"No Matter Where You Live, Don’t Lose Your Identity" ~ Dr. Mazhar Kazi

Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn.

Today I heard about the passing of Dr. Mazhar Kazi (raḥimahullāh), father of Sh. Yasir Qadhi.

I never knew him closely. I only met him once, very briefly, in a park when he was visiting family here in Southern California. But even in those few minutes, I remember just listening in awe. There was a calm dignity about him, the kind you feel more than you can describe.

Last year, during the MNB Podcast, I sat with his wife, Sister Alia Hayat, and heard her talk about him, and how they raised their children; a much deeper picture formed in my mind.

He was a man with clarity. He wasn’t just “hard-working” in the usual sense. From his student days, he lived with purpose. He kept a diary, checked himself on what good he had done each day, and stayed connected to Islamic work and community. Degrees, careers, and titles were there, but they never sat at the center of his life. His core was simple and strong: we are Muslims, and our lives have to reflect that.

One thing that really stays with me is how he chose environment over income. At a time when he could have stayed in America, built a more comfortable career, and earned more, he chose something harder and simpler: to move his young family to Saudi Arabia so they could grow up in a Muslim environment, near the masjid, near the Qur’an, near people who reminded them of Allah.

Back then, Houston didn’t have the Islamic resources it has now. He could have easily said, “This is just how it is,” and stayed. Instead, he kept looking for what would benefit his children’s dīn. When he couldn’t find what he wanted, he was willing to move countries. That says everything about his priorities: his children’s īmān was worth more to him than a bigger paycheck.

As a husband and father, he seems to have had that rare balance: soft in his manner, firm in his principles. He made Salah part of the house rhythm—Maghrib at home, praying together, even if it meant gently waking a sleepy child for ʿIshā’. He nurtured a love of reading in his sons, sending them to the library so often that books became part of their identity. He organized regular Qur’an sittings at home, reading and reflecting together, so that Islam wasn’t an “extra” activity. It was the air they breathed.

He also planted something very specific in his children:
You can study what you like and choose whatever career you want—but you must still serve this deen.

He didn’t push titles like “doctor” or “engineer” as the ultimate goal. Instead, he pushed this idea: earn a living, yes—but don’t forget Allah and don’t forget the Ummah. When you look at Shaykh Yasir’s work today, you can see that seed very clearly. A quiet sentence from a father has turned into a lifelong mission in his son.

I was also struck by how he didn’t walk this path alone. He involved his wife. He supported her education and later her journey away from a busy hospital career toward learning and teaching the Qur’an. Together, they built a home that was structured, loving, and God-focused. That kind of home doesn’t just protect children; it prepares them to carry faith confidently into whatever world they walk into.

He wasn’t chasing wealth or status. He supported early marriages for his sons when they were ready, trusting that obedience to Allah and making the halal easy was more important than waiting for some “perfect” financial milestone. He sponsored relatives, helped family come over, and built a network of kin and community around his children so they wouldn’t feel alone in their faith.

When I think of him now, I don’t just think “PhD” or “educated father of a famous scholar.” I think of a man who quietly kept his eye on what mattered most, over decades. A man who was willing to sacrifice comfort to protect his children’s dīn. A man whose private choices inside his home are now echoing across the world through the work of his son and his family.

And all of this, from my side, is drawn from an interview with his wife, from what I’ve heard Shaykh Yasir say about him, and from that one small encounter in the park where I simply listened and felt respect.

Today he is no longer in this world, but his story isn’t over. His sadaqah jāriyah continues every time someone learns, practices, or is guided through the efforts of his children and the circles they touch.

O Allah, forgive him and have mercy on him.
Expand and illuminate his grave.
Raise his rank in Jannat al-Firdaws.
Accept every step he took for Your sake, every sacrifice he made for his family’s deen, every quiet intention that only You knew.
Make his legacy a continuous charity for him until the Day of Judgment.
Grant sabr and comfort to Sister Alia, to Shaykh Yasir, his siblings, his grandchildren, and all who love him.
And allow us as parents to carry forward the vision he lived for:
to put Islam at the center, and raise children whose faith and identity always come first. Āmeen.