Between Legalist Exclusivism and Mysticist Universalism: Contested Sufi Muslim Identities in New York

Between Legalist Exclusivism and MysticistUniversalism: Contested Sufi Muslim Identities inNew Yorkmuwo_1330 431..451

Markus DresslerIstanbul Technical UniversityIstanbul, Turkey

Introduction

This article investigates Sufi Muslim identities in New York. It examines how SufiMuslims discursively and practically express their specific selves in the highlycontested field of Muslim identity politics. Special focus is on how boundaries

between competing Muslim identities are established and maintained. Trying tounderstand the various layers of meaning attributed to “being Sufi,” I will develop anideal-typical typology of Sufi Muslim strategies of representation and self-legitimation,ranging from sharı ‘a-based exclusivist approaches to conceptualizations of Sufism interms of a mysticist universalism. The aim is to contribute to our understanding of howinner-Islamic differences are negotiated within the post 9/11 U.S. American context, inwhich Sufi-Muslims see themselves under pressure from two directions. On the one side,they are exposed to the critical eyes of a Muslim mainstream that questions the Islamiclegality of Sufism; on the other side, they live in a society that has become moresuspicious of Islam — although at the same time continuing a strong interest in itsmystical traditions.

This studies is based on participant observation and interviews with New Yorkmembers of a wide array of Sufi traditions, as well as on primary and secondary textsources.1 I will focus more closely on representatives of two Sufi communities from theHalveti-Jerrahi tradition. One is a traditionalist circle in Spring Valley led by the TurkishSheikh Tosun Bayrak; the other is a universalist circle located in lower Manhattan and ledby the female U.S. American convert Sheikha Fariha.2

1 Research for this paper had been conducted between 2002 and 2004 as part of Columbia University’sMuslims in New York Project funded by the Ford Foundation. I thank everybody involved in theorganization of the project, and even more so to all the New York Sufis who allowed me to visit theirmeetings, and shared their ideas and experiences with me. I am especially grateful to Michael Wolfe,who generously shared valuable information from his own, unpublished, research on theHalveti-Jerrahis of New York with me.2 Research on particular Sufi groups and activities in New York is rare. An exception is the SenegaleseMurıd community, which has attracted considerable scholarly attention; see Zain Abdullah, Black

© 2010 Hartford Seminary.Published by Blackwell Publishing Ltd., 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford, OX4 2DQ, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148USA.

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The New York City area hosts a large number of Sufi groups as well as Sufis notaffiliated to a particular circle. In general, Sufism in New York features the organizationalforms typical for Sufism in North America and Western Europe.3 We can distinguishbetween traditional Sufi orders (tarıqa, pl. turuq), somewhat more loosely organizedSufi communities,and non-affiliated Sufis. Most of the turuq are “transplants,” i.e., localbranches of orders that originated and have their main center in Muslim majoritycountries.4 As diaspora communities they usually maintain close ties to both their motherorganizations and their lands of origin, and are dominated by immigrants. In some cases,such Sufi orders produce offshoots that are less committed to the cultural traditions of therespective homelands. Such possible reorientations — which often occur in the 2nd

generation of immigrants — may also affect rituals and doctrine and even lead to splitswithin a tradition. As I will point out, U.S.-grown offshoots often show a strong interest

Mecca. The African Muslims of Harlem (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); also Victoria Ebin,“Making Room versus Creating Space. The Construction of Spatial Categories by Itinerant MourideTraders,” in Making Muslim Space in North America and Europe, ed. B. D. Metcalf (Berkeley: Universityof California Press, 1996), 92–109. For a broad overview on Sufi activities and communities in New Yorksee Markus Dressler, “Pluralism and Authenticity: Sufi Paths in post-9/11 New York,” in Sufis in WesternSociety: Global Networking and Locality, eds. R. Geaves, M. Dressler, and G. M. Klinkhammer (London:Routledge, 2009), 77–97. Journalistic writings with limited references to Sufi groups in New York areBrad Gooch, Godtalk: Travels in Spiritual America (New York: Alfred Knopf, 2003), 334–361 (the textfocuses on the Nur Ashki Jerrahi and the American Sufi Muslim Association, ASMA); Lisbeth Rocher, andFatima Cherqaoui, D’une foi l’autre. Les conversions à l’Islam en Occident (Paris: Editions du Seuil.1986), 164–175 (this chapter is mainly on the Jerrahis); and Susan Sachs, “Harlem’s Fabric, Bright Threadsof Senegal,” New York Times, 7-28-2003, which is a portrait of the New York Murıd community. Furtherthere are published works by New York Sufis themselves containing interesting anecdotes andautobiographic information, such as Sheikh Nur Al Jerrahi, “The Dream,” ed. S. Barboza, AmericanJihad: Islam after Malcolm X (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 190–200; Selik Baba (Selik Schwartz),“ ‘Does That Mean You’re Not Jewish?’,” ed. S. Barboza, American Jihad: Islam after Malcolm X (NewYork: Doubleday, 1994), 187–189. Some New York Sufi groups offer online information on theiractivities, see, for example, http://www.jerrahi.us/ (Halveti-Jerrahi), http://www.nurashkijerrahi.org/(Nur Ashki Jerrahi), http://www.toubamica.org/ (Murıd Islamic Community in North America) — all lastaccessed May 2010.3 For a general account of the American Sufi scene, its history, and general characteristics, see MarciaHermansen, “Hybrid Identity Formations in Muslim America: the Case of American Sufi Movements,”Muslim World 90 (2000): 158–197; idem, “In the Garden of American Sufi Movements: Hybrids andPerennials,” in New Trends and Developments in the World of Islam, ed. P. Clarke (London: LuzacOriental Press, 1997), 155–178; idem, “Literary Production of Western Sufi Movements,” in Sufism in theWest, eds. J. Malik, and J. Hinnells (London: Routledge, 2006), 28–48; Allan Godlas, Sufism, the West,and Modernity, http://www.uga.edu/islam/sufismwest.html (best web resource on contemporarySufism, with many annotated links relevant to Sufism in the U.S.); see also Jay Kinney, “Sufism Comesto America,” Gnosis. A Journal of the Western Inner Traditions 30 (Winter 1994): 18–23. For Sufism inthe West more generally see the following edited volumes with many interesting studies on particularcountries and communities: David Westerlund, ed., Sufism in Europe and North America (London:Routledge, 2004); Jamal Malik, and John Hinnells, eds., Sufism in the West (London: Routledge, 2006);and Ron Geaves, Markus Dressler, and Gritt M. Klinkhammer, eds., Sufis in Western Society: GlobalNetworking and Locality (London: Routledge, 2009).4 Hermansen, In the Garden of American Sufi Movements.

