Religious Authority and Conversions in Berlin’s Sufi Communities

             E d i t E d b y K a r i n va n n i E u w K E r K univErsity of tExas PrEss Austin Copyright © 2018 by the University of Texas Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First edition, 2018 Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to: Permissions University of Texas Press P.O. Box 7819 Austin, TX 78713-7819 utpress.utexas.edu/rp-form ♾ The paper used in this book meets the minimum requirements of ansi/niso Z39.48- 1992 (r1997) (Permanence of Paper). Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Nieuwkerk, Karin van, 1960– editor. Title: Moving in and out of Islam / edited by Karin van Nieuwkerk. Description: First edition. Austin : University of Texas Press, 2018. Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCn 2018001353 isbn 978- 1- 4773- 1747- 1 (cloth : alk. paper) isbn 978- 1- 4773- 1748- 8 (pbk. : alk. paper) isbn 978- 1- 4773- 1749-5 (library e-book) isbn 978- 1- 4773- 1750- 1 (non-library e-book) Subjects: LCsH: Conversion—Islam. | Apostasy—Islam. Islam—Social aspects. | Religion and culture. Classification: LCC bP170.5 .n54 2018 | ddC 297.5/74—dc22 LC record available at https: // lccn.loc.gov/2018001353 doi:10.7560 /317471      introduCtion Moving In and Out of Islam 1 Karin van niEuwKErK sECtion i    1. PEoPLE do not ConvErt but CHangE Critical Analysis of Concepts of Spiritual Transitions 27 wiLLiam baryLo 2. moving in or moving toward? Reconceptualizing Conversion to Islam as a Liminal Process 44 JuLiEttE gaLonniEr 3. undErstanding rELigious aPostasy, disaffiLiation, and isL am in ContEmPorary swEdEn 