Victims of San Diego mosque shooting remembered as heroes and martyrs

SAN DIEGO— As gunmen opened fire at the Islamic Center of San Diego, the actions of three men prevented an even greater tragedy.

Authorities say that before they were killed, they stopped the shooters, sent a warning and alerted police, allowing dozens of schoolchildren inside the mosque to scramble to safety.

Now they are hailed as heroes: a security guard with a winning smile, a grocer known for his lentil soup and the husband of a schoolteacher whose proud daughter said that when she heard gunshots, she ran toward them.

“I want to be very clear: Our three victims did not die in vain,” said San Diego Police Chief Scott Wahl. “Without a doubt, there would have been many more deaths.”

The three were deeply familiar faces in the mosque, even to those who had no personal relationships with them. Tens of thousands of dollars in donations have been poured into a fundraiser organized for their families.

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

Here are their stories.

Amin Abdullah, 51 years old

Abdullah was known for his portly figure and warm smile. The armed security guard at the San Diego mosque greeted each visitor without fail and responded, “Salam wa rahamatullahi wa barakatuh,” or “May the peace, mercy and blessings of Allah be upon you as well.”

He had an unwavering sense of protection, family and community members said. Within hours of the shooting that rippled through Southern California's Muslim community, Abdullah's photograph had been circulated and reposted thousands of times.

Abdullah was born in San Diego as Brian Climax but uses his Muslim name. He converted to Islam in his late teens during the 1990s, and several of his siblings and his mother followed his example, his sister said.

He is the father of eight children. Relatives described him as dedicated to his children's education and his own learning, visiting several regional mosques and traveling abroad to study. He had the function of reciting the adhan, the call to prayer, in another mosque for some time.

He received his high school diploma, but pushed his children to pursue higher degrees, calling his mother every night to check on her.

His daughter, Hawaa Abdullah, said at a news conference Tuesday that if she got a flat tire while driving on the highway, he would drop everything to make sure she was safe. He spoke often about the world, about faith, and, to his brothers, about navigating the world as young black Muslims.

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

He skipped meals, worried that something bad would happen to him if he took a break from work.

Abdullah had previously worked at a nearby dental office, but after the 2019 massacre at two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand, he was inspired to change focus and began training in situational awareness and how to analyze an active shooter incident in progress. Years later, he accepted 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 advocacy organization Faith Power Alliance, said Abdullah had encouraged her and other women, particularly those who wore hijabs, to learn self-defense.

He also wanted the men to exercise and be strong, in case they ever needed to defend their families, he said, and he offered frequent training to volunteers at nearby mosques who might not have the funds to hire security.

Abdullah took his job so seriously, said Abdullahi, who stood in the sun, always prepared. The mosque eventually built a small shed for him as a place to rest from the heat.

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

He loved archery, considered it a lost art, and made his own bows which he gave out as gifts. He saw great beauty in the natural world and often shared photographs with friends of falcons flying over the mosque's minaret.

His sister Angela Climax, who also goes by Aisha Muhammad, said she followed him around as a child and the pair played cops and robbers. She described him as “hypervigilant.”

“He was always in this mentality to protect,” she said. “I think he died the way he wanted. But humanly, it's hard for us to accept the concept of 'I can't pick up the phone and call my brother.'”

San Diego's police chief said Abdullah's bravery in confronting the shooters saved lives. As the gunmen charged toward the mosque, Abdullah returned fire, hitting one of them. He grabbed his walkie-talkie and called for the school to be locked down even as the gunmen advanced, according to a witness and video reviewed by authorities.

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

Mansur Kaziha, 78 years old.

Mansour Kaziha, known in the community as “Abu Ezz,” ran a store inside the Islamic Center of San Diego for decades.

(San Diego Police Department)

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

“He was the cook, the maintenance guy, he was the caretaker,” the imam said. “He was everything.”

During the holidays and the month of Ramadan, the man known in the community as “Abul Ezz” would cook a large meal for the worshipers. The meal often included lamb, chicken, rice and their famous lentil soup.

Kaziha would stock the mosque store with books, always anticipating the needs of the community, finding introductory prayer books and Spanish translations for the mosque's growing Latino population. He sold rosaries, rugs and a variety of snacks.

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

Billoo's daughters' favorite halal crispy rice treats were unavailable for a while due to pandemic-related supply chain issues. When Kaziha resupplied, he made sure to let her know.

“My kids loved them,” Billoo said. “I couldn't believe I remembered.”

Kaziha came to the United States from Syria and had five children and several grandchildren.

Every Sunday, early in the morning, he thoroughly cleaned the great hall, even though the mosque had assigned cleaning staff. He repaired locks and windows, checked the ventilation and changed water filters. As she grew older and cooking and cleaning became more difficult, her labor of love became a family affair, with her children helping out regularly.

“He knew his sole purpose was to serve this beautiful community,” his son Yasser Kaziha said in an event captured on video in recent days.

Kaziha was the first to call 911, Hassane said. He and another victim, Nadir Awad, had run to the mosque and were talking on the phone, hiding behind cars in the parking lot, trying to contact police. The pair took the shooters out and took them to the parking lot, away from the teachers and children who were protecting them. They were cornered and killed.

The mosque reopened its doors to worshipers on Wednesday. But the store remained closed, cordoned off with caution tape.

Nadir Awad, 57 years old

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

(San Diego Police Department)

Awad, who lived directly opposite the mosque, attended prayers daily. His wife teaches kindergarten at the school.

Awad owned a limousine company and his large SUV was a regular fixture in the area. He was considered the neighborhood watchman of the mosque.

Family members told others how he was cooking in the kitchen when he heard the gunshots. He took off his apron and ran towards it. He died alongside Kaziha.

Awad's daughter said in a social media post that he had risked his life saving her mother and others at the school.

“[H]We heard gunshots and ran to help without hesitation,” wrote Renad Awad. “I am beyond proud of him and beyond proud to call him my father, habibi baba.”

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

Awad had a relentless but self-deprecating sense of humor, and he loved his wife's knafeh, the sweet, springy Palestinian cheese dessert.

“He had the happiest smile. He would wave at you from across the mosque. He was an incredible soul,” Buul said.

Buul's 8-year-old daughter was barricaded in a classroom during the shooting. She is concerned, she said, that her daughter will grow up in such a hateful climate and a “disgusting culture of gun violence.”

But he felt calmer knowing that the three men were there for her.

“I will always be indebted and grateful to these three brave souls.”

Times staff writer Salvador Hernández contributed to this report.