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in proving the compatibility of Sufism and Islam with American values or, alternatively,define Sufism in universalist terms transcending cultural localities. These types ofsocially and culturally adaptive Sufi communities are particularly attractive for converts.Finally, there are U.S.-grown Sufi circles that have altogether abandoned the traditionalforms of tarıqa organization, but still follow traditional patterns insofar as they tend tobe organized around personalities believed to embody religious (“Sufi”) charisma, andcontinue devotional practices typical for Sufism.5

Sharı‘a and Mysticism, Sufis and anti-SufisThe title of this article is supposed to convey two things. On the one side it suggests

a tension between two idealtypical orientations of Islam: legalist (sharı ‘a-based)exclusivism, and mysticist universalism. This tension has a long history within Islamicdiscourse, and can be traced back to the very beginnings of the Sufi movement.6 On theother side, however, the — mostly law-based — criticism of Sufism by other Muslimsdoes not necessarily mean categorical rejection of Islamic traditions of mysticismaltogether. The relationship between Sufism and its inner-Islamic critics is much morecomplex and ambivalent, as the examples of such different but influential thinkers as themedieval theologian Ahmad

�Ghazalı, the Ayatollah Khomeini, and the contemporary

Muslim intellectual Tariq Ramadan show. What these men share, despite the seemingincomparability of their particular life contexts and the very different theologies andpolitics they represent, is an understanding of Islam where legalist and mystical thoughtgo hand in hand.

Sharı ‘a and forms of Islamic mysticism, or tasawwuf�

(Sufism) are concepts highlycontested among Sufi-Muslims and associated with different levels of meaning. Untiltoday, these concepts function as signposts in debates on Islamic legitimacy andauthority. As for Muslim discourses in the West, the following ideal-typical distinctionappears to hold true in most cases: while those who focus on shar ı ‘a stress commitmentto the outward laws and norms of Islam as a precondition for being Sufi, mysticists stressthe universal validity of Sufism. In other words, the sharı ‘a approach to Sufism isexclusive (“for Muslims only”), while the mysticist approach is deliberately inclusive(“Sufism transcends religious boundaries”).

While sharı ‘a is a distinctively Muslim concept the origins of which date back to thebeginnings of the Islamic tradition, indigenous Islamic terms such as tasawwuf

�, ma‘rifa,

and ‘irfan convey much more specific meanings, where sharı ‘a is only one possible point

5 For a brief overview on different categorizations of Sufi groups see Hermansen, Hybrid IdentityFormations in Muslim America, 158–161.6 See Frederick de Jong, and Bernd Radtke, eds., Islamic Mysticism Contested. Thirteen Centuries ofControversies and Polemics (Leiden: Brill, 1999). Therein especially Gerard Böwering, “Early Sufismbetween Persecution and Heresy,” 45–67; Josef van Ess, “Sufism and its Opponents. Reflections onTopoi, Tribulations, and Transformations,” 25f. See also Elizabeth Sirriyeh, Sufis and anti-Sufis. TheDefence, Rethinking and Rejection of Sufism in the Modern World (Richmond: Curzon Press, 1999).

Between Legalist Exclusivism and Mysticist Universalism

433© 2010 Hartford Seminary.

of reference.7 As a prescriptive term, the word Sufi itself was coined in the 10th century.8

Within the Islamic tradition, and this includes the tradition of tasawwuf�

, the term hasalways been ambivalent, and sometimes even been used to express religious hypocrisy.9

Contemporary Muslim appropriations of the concept mysticism reflect an opening of theboundaries of Islamic discourse. The common rendition of Sufism as Islamic Mysticism —used more often by interested outsiders than by Muslims — is thereby an ambiguous actthat presupposes the universality (or, intercultural translatability) of mysticism as areligious category.10 As Richard King has argued, the modern Western notion of mysticismidealizes a religiosity that is very individualist, private, otherworldly, elitist, irrational, androoted within particular Euro-Christian experiences.11 The Muslim discipline oftasawwuf

�and its derivates, on the other hand, have very social, public, worldly, popular,

and rational dimensions.12 Approaching Sufism through the lens of mysticism thuslyprivileges the literary, ascetic, contemplative, and ecstatic manifestations of Sufism,13

represented, for example, in the poetry of Mevlana Jalal al-Dın Rumı and the MevleviOrder named after him and known in the West as the “Whirling Dervishes,” whileneglecting its more sober and this-worldly elements that are not hesitant to get involvedin politics and at times even militant action.14 Thus, the first problem with the label

7 See Carl W Ernst, The Shambhala Guide to Sufism (Boston: Shambala, 1997), 18–31.8 Ibid, 20.9 Ibid, 26f.10 Muslim Sufis often show strong awareness of the conceptual differences between “Mysticism” and theIslamic discipline of tasawwuf

�. Baba Recep (d. 1995), for example, the Albanian Bektashi sheikh who

migrated to the U.S. in 1952 and opened a Bektashi lodge in Detroit in 1954, made a categoricaldistinction between Mysticism and mystic. He reserves the term mysticism exclusively for aspects ofnon-Islamic religious traditions while discussing tasawwuf

�(Sufism) under the caption “mystic.” Baba

Recep, in Zer I Bektasizm I/1 [1954], p. 11 as referenced in Natalie Clayer, “Amerika BirlesikDevletleri’nde Yayınlanan Arnavut Bektasilik Dergisi (1954–1955): Bektasiligin Yolu,” Hacı Bektas VeliArastirma Dergisi 32 (2004): 241–254.11 Richard King, Orientalism and Religion. Postcolonial Theory, India and “the Mystic East” (London:Routledge, 1999), 20–23.12 Omid Safi, The Politics of Knowledge in Premodern Islam: Negotiating Ideology and Religious Inquiry(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), chap. 5.13 Two well-known scholars who projected such a view of mysticism on Sufism are AnnemarieSchimmel and Spencer Trimingham. For a critique of the latter see Ernst, Shambala Guide, 130f.14 Prominent examples of Sufi-led or inspired militancy are, for example, the Naqshbandı resistanceagainst Russian colonialism in the first half of the 19th century led by Sheikh Shamil (see Moshe Gramer,Muslim Resistance to the Tsar. Shamil and the Conquest of Chechnia and Daghestan (Franc Coss:London, 1994); the Sheikh Said Rebellion in 1925 against the secularizing and centralizing politics ofearly Republican Turkey (Martin van Bruinessen, Agha, Shaikh and State. The Social and PoliticalStructures of Kurdistan (London: Zed, 1992); the Sudanese Mahdı movement’s uprising againstBritish-Egyptian rule in the late 19th century (see R. Seán O’Fahey, “Sufism in Suspense: The SudaneseMahdi and the Sufis,” In Islamic Mysticism Contested. Thirteen Centuries of Controversies and Polemics,eds. F. de Jong, and B. Radtke (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 267–282. More recently, Sufis of the Naqshbandı andthe Qadirı orders were influential in the Afghan resistance against the Russian occupation; the ordersserved as networks for political alliances amongst the mujahidun (Ahmed Rashid, Taliban. MilitantIslam, Oil & Fundamentalism in Central Asia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 84f. For further



“Islamic Mysticism” is that it captures only half the story of Sufism.15 The second problemis that not every Muslim mystic is necessarily a Sufi — meaning there are mystical practicesand doctrines within different strands of Islam that are not necessarily counted by itspractitioners as expressions of Sufism. Such mystical, but not necessarily “Sufi,” tenden-cies are found most prominently within Shiite Islam, but also in many regionalinterpretations of Sunni Islam — especially in contexts where the process of theobjectification of Islam has not yet undermined the validity of traditional local practices,where boundaries between religious traditions often tend to be more fluid.

