of Islamic history starts: the story of the bird mosques of the Ottoman Empire.
Whoever has a sharp eye and curious mind can spot the historic bird mosques, houses, and palaces all around the city of Istanbul. Christiane Gruber, Professor of Islamic Art, describes in her research on these forms of avian microarchitecture that these tiny sanctuaries for birds were as much about creating a beautiful and hospitable construction as about creating “a larger devotional soundscape that blends the oral prayers of humans with the wafting arias of birds.”
She points out that these birdhouses were not built for any agricultural or transactional purposes, but rather to provide a safe haven, linking the practice to the Islamic concept of hima (‘natural conservation’) and the recognition of protected areas or natural sanctuaries. The sense of responsibility the Ottomans felt towards their feathery siblings went so far that they even funded bird and animal hospitals with charitable endowments (waqf). To this day, the traces of this legacy remain visible as Istanbul is famous for the beautiful way in which its inhabitants collectively care for its feral cats.
How do our cities, mosques, and homes live up to this example set by our Ottoman siblings? Do we provide shelter and care for our non-human neighbors? Or have we become so detached from our values that most of us fail to provide shelter and care even to our human neighbors?
The prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, is reported to have said, “There is no right that the son of Adam is more entitled to other than these rights: A home to live in, a garment to cover his nakedness, a piece of bread, and water.” The term ‘son of Adam’ refers explicitly to all of humankind as opposed to only Muslims, since in the Qur’anic narrative, all of humanity traces its ancestry back to Adam. This statement by the prophet Muhammad is incredibly powerful for many reasons, and I think we don’t discuss it nearly as often as we should. In essence, this statement proves that centuries before the human rights discourse was established in the West, basic human rights were acknowledged, embodied, and structurally enforced by Islam.
After they had been forced to flee the persecution in Mecca, Muhammad and his followers found shelter in Medina. There, the people of Medina were paired with Meccan refugees through a buddy system. The people of Medina took the Meccan refugees into their homes, fed them, and introduced them to life in their new city until they were able to provide for themselves and their families. In addition to that, the mosque of Medina served as a shelter for all those who needed it. Unhoused community members lived in the back of the mosque and became known as the people of the suffa. Some of them stayed there for a couple of days, others stayed for years. The people of the suffa were very poor, but their basic rights were always met through the communal care and charity of a functioning community. The shelter of the suffa was not hidden away somewhere at the margins of town - it was right in the heart of Medina, in the mosque of the Prophet, at the center of education, revelation, and social life. The prophet Muhammad was frequently found with the people of the suffa and they shared many meals together. Far from being marginalized, many of the people of the suffa went on to become the most knowledgeable teachers, preservers of the narrations of the Prophet, and the best memorizers of the Qur’an. Their poverty was drenched in dignity.
But nowadays, most mosques will not even open their doors to the unhoused. We wash our hands clean of guilt with arguments about hygiene and safety. We argue that our mosques are religious institutions, not political ones or social shelters. But thank God there are still some mosques and communities that do try to keep the Prophet’s traditions alive, such as Islah LA. The community at Islah, a small predominantly Black mosque in South Los Angeles, does not only provide a weekly sermon on Fridays but also operates seven housing facilities for community members facing homelessness. In addition to that, their food pantry is open to serve all those community members in need and provide them with food and water as well as clean clothes - no questions asked. Islah is the only mosque I have ever attended that actually actively strives to communally and institutionally fulfill the basic framework of human rights laid out by the prophet Muhammad. And during the communal cookout on Friday after the sermon, of course, the local House Sparrows join to feast on any crumbs.
The Islamic tradition is rich, but we reflect it poorly. We dull our faith down to a set of rules and rituals. At nearly every mosque, classes are taught about the minute details of ritual ablution, but I have yet to find any mosque that teaches the history of the bird mosques of the Ottoman Empire. At nearly every mosque, classes are taught about the life of the Prophet, but how many mosques actually care to bring those teachings into practice?
I got distracted whilst writing this last paragraph. A House Sparrow flew up to my birdfeeder to have a little afternoon snack. I am fasting, so unfortunately, I cannot join him for another hour or two. But I will take it as my sign to stop writing now, and instead read some Qur’an. In that way, my recitation and his may blend together. In that way, my house may, even if just for a moment, become a mosque - a holy house. For what is a holy house if not a shared one - a place of true community and communal worship?
I had no idea about the bird mosques, even when I was in Uskedar, I did not notice this, but I did notice all the cats and the food that was left for the cats. What a beautiful piece of writing, thank you. I especially resonated with this: "We dull our faith down to a set of rules and rituals. At nearly every mosque, classes are taught about the minute details of ritual ablution, but I have yet to find any mosque that teaches the history of the bird mosques of the Ottoman Empire. At nearly every mosque, classes are taught about the life of the Prophet, but how many mosques actually care to bring those teachings into practice?" I feel like teaching people adab, manners, behaviors and etiquettes on how to be with one another (or even birds, the environment, etc) is the real transformation of learning.
Beautiful, as always. In the true spirit of Islam, as intended, especially as reflect on the holy month of Ramadan just ended.