The victims of the San Diego mosque shooting are remembered as heroes, martyrs

SAN DIEGO – In the moments when gunmen opened fire on a San Diego mosque, the actions of three men prevented an even greater tragedy.

The authorities say that, before they were killed, they delayed the shooters, sent a warning and informed the police, which allowed a number of school children inside the mosque to seek safety.

Now they are seen as heroes: the smiling security guard, the shopkeeper known for his dal soup and the teacher’s husband whose proud daughter said that when she heard the gunshot, she ran towards it.

“I want to be clear: All three of our victims did not die in vain,” said San Diego Police Chief Scott Wahl. “Without question, many more people would have died yesterday.”

All three were very familiar in the mosque, even with those they had no personal relationship with. Tens of thousands of dollars in donations poured into a fundraiser for their families.

“We have lost three pillars of our society,” said the imam, or leader of the mosque, Taha Hassane. “We call them our martyrs and our heroes.”

Here are their stories.

Amin Abdullah, 51

Abdullah was known for his muscular body and warm smile. An armed guard at a San Diego mosque would greet every visitor without fail, replying with “Salam wa rahamatullahi wa barakatuh” or “May the peace, mercy, and blessings of Allah be upon you again.”

He had an unwavering sense of self-preservation, family members and the community said. Within hours of the shooting that rocked a Southern California Muslim community, Abdullah’s photo had been shared and retweeted thousands of times.

Abdullah was born in San Diego as Brian Climax but goes by his Muslim name. He converted to Islam as a teenager, in the 1990s, with several of his siblings and his mother following, his sister said.

He is a father of eight children. Family members described him as someone who was dedicated to his children’s education and self-education, attending different mosques in the region and traveling abroad to study. He had the role of reciting the adhan, the call to prayer, in another mosque for a period of time.

He earned his high school diploma but pushed his children to pursue advanced degrees, and he called his mother every night to check on her.

His daughter, Hawaa Abdullah, at a press conference on Tuesday said that if he had a flat tire while driving on the highway, he would drop everything to make sure he was safe. He spoke to him often about the world, about faith, and about his brothers, about how to navigate the world as young Black Muslim men.

“He was a great role model, a great friend, the best father in the world,” she said.

He would skip meals, worried that something bad would happen if he took time off from work.

Abdullah used to work at a nearby dental office, but after the 2019 massacre two weeks ago in Christchurch, New Zealand, he was inspired to change his focus and began training in situational awareness and how to analyze an ongoing shooting. Years later, he took a job as a security guard at the Islamic Center of San Diego.

Ismahan Abdullahi, a local Muslim leader and activist who serves as executive director of the political rights group Faith Power Alliance, said Abdullah encouraged her and other women, especially those who wear hijabs, to learn self-defense.

She wanted the men to train and be strong, too, in case they needed to protect their families, she said, and she regularly provided training for volunteers at nearby mosques that might not have the money to hire security.

Abdullah took his job so seriously, Abdullah said, that he would stand in the sun, always ready. Finally the mosque built a small shed for him as a place to rest from the heat.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him sitting down in all these years,” he said.

He loved archery, which he considered a lost art, and he made his own bows to give as gifts. He saw great beauty in the natural world, often sharing photos with friends of hawks flying over the tower of Islam.

Her sister Angela Climax, who also accompanies Aisha Muhammad, said she would follow her when she was young and they would be playing cops and criminals. He described him as “hypervigilant.”

“He was always in this protective mindset,” she said. “I believe that he died as he wished, but it is difficult for us to understand the idea of, ‘I can’t pick up the phone and call my brother.’

The San Diego police chief said Abdullah’s courage in confronting the shooters saved lives. When the gunmen headed for the mosque, Abdullah returned fire, shooting one of them. He got on his walkie-talkie and asked for the school to be locked down as the gunmen made a name for themselves, according to witnesses and video reviewed by law enforcement.

When two gunmen searched the mosque, they found empty rooms.

Mansour Kaziha, 78

Mansour Kaziha, known to the community as “Abu Ezz,” has run a shop inside the Islamic Center of San Diego for decades.

(San Diego Police Department)

Kaziha has had a gift shop inside the mosque since the facility opened more than three decades ago. But his role went far beyond that of a shopkeeper, Hasane said.

“He was a cook, a helper, a caretaker,” said the imam. “He was everything.”

During the holidays and during the month of Ramadan, a man known to the community as “Abul Ezz” would cook a big meal for the brothers. The spread usually consisted of lamb, chicken, rice and his famous lentil soup.

Kaziha kept the mosque’s bookstore and books, always anticipating the needs of the community, acquiring introductory prayer books and Spanish translations for the mosque’s growing Latino population. He sold prayer beads, rugs and lots of snacks.

“He was always feeding,” said Asim Billoo, 42, a youth counselor at the mosque.

Billoo’s daughters’ favorite halal crispy rice treats have been unavailable for some time due to pandemic-related supply issues. When Kaziha returned, he made sure to let them know.

“My kids loved those,” said Billoo. “I couldn’t believe that he had remembered.

Kaziha came to the US from Syria and had five sons and several grandchildren.

Every Sunday, early in the morning, he would thoroughly clean the main hall, even though the mosque had provided security staff. He fixed locks and windows, did air conditioning tests and changed water filters. As she got older, and cooking and cleaning became more difficult, her labor of love became a family affair, with her sons helping out regularly.

“He knew that his only goal was to serve this good community,” said his son Yasser Kaziha in a recent videotaped event.

Kaziha was the first to call 911, Hasane said. He and another victim, Nadir Awad, had run towards the mosque and were on the fence, hiding behind cars in the parking lot, trying to reach the police. They dragged the shooters back outside to the parking lot, away from the teachers and children. They were cornered and killed.

The mosque was reopened to congregations on Wednesday. But the store remained closed, sealed off with security tape.

Nadir Awad, 57

Nadir Awad, a longtime community member who was married to a preschool teacher at the Islamic Center of San Diego.

(San Diego Police Department)

Awad, who lived just across the street from the mosque, went to prayers every day. His wife teaches kindergarten at the school.

Awad owned a limousine company, and his large SUV was an asset to the area. He was thought to be the watchman of the neighbors of the mosques.

Family members told others how they were cooking in the kitchen when they heard gunshots. He dropped his apron and ran towards it. He died next to Kaziha.

Awad’s daughter wrote on social media that she risked her life to save her mother and others at the school.

“[H]”He heard a gunshot and ran to help without hesitation,” wrote Renad Awad.

Abdimalik Buul, an executive at a California community college system who attended the school and grew up with Awad’s children, said Awad helped newcomers to the mosque find work and helped Buul’s brother get a job as a driver.

Awad had an endless but self-deprecating sense of humor, and he loved his wife’s knafeh, a sweet, stretchy Palestinian cheese.

“He had the biggest smile. He was greeting you from the middle of the mosque. He was an amazing person,” said Buul.

Buul’s daughter, 8, was locked in the classroom at the time of the shooting. She said she is worried about her daughter growing up in an atmosphere of hate and a “bad culture of gun violence.”

But she was more comfortable knowing that three men were there to help her.

“I am forever indebted and grateful to these three brave souls.”

Times staff writer Salvador Hernandez contributed to this report.