The politics of positioning Sufism towards Islam is not only a matter of inner-Islamicdiscourse. As academics we get easily involved in these politics. When I began myresearch within the Muslims in New York City Project, this very research contextconfronted me with the problem of how to distinguish between Muslim Sufis andnon-Muslim Sufis. This proved to be rather challenging. Within Islam the meanings of thesignifier “Sufi” vary depending on historical and cultural context. Not every Muslim whopractices tasawwuf

�with or without belonging to a Sufi order will approve of the term

“Sufi.”16 This said, one will nevertheless have to acknowledge that the term Sufism is wellestablished among a majority of those practicing tasawwuf

�in the West. For the purpose

of my project I decided that it would be best not to subscribe to particular definitions of“Muslim Sufi,” and “non-Muslim Sufi,” but, rather to focus on how these boundaries areconstructed and contested in Sufi-Muslim discourse and practice. There are threereasons for which I chose this approach. Firstly, I did not want to give myself theauthority to make normative claims about constitutive elements of Islamic identity andin that way indirectly contribute to the normalization of inner-Islamic difference.Secondly, I did not want to subscribe simply to mainstream Muslim discourse, in whichthe legitimacy of Sufism is passionately debated and very often denied. And thirdly, I didnot want to withdraw to a nominalist position that simply gives preference to theself-understandings of particular Sufi groups. Instead, I perceive both Sufi and non-SufiMuslims as participating in a continuous debate on the meanings of Islam. In this senseI regard all those Sufis who participate in the negotiation of Muslim belief, identity, andpractice as part of the Islamic tradition. I consider “non-Muslim” only those Sufis who donot bother relating themselves to the Islamic tradition, and are likewise ignored by thoseself-identifying as Muslim.17

references see Jamal Malik, “Introduction,” in Sufism in the West, eds. J. Malik, and J. Hinnells (London:Routledge, 2006), 9f.15 Cf. William C. Chittick, Faith and Practice of Islam: Three Thirteenth Century Sufi Texts (Albany:SUNY Press, 1992), 168–173.16 Abdul Qudus, a Qadiriyya sheikh from New York, rightly urged me to emphasize this point.17 My understanding of the Islamic tradition as dynamic discourse is inspired by Talal Asad, The Idea ofan Anthropology of Islam (Washington: Center for Contemporary Arab Studies Georgetown University,1986). My only criticism is with the exclusive character in which the Koran and Hadith as “foundingtexts” are in his argument posited as reference points for Islam as a “discursive tradition” (ibid, 14). Thequestion needs to be raised whether, besides these founding texts, devotional and charismatic practicescan not also function as reference points for what is counted as Islamic. Sufism would be a point in case.



In order to understand the dynamics of the contemporary Muslim debate on Sufism,one has to acknowledge that Sufis have in many parts of the Muslim world since the 19th

century been pushed towards the political and cultural margins. Anti-Sufi rhetoricintensified from two directions. For one, modernist Muslim rhetoric associated Sufismwith irrationality and superstition and regarded the powerful Sufi orders as obstacles onthe path to successful modernization and the establishment of secular nation-states.Parallel to and interrelated with the modernist critique, Muslim revivalist discourse sawSufism as a deviation from Islam and a major cause for the Muslims’ failure in keepingup with the economic and scientific development of Euro-Christian societies. Today,Muslim revivalists are the most active in the proliferation of anti-Sufi propaganda. Inresponse, many Sufis refer to their revivalist critics as Wahhabıs, a term that functionswithin this rhetoric as an antonym to Sufism. This said, however, there are also Muslimand Sufi voices that question rigid dichotomies that split the Muslims in two opposedcategories of Sufis and anti-Sufis (“Wahhabıs”) and caution for a more nuanced picture.

The revivalists’ standard accusation against Sufism goes roughly as follows: Sufiswould give their passed and living sheikhs undue veneration. Hence, Sufis commit shirk,“associationism,” i.e., the practice of bestowing divine attributes to something other thanGod. Shirk is considered the gravest sin against Islam’s strict monotheism, according towhich only God can be the object of veneration. Further, Sufis believe in mediationbetween human beings and God through their sheikhs, although Islam would notrecognize such mediation by humans. Finally, Sufis would engage in questionablepractices such as vocal dhikr (chanting the names of God and ritual formulas), music anddance (sama‘), and submission to their sheikhs. All of these practices would benon-Islamic, and constitute acts of illegal innovation (bid ‘a), which is another severeviolation of the Islamic religion (dın). In sum, Sufis would be deviating from the dın asexplicated by the sharı ‘a. Consequently, their belonging to the Muslim community(umma) is severely questioned.

Such anti-Sufi rhetoric is widespread and impacts on how mainstream Muslimsperceive Sufism. This has repercussions for Sufi Muslims and the ways in which theyposition themselves towards the Islamic tradition. Within the Muslim community, theSufis of New York often feel misunderstood, marginalized, discriminated, and pressuredto prove their legitimacy and authenticity as Muslims. Visiting mosques and talking tofellow Muslims, Sufis sometimes prefer to conceal their Sufi identity. A member of theSufi Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship explained that he sensed whether he was welcomeor not, and that he preferred to visit mosques with Imams open to Sufism.18 On the samesubject matter another New York Sufi told me: “I pretend I am not a Sufi when I go toother Muslims and all. I hear them talking about Sufism and try to get their view. And Ihear a lot of things: that they don’t like it and stuff.”19 Similar sentiments were expressedin the two focus group interviews with New York Sufis conducted by the Muslims in New

18 Interview with Ali, 8/15/2003.19 Interview with F., 7/22/2003.



York (MUSNY) Project in 2000 and 2003. In the first interview, a member of theNaqshbandi order complained that “the Wahhabıs” were “trying to co-opt the differentmosques in New York City.”20 He was seconded by a member of the Tıjanı order, whoexplained that “Wahhabiyya and other Muslim organizations . . . fight against the Sufi;but . . . they don’t know our Sufism — that’s why they fight against us.”21 In the sameinterview, another Naqshbandi member, who introduced himself as the representative ofhis order for prison affairs, claimed that Wahhabı propaganda would be particularlystrong in the prison system, where they tried to gain converts by controlling the literatureon Islam entering the prisons.22

With these examples I do not want to suggest that Sufi Muslims are alwaysconfronted with suspicion or hostility by non-Sufi Muslims, but it has to be recognizedthat anti-Sufi sentiments are widespread. In response to the accusations they are facing,Muslim Sufis insist categorically that Sufism is not an un-Islamic innovation butthoroughly Islamic. In fact, they often argue that a rejection of Sufism would contradictthe very spirit and tradition of Islam. Some Sufis engage in open counterattacks againstanti-Sufi neo-revivalist movements. As Ron Geaves has shown, especially for GreatBritain and the U.S., there are significant Sufi-Muslim attempts to instrumentalize theterm ahl al-sunna wa al-jama‘a (“people of the Tradition and the Communion”) for akind of neo-Sufi revivalism, i.e., a claim for re-establishing Sufism as the center ofIslamic faith and practice.23 In the West, this attempt, the modern form of which goesback to the South Asian Deobandi school,24 appears to be spearheaded by theNaqshbandiyya-Haqqaniyya

�¯ .25 It will be very interesting to observe whether, as Geaves

rightly asks, this counterattack will lead to a broader revivalism of Sufism along moremainstream lines.26 Since the appropriation of features of more mainstream Muslimdiscourse and practice at the same time carries the danger of facilitating assimilation intothis mainstream, the success of a revival of Sufism qua claims to represent Islamictraditionalism seems to be questionable to me.

20 Sufi Focus Group Interview, Muslims in New York Project (New York: Columbia University),transcript, 9/12/2000.21 Ibid.22 Ibid.23 Ron Geaves, “Learning the Lessons from the Neo-Revivalist and Wahhabı Movements: the Counter-attack of New Sufi Movements in the UK,” in Sufism in the West, eds. J. Malik, and J. Hinnells (London:Routledge, 2006), 142–159.24 For an overview account of 20th century Sufi reformers re-claiming the Muslim mainstream seeElizabeth Sirriyeh, “Sufi Thought and its Reconstruction,” in Islamic Thought in the Twentieth Century,eds. S. Taji-Farouki, and B. M. Nafi (London: Institute for Ismaili Studies, 2004), 104–127.25 Geaves, Learning the Lessons from the Neo-Revivalist, 143–155. In earlier publications, Geaves has notshied away from openly endorsing such Sufi Muslim claims on the notion ahl al-sunna wa al-jama‘a;see Ron Geaves, The Sufis of Britain. An Exploration of Muslim Identity (Cardiff: Cardiff AcademicPress, 2000); idem “Tradition, Innovation, and Authentication: Replicating the ‘Ahl as-Sunna wa Jamaat’in Britain,” Comparative Islamic Studies 1 (2005): 1–20.26 Geaves, Learning the Lessons from the Neo-Revivalist, 153.



In order to get a clearer picture of how Sufi Muslims conceive of the relationshipbetween Sufism and Islam, I suggest distinguishing between two interpretations ofSufism which are, although they suggest difference and tension, not meant to bemutually exclusive in any categorical sense. Rather, I understand these two interpreta-tions, which I call the sharı ‘a-first approach and the universalist mysticism approach, asheuristic concepts that allow us to articulate identity construction and othering asdynamic processes, where positions change/develop within the constraints and oppor-tunities of complex social environments.

The Shar ı ‘a-first Approach, or Islamic Exclusivism

“Sufism without Islam is like a candle burning in the open without a lantern.”Sheikh MuzafferOzak27

The sharı ‘a-first approach conceives of Sufism as firmly rooted in Islam, anchoredin the ritual and legal requirements and norms of sharı ‘a law. In Sufi discourse, sharı ‘acan be a metaphor for the importance of being Muslim first (or “following the dın”),implying that one can only become a Sufi after first subscribing to the requirements ofMuslim practice. Sufis arguing in this manner often take an explicit stance against thoseSufis who are more lenient in their interpretation of the sharı ‘a, a stance that sometimesfinds expression in pejorative terms such as “pseudo-Sufis,” “cocktail Sufis,” or “Mysti-cists.” A member of the Naqshbandiyya-Haqqaniyya

�¯ order expressed this view in the

following way: “[In regards of] Sufism in this country . . . people are interested in termsof the Mysticism . . . They don’t know anything about sharı ‘a . . . They want theMysticism, they don’t want the sharı ‘a. They don’t want the law.”28 Later in the interviewhe added: “We’re not Mysticism. We’re not a different group. We are Islam, we are themainstream Islam. And our voice is not heard. Because we may not be in certainpositions of power to dictate that . . . All these other groups, you know, they’re off-base.They’re off-key. They’re missing the greater point.”29

The speaker positions himself and his tradition against two others. The first other isMysticism, that is those Sufis who “don’t want the sharı‘a,” and are outside the abode ofIslam, “off-base.” In contrast to the “Mysticists,” he emphasizes that “we are mainstreamIslam.” The we-are-mainstream claim can be read as a response to anti-Sufi revivalists,some of which are very active in targeting the particular Naqshbandiyya branch to whichthe interviewee belongs. For this Naqshbandi, sharı ‘a law is the necessary andindispensable precondition for becoming a Sufi. References to Islamic law are alsoprominent in sharı ‘a-first Sufis’ conceptualizations of what exactly being a Sufi, or adervish (lit. “poor”) means and entails.

27 Ozak as quoted in Mehmet Dede, “Islam: The Spiritual Matrix, Page II,” The Lightmillenium 2002(Summer) http://lightmillennium.org/summer_02/mdede_spiritual_matrix_p2.html.28 Sufi Focus Group, 2000.29 Ibid.



“Being Sufi” is often understood as expressing a goal — a goal, however, that, unlike“being Muslim,” can only be achieved with God’s willing. In this line, a member ofthe Spring Valley branch of the Halveti-Jerrahi Order declared, “I am a MuslimalhamdulilLah, dervish inshaAllah” (I am a Muslim, praise be to God; I am a Sufi Godwilling).30 The quote conveys both a sense of privilege (being Muslim) and a sense ofeffort and dependency (aiming to be/become a Sufi).

Other conceptualizations of Sufism focus on the “inner,” or “spiritual” dimension ofIslam. A female New York Sufi Muslim explained that “Sufis are just Muslims that are justmore inclined towards spirituality.”31 In the mosque she is visiting and where her Sheikhserves as Imam, everybody would be considered a Muslim first and then whateversecond. Despite that, her Muslim identity is challenged by non-Sufi Muslims. Sherecounts that when visiting other mosques and admitting which Imam she usually wentto, she would receive comments like “Well, you know what you are doing? Being part ofthe Sufi group is against our religion.”32

The Universalist Approach, or Mysticist Inclusivism“The spiritual tree has several branches. I am an orthodox member of every holytradition.”Sheikh Nur al-Jerrahi (Lex Hixon)33

The universalist approach to Sufism has in the West been popularized by fashionableliterature such as the widely read books of Idries Shah, and other authors,34 who suit theinterest of a readership open to explore “spirituality” in a trans-traditional way.35 As forNew York, the differences between this kind of universalist approach to Sufism and thesharı ‘a-first approach become apparent when contrasting two branches of theHalveti-Jerrahi order, which has its main center in Turkey. Both branches were initiatedby Sheikh Muzaffer Ozak from Istanbul, who visited the U.S. and New York regularlybetween 1978 and his passing away in 1986.36 Sheikh Muzaffer authorized several of hisstudents in the U.S. to continue the Jerrahi tradition, and by the early 1980s two groupshad been established in New York.37 One is based in lower Manhattan and meets atMasjid al-Farah; the second circle meets in Spring Valley, where it maintains a beautifulmosque, which also serves as a Sufi convent. Both groups are connected to and claim tobe recognized by the main center of the order in Istanbul — although this recognitionseems to not always been certain in the case of the Manhattan branch. From their

30 Ibid.31 Sufi Focus Group Interview, Muslims in New York Project (New York: Columbia University),transcript, 6/2/2003.32 Ibid.33 Hixon as quoted in Rocher/Cherqaoui, D’une foi l’autre, 175.34 For an example of this genre see Idries Shah, The Way of the Sufi (New York: Dutton, 1969).35 Sirriyeh, Sufi Thought and its Reconstruction, 123.36 Rocher/Cherqaoui, D’une foi l ’autre, 164f.37 Ibid, passim.



formation onwards there have been strong tensions between the two groups, reflectedin different styles of leadership and very different approaches to Islam and Sufism.38

The group in Spring Valley, led by the Turkey-born sheikh Tosun Bayrak, istraditionally oriented. The largest group of the dervishes is of Turkish origin, althoughthey also have non-Turkish Muslims, as well as a significant amount of converts amongstthem.39 They separate the sexes for their rituals (prayer, meal, dhikr ),40 conduct theirprayers and invocations in the traditional forms using Arabic and Turkish, and theirteaching is solidly based on an understanding of Islam that regards sharı ‘a as aprecondition for tarıqa¯ (the Sufi path).

The difference between the two New Yorker Jerrahi circles seems to have broadenedafter Sheikh Muzaffer’s death. Yurdaer Doganata polemically remarked with regard tothe current name of the Manhattan Jerrahis, who recently began calling themselves NurAshki Jerrahis (“Ashki” was the penname of Muzaffer Ozak and “Nur” is the Muslim nameOzak had given to his favorite American disciple, Lex Hixon), that Sufi orders would benamed after saints, and the last saint of the Jerrahis was its founder Nuredddin Jerrahi:“We do not consider Lex Hixon a saint as some others apparently do.”41 In the Jerrahitradition, subordinate branches of the order have to renew their affiliation with each newGrand Sheikh after a preceding Grand Sheikh has passed away.42 Members of SheikhTosun’s group claim “that Hixon and Sheikha Fariha have never had a relationship withthe head of the order in Istanbul.”43 According to Doganata, “Lex Hixon broke thelineage and proclaimed his own sect after Sheikh Muzaffer Efendi and never took handfrom Sheikh Safer Efendi [Sefer Dal (d. 1999), the grand sheikh succeeding MuzafferOzak, MD]. Respecting his decision to separate his path from that of the Jerrahi Order,I guess it would be best not to call them Halveti-Jerrahis.”44 On the other hand,Sheikha Fariha, who became the leader of the Manhattan group after Lex Nur’s passing,asserts that she “renewed her affiliation with the new Grand Sheikh of the main order inIstanbul, Sefer Dal [after LexNur’s passing].”45 Fariha also seems to have gained thisrecognition by the current Grand Sheikh of the order, Sheikh Tugrul Muradi Efendi.46

38 Interview with A., a longtime Jerrahi initiate, 6/19/2003; cf. Rocher/Cherqaoui, D’une foi l ’autre, 174.39 According to Yurdaer Doganata, the declared successor (khalıfa) of Sheikh Tosun, as much as 70%— a percentage that, however, seems rather high to me if compared to my own observations. MichaelWolfe, “Invitation and Education: How Two American Branches of a Turkish Sufi Order Use the Internetto Educate Newcomers,” unpublished research paper developed during the graduate course IslamicEducation in the United States, Teachers College (New York: Columbia University, Spring 2005), 22.40 Personal observation, July 2003; cf. Rocher/Cherqaoui, D’une foi l ’autre, 165.41 Email to Michael Wolfe, 3/21/2006, made available to me with Mr. Doganata’s permission.42 Interview with Abdul Qudus, an initiate in the Jerrahi order, 6/24/2003.43 Wolfe, Invitation and Education, 30.44 Email to Michael Wolfe, 5/4/2005, made available to me with Mr. Doganata’s permission.45 Email clarification by Sheikha Fariha via Michael Wolfe, 3-29-2006.46 This is confirmed by a Nur Ashki Jerrahi dervish who, interviewed by Michael Wolfe, claimed “thatSheikha Fariha had traveled to Istanbul and received the Grand Sheikh’s blessing” (Wolfe, Invitationand Education, 31f.).



The Nur Ashki Jerrahi circle is ethnically very diverse and numerically dominated by— mainly Caucasian — converts. The tension between Islamic self-legitimation anduniversalist claims runs through the self-representation of the group on its website,where Islamic symbols are framed within the broader scheme of universalist mysticism.47

(Figure 1) It is the understanding of this order that the ritual and legal aspects of Islamare subordinate to the universal spiritual quest. Accordingly, it is possible to be a regularmember of the group without converting to Islam, although I was told that there is acertain expectation to undertake this step eventually.48 The circle’s approach to Islam fitswell with a statement by Sheikh Muzaffer, who, when asked with reference to some ofhis American students whether it would be possible to be Sufi without being Muslim,explained that “yes, that happens from time to time. It’s all a process, starting witheducation, imitation, and mediation . . . After a while, they [the new non-Muslim

47 http://www.nurashkijerrahi.org, last accessed 5/13/2010.48 Interview with B., a long time member of the group, 7/31/2003.

Figure 1. Nur Ashki Jerrahi Sufi Order: http://www.nurashkijerrahi.org/main.htm



students, MD] mature, they see the Truth, and they accept it.”49 On a different occasion,however, Muzaffer Ozak asserted his belief in the necessity of Islamic orthopraxy, whichfits better with the understanding of the Spring Valley group: “One who does not believein the obligatory commandments leaves the religion and becomes an unbeliever, mayAllah protect us from this.”50

When Muslim Sufis allow gradual conversion, as found quite often among Suficommunities in Europe and Northern America, this can be seen as an adjustment tonon-Islamic environments. In the case of the Nur Ashki Jerrahis, however, theiruniversalism does not appear to be of a transient nature, but rather expresses aredefinition of Sufi Muslim identity within a religiously pluralist environment, attractingan audience that values religious openness more than dogmatic fixation.51 Similarobservations were made by Leonard Lewisohn with regard to the Ni‘matu’llahı Sufiorder, which maintains about 20 Sufi centers in the West, one of which is located inManhattan. He has noted a stark difference in Ni‘matu’llahı practices and Islamicrequirements in the West as compared to the Iranian homeland. In the former, newinitiates are taught the basic Muslim prayers, but are not hold to observe external sharı ‘arequirements such as fasting during the month of Ramadan.52 Yet another approach istaken by the Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship. No other group embodies inner-Islamicpluralism so thoroughly. As Gisela Webb has shown, “there have emerged three majororientations in the Fellowship: those who come for Bawa’s wisdom teachings on the

49 Rocher/Cherqaoui, D’une foi l ’autre, 172f. There are many personal accounts from Western Sufis thatappear to confirm this approach to conversion to Islam as a gradual process. A certain Leyla al-Jerrahi,a member of the Jerrahi Sufi Order in Ontario, explains in an internet discussion group, in response tothe question as to whether one should first become a Muslim before entering a Sufi order: “I personallywould never have become a Muslim if it was not for Sufism. It was through Sufism that I did learn thebasics of Islam and am starting to understand the Holy Qur ’an a bit further . . . In our gatherings weoften have people from other faiths come and sometimes even those without faith. Anyone that walksin the door is welcome.” (http://www.beliefnet.com/boards/message_list.asp?discussionID=207936;last accessed 5/14/2010).50 Sheikh Muzaffer al-Jerrahi Ozak, Adornment of Hearts (Westport: Pir Press, 1991), 89.51 This is impressively captured in a lecture by Sheikha Fariha, entitled the The Banquet of Friends, theFeast of Love :

“The banquet represents the return of us all into God through the mystical body of the blessedMuhammad, enlightened Fatima, holy Jesus, exalted Mariam, sublime Moses, truthful Abraham, and allthe sources of truth, Buddha, Avatar, Sage, women and men from the East and West merged in God,peace be upon them all. The banquet is the One Being living the exalted life of Love. Simply byaccepting the invitation, saying ‘yes’, and linking ourselves heart to heart we are absorbed into themystical body and returned to our original state in God. The banquet is initiation into universal tariqat,as the light of love kindled at the table of prophecy leaps from heart to heart. The banquet is holyfriendship, loving each other in God, as God . . . Finally we have come to know ourself, and have letgo of limited identities. We can say with Rumi, ‘I am neither Muslim, nor Christian nor Jew . . .’ We arethe empty vessel of divine manifestation. Whatever God manifests in our heart moment by moment iswho we are.” http://www.nurashkijerrahi.org/teachings/union_003.htm, accessed 5/14/2010.52 Leonard Lewisohn, “Persian Sufism in the Contemporary West. Reflections on the Ni’matu’llahiDiaspora,” in Sufism in the West, eds. J. Malik, and J. Hinnells (London: Routledge, 2006), 49–70, esp.53.



interior, universalist-core experience of Islam alone . . . , those who come for themosque and “non-Sufi” Islamic religious practices and celebrations, and those who comefor both the mystical teachings of Islam and the exoteric practices of normative Islam.”53

The Manhattan Jerrahis were initially led by Sheikh Muzaffer’s close disciple SheikhNur al-Jerrahi (Lex Hixon), who maintained the leadership of the community until hisdeath in 1995. He was a true universalist, practicing not only Islam, but also orthodoxChristianity (himself an initiated orthodox priest) and Zen Buddhism among other faiths.In Sheikh Nur’s own words: “In the Sufi world . . . conventional differences [betweenreligions, MD] fall away . . . It doesn’t mean that we adopt other religious forms. We staywith the pillars of Islam and with the Sunnah of the Prophet Muhammad, upon him bepeace. But we express it in a totally universal manner, in which there are no morebarriers or walls [between religions, MD].”54 Nur says further: “I can worship along witheveryone of every faith. I feel entirely comfortable with that because I don’t believe thatthere are pluralities of faith.”55

After Sheikh Nur, Sheikha Fariha al-Jerrahi (born Philippa de Menil), also among thefirst generation of American students of Sheikh Muzaffer, succeeded as head of the order,assisted by Sheikha Amina al-Jerrahi.56 Under SheikhaFariha’s leadership the orderremained committed to the universalist approach embodied by Sheikh Nur. Sheikha-Fariha understands tarıqa¯ as the “path of ease”57 and vehemently rejects compulsion inreligious matters. For example, she rejects obliging women to wear a scarf whenparticipating in the circle’s meetings: “It just seems to me nonessential. We’re concernedwith essence, with reaching God, not with wearing a scarf or not wearing a scarf. That’snot important.”58 For Sheikha Fariha, Sufis are “people who have connected into thedeepest essence of the heart. One can use the word Sufi to refer to the mystical soul.There are Christian Sufis, Jewish Sufis.”59 The strong adjustment of this Sufi circle to theAmerican environment is further expressed in the dominant use of English as rituallanguage. Already under Sheikh Nur the circle translated some of its hymns and dhikrformulas.60 This lingual adjustment exemplifies how strongly the Nur Ashki Jerrahisself-identify as indigenous American Sufi movement anchored firmly within Americanculture. This is also reflected in what I would refer to as Abrahamian orientation,

53 Gisela Webb, “Third-Wave Sufism in America and the Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship,” in Sufism inthe West, eds. J. Malik, and J. Hinnells (London: Routledge, 2006), 95.54 Nur Al Jerrahi, The Dream, 195.55 Ibid, 198.56 For an illuminating interview with Shaykha Fariha on the history of the order see Gooch, Godtalk,340–351.57 Shaykha Fariha al-Jerrahi, Tariqat, the West, and the Path of Ease. A Talk by Shaykha Farihaal-Jerrahi, 1999, http://www.nurashkijerrahi.org/path.htm, last accessed: 5/14/2010.58 Gooch, Godtalk, 349. Also, the group separates the sexes during their ritual practices only in asymbolic manner.59 Shaykha Fariha al-Jerrahi, The Inner Jihad. A Sufi Point of View, http://www.nurashkijerrahi.org/path.htm, last accessed: 5/14/2010.60 Interview with A., 6/19/2003.



expressed, for example, in the communal recitation of the Christian Lord’s Prayer andthe Jewish Shma Israel.61 This practice should be understood as an expression ofopenness to the monotheism of the “Abrahamic traditions,” which dominate religiouslife in North America and strikes a strong cord with the personal histories of many of itsmembers, a significant amount of which has Jewish or Christian background.

For some Sufi Muslims, the liberal and universalist approach of the Nur AshkiJerrahis clearly transgresses the borders of the Islamically permissible. During myfieldwork I repeatedly met Sufis expressing their uneasiness about the Nur AshkiJerrahis, mainly due to the fact that they would be lax in matters of sharı ‘a. S., a femaleconvert to Islam, called them in one of our conversations “Sufi-Sufis,” explaining thatthey were “not real.”62 A similar stance was expressed to me by a student of Sheikh Nur,who stopped visiting the community after Nur’s passing due to the group’s universalismand lack of attention to the sharı ‘a.63 Another major criticism against the group is causedby the fact that they are headed by two women.64 This led in some extreme cases todisruption of the group’s meetings and verbal assaults.65 While I met many Sufis openlyrejecting the idea of a woman leading a Sufi circle, others expressed deep respect for itand find it a timely and appropriate development. Many are rather ambivalent withregard to this topic. This is expressed, for example, in the following statement by a whiteAmerican convert: “I think it is very healthy that women are so active and central to thatgroup, and no doubt as man I have issues with the two.”66

The transgression of religious boundaries, which is characteristic of the universalistapproach, can go as far as to see in religion but a transitory means for “spiritual”advancement. The following section of an interview with a member of the BawaMuhaiyaddeen Fellowship, in which we discussed the meaning of religion, will illustratethis point:

MD [Dressler]: But at that level, there is no religion?

Ali: There is none of that. La ilaha illa Allah: There is no religion, there is just God.There’s just one. The religion comes into the duality, the separation, the conflict.

MD: So the highest level of religion is to overcome religion?

Ali: Is to overcome — La ilaha —, exactly . . . It was a step to getting there.

MD: Vehicle.

61 Personal observation in early 2002.62 Field notes, 6-20-2003.63 Interview with M.A., 6-24-2003.64 Sheikha Fariha, and, second to her in the hierarchy of the circle, Sheikha Amina.65 For a description of one such incident see Gooch, Godtalk, 350f. Clearly, however, the tensions goboth ways. As I was told by a Columbia University graduate student who used to visit the Nur AshkiJerrahis, references to some of the more traditionalist New York Sufi groups as “jihadis” were quitecommon among them.66 Interview with A., 6/19/2003.



Ali: Yeah, it’s a vehicle. Since I’m here and Sufism is there, how am I going to getthere? The religions are the steps that take me there.67

While the sharı ‘a-first approach subordinates Sufism to Islam, arguing that theformer can only be practiced on a distinctively Islamic basis — understanding sharı ‘a asa prerequisite for tarıqa¯ (technical term for the Sufi path) —, the universalist approachrelativizes the Islamic monopoly on Sufism by stressing the latter’s trans-religiouscharacter. It would be wrong, however, to conclude from this distinction — which takesadherence to Islamic law as main criterion — an absolute antagonism between twoalways clearly separable camps. Although the significance given to sharı ‘a clearly is amain factor dividing different Sufi currents, it is not the only one, and also there are othercore features of Sufism where there is more commonality. For example, most Sufiswould agree that Sufism relates to the “inner dimension of Islam” (the ¯batin

�), the

meanings behind the visible surface ( ¯�zahir), by some also referred to as “the mystical”

or “the spiritual.” This, in addition to Sufi piety, which focuses on overcoming the ego(nafs), the “greater jihad,” in order to get closer to Allah, would distinguish Sufi-Islamfrom non-Sufi Islam. The look beyond the visible, be it through asceticism andmeditation in the form of scrupulous soul-searching, or by looking for the hiddenmeanings in the interpretation of the Koran, is indeed characteristic for Sufism.68 I call theSufi focus on the inner dimension of Islam the heart-of-Islam approach. It does not speakdirectly to the location and importance of sharı ‘a and Islamic exclusivism, and thusprevents the contested issue of the boundaries of Islam. Rather, the heart-of-Islamapproach holds that Islam without Sufism would be incomplete since Sufism wouldexpress its most inner meaning. A sharı ‘a teacher of the Senegalese Murıd Suficommunity (which clearly fits into the sharı ‘a-first category) thusly explained when Iasked him about the relationship between Sufism and sharı ‘a that neither sharı ‘a norSufism could be understood independent of each other; rather, they were two aspects ofan entirety.69

Practicing the Sufi Path in New York“So there is no going to the monasteries, no climbing up the Himalayas, no pouring

ashes on your head and sitting cross-legged on nails. You have to go out into the worldand participate.”

Sheikh Tosun Bayrak al-Jerrahi (asked about renunciation in the Sufi-tradition)70

Sufi identity is established not only discursively. It expresses itself in community,practice, and aspects of material culture. The basis of most Sufi practice is the Sufi

67 Interview with Ali, 8/15/2003.68 The intensity of the focus on the inner and the forms in which this inwardness is expressed vary,however, and here the distinctions between the sharı ‘a-first and the universalist approach, respec-tively, become relevant again.69 Conversation at the House of Islam, Harlem, NY, September 9, 2004.70 Bayrak as quoted in What is Enlightenment 18 (no year), http://www.wie.org/j18/bayrak.asp?page=2, last accessed 5/14/2010.



community. While some circles have their own zawiya, a place dedicated to gatheringsand practice, others rent spaces for their weekly meetings, use Sufi friendly mosques, ormeet in private apartments.71 To the extent to which they follow Muslim practicespertaining to worship, holidays, dress code, and dietary rules, Sufi-Muslims obviouslyface the same practical challenges other Muslims do. However, Sufi practice may requireadditional commitment. Most Sufi groups in New York convene once or twice a week.These meetings establish community through activities such as communal meal andprayer, religious instruction (

� �suhba), and the characteristic dhikr ritual, sometimes

accompanied by music, and/or dance. Some groups are led by charismatic sheikhs whoare visited to obtain blessing, healing, or advice in personal matters.

Following their move to North America, many Sufi groups modify their rituals. Amember of a Qadiriyya circle in New York explains that her group, which meets twicea week for dhikr practice, made adjustments “to fit into an American sort of way of life.Meaning that . . . the dhikr is a lot shorter than the original one that we do in Morocco.We’ve taken out a few prayers, and added some . . . and make it more practical.”72 Theintensity of regular Sufi practice can be experienced as conflicting with the constraints ofbusy New York life schedules. An example of this is given in the following story by afemale Sufi practitioner. When she embarked on her Sufi path, B. initially followed agroup in Manhattan that fits into the universalism category. The practice of this circleincluded dhikr and heavy breathing exercises until late at night during weekdays.Eventually she felt a strong conflict between this practice and her work schedule, whichrequired her to get up early in the morning. The experienced tension between her Sufipractice and her job was one of the major reasons why B. eventually stopped visiting thecircle. She then joined another Sufi circle, also of the universalism type, the practice ofwhich was, however, physically less demanding and over all proved more suitable to B.’spersonal needs.73

While most Sufis count the strong sense of community and communal practice amongthe defining elements of their Sufi identity, others follow a more individualistic path.Although a majority of New York Sufis have at some point of their Sufi carrier beeninitiated into a Sufi tarıqa¯ , such an affiliation does not preclude contacts with other Sufipaths. Some Sufis regularly visit meetings of several groups with or without being initiatedinto a particular tradition. In addition to multiple participation and multiple initiation, thepractice of wandering between different Sufi circles is also rather common.74 The classicalfigure of the wandering dervish can indeed be applied quite neatly to some metropolitanSufis. In fact, the wandering dervish is today probably more likely to be encountered inthe dynamic and pluralist environment of Western metropolitan Sufi scenes like that ofNew York than in majority Muslim environments, where adherences tend to be morestable, often along the lines of kinship allegiances and regional bonds. In Western Sufism

71 Sufi Focus Group 2003.72 Ibid.73 Interview with B., 7/31/2003.74 For an elaboration of these trends see Dressler, Pluralism and Authenticity, 88–91.



it is quiet usual to be initiated into several Sufi orders, to change allegiances, and/or toparticipate in different circles at the same time. For some Sufi seekers, Sufism is only atransitory path, and they eventually turn away from Sufi practice and continue theirreligious life in non-Sufi (and sometimes non-Muslim) communities. Many wandering aswell as transient Sufis appear to be searching for an ideal spiritual and social fit. Thecriteria for an ideal fit are mainly expressed in terms of subjectively experienced evidence,as, for example, the emotional connection felt with a Sufi community or a sheikh. Oneshould, however, not disregard the importance of plain sociological factors such aslanguage, cultural and social background, ritual, and doctrinal outlook. There is evidenceto assume that the culture of “Baraka surfing,”75 undoubtedly a characteristic feature ofWestern Sufism in general, is part of a broader commodification of the spiritual, which istypical for secular capitalist societies.76

In contrast to the notion of mysticism as a private and anti-social religious pursuit,Sufis sometimes assert their identities in rather public ways. There are many examples ofSufis in the U.S. who engage, for example, in inter-faith dialogue,77 welfare activities,78

or politics.79 A New York example of Sufism going public is the Murıd Sufi order that hasits organizational and spiritual center in Senegal. The order’s branch in New Yorkconsists of at least several hundred people. Walking through New York neighborhoodswith strong African populations one will find many small businesses run by Murıd, andthe names of these shops and restaurants often point to the sacred center of the Murıduniverse, i.e., Sheykh Ahmadou Bamba (1855–1927), who is the venerated founder ofthe Murıd order, as well as to the sacred city of Touba, where Ahmadou Bamba’s shrineis located. In 1988, the borough of Manhattan honored the saint and gave the Murıdcommunity public recognition by declaring July 28 “Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba Mbacke

75 Hermansen, In the Garden of American Sufi Movements.76 See Jeremy Carrette, and Richard King, Selling Spirituality. The Silent Takeover of Religion (London:Routledge, 2005).77 For example, the ASMA Society (American Sufi Muslim Association, since 2005 firming underAmerican Society for Muslim Advancement) with its headquarters in New York, presided by ImamFeisal Rauf; see the informative website of the group with many references to the writings and dialogueactivities of Imam Feisal: http://asmasociety.org/home/, last accessed 5/14/2010.78 The Halveti-Jerrahis from Spring-Valley have an impressive record of engagement in relief work;while this humanitarian engagement shows a clear focus on Muslim majority countries, it is notrestricted to it as its website reports (http://www.jerrahi.us/en/content/jerrahi_relief_work, lastaccessed 5/13/10). The American Naqshibandi-Haqqanı¯ ¯ group was also engaged in Tsunami reliefwork (http://www.naqshbandi.org/events/tsunami/index2.htm, accessed 2/28/05).79 The politically most ambitious Sufi order in the U.S. is certainly the Naqshbandiyya-Haqqanıyya¯ ¯ . Itspolitical arm, the Islamic Supreme Council of America — presided by Sheikh Hisham Kabbanı,son-in-law and khalıfa of the Turkish-Cypriote Sheikh Nazim al-Haqqanı¯ ¯¯ , and his U.S. Americanrepresentative — entertains a lobby office in Washington D.C. Its website features pictures of HishamKabbanı with heads of state of Muslim and Western countries and sends out a clear message of politicalengagement in the name of world peace. See http://www.islamicsupremecouncil.org/, last accessed5/14/2010. See also Marcia Hermansen, “The Evolution of American Muslim Responses to 9/11,” inIslam and the West post 9/11, eds. R. Geaves, T. Gabriel, Y. Y. Haddad, and J. I. Smith (Aldershot:Ashgate, 2004), 85f.



Day” in Harlem.80 Since 1989, the Murıd celebrate this day annually with a paradethrough Harlem. (Figure 2) Marching on 7th Avenue from Central Park to the AdamClayton Powell building on 125th Street, they chant verses composed by AhmadouBamba, and do loud vocal dhikr using microphones and amplifiers.81 Chanting andcarrying large pictures of Ahmadou Bamba and the subsequent leaders of the Murıdorder, 7th Ave. for one day every year turns into a Murıdspace (Figures 3 and 4). On thissacred day in the Murıdcalendar, Harlem is temporarily incorporated into the Murıd’religious universe (Figure 5). The significance of this event is enhanced by the presenceof a delegation of high ranking notables of the Murıd order, among which thedescendents of Ahmadou Bamba receive special veneration. In addition to the march(which takes place in the late morning), the Murıd organize on Ahmadou Bamba Daypublic conferences at the United Nations (in the evening), dedicated to the legacy ofAhmadou Bamba, and the lessons to be drawn by his example (Figure 6).82

80 The order encourages its followers to organize local Ahmadou Bamba Days in celebration of thesaint’s life and achievements. Ahmadou Bamba Days have been granted by local municipalitiesworldwide; see http://khidmatulkhadim.org/BambaDayCelebration.html; last accessed 3/13/2005.81 Personal observation, 7-28-2003; annual video recordings of the march are distributed by NouhaVideo Production (Manhattan, NY).82 For an extensive discussion of the New York Murid see Abdullah, Black Mecca.

Figure 2. Ahmadou Bamba Day, Harlem: Murıd carrying American andSenegalese flags



Figure 3. Ahmadou Bamba Day, Harlem: Murıd men carrying pictures ofAhmadou Bamba and other Murıd sheikhs

Figure 4. Ahmadou Bamba Day, Harlem: Murıd women carrying picturesof Ahmadou Bamba and other Murıd sheikhs



Figure 5. Ahmadou Bamba Day, Harlem: Murıd chanting qasaid (mysticalpoetry) by Ahmadou Bamba

Figure 6. Ahmadou Bamba Day, Harlem: Murıd posing with picture ofAhmadou Bamba



Final ThoughtsFrom a historical point of view, Sufism has since the formative period of the Islamic

tradition, i.e., the time between the 8th and 10th centuries CE, been an integral part of theIslamic tradition. While anti-Sufi sentiment and agitation has been part of its history,since the 19th century its legitimacy has additionally been challenged by modernist andrevivalist Muslims. Despite of this, the Sufi tradition is still very vivid almost everywherewhere Muslims live. Especially in the West it continues to play an important role inconversions to Islam and, more broadly, dialogue and exchange between Islam andWestern cultures.83

This study has been guided by the conviction that in order to better understand howreligious traditions assert their identity in pluralist situations, it is imperative to look athow religious claims are discursively and practically established and legitimized inrelation to outsiders, and how boundaries are constructed and maintained in that vain.The contemporary Muslim debate on Sufism, which is about inner-Islamic andintra-religious difference and plurality, gives us valuable insights into the dynamics ofmodern Muslim identity construction. In this article I especially emphasized how “beingSufi” in relation to “being Muslim” is constructed in relation to notions of law/traditionalism on the one side, and mysticism/universalism on the other. Of course, whatconstitutes the core of the Islamic tradition has always been contested. The modernattempt of some reformist Muslim currents to deny Sufism its Islamic legitimacy is anexample of that dynamic, reflecting changes in the coordinates of Muslim doctrine andpractice. More specifically it exemplifies changes in the parameters of Muslim “ortho-doxy” during the last one-and-a-half centuries.84 The marginalization of Sufism is,however, not necessarily an inevitably continuing development. Especially in the West,Sufi voices might be able to convert their position at the edge of mainstream Islam intoan advantage when asserting their particular identity towards a non-Muslim public.85

Religious margins can be the locus for the production of innovation and change. Fromthe margins of a tradition, reformist, revivalist, or revolutionary movements can emerge,and there are indications that Sufis might play an important role in future Muslim debateson the boundaries and content of Islam, especially among Muslims living outside Muslimmajority countries.

83 Of great importance here is the commodification of Sufi “products” such as Sufi poetry and music. SeeDressler, Pluralism and Authenticity, 86f.84 Ernst, Shambala Guide, XI–XIII.85 Cf. Richard W. Bulliet, Islam. The View from the Edge (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994).



Documents

Between Legalist Exclusivism and Mysticist Universalism: Contested Sufi Muslim Identities in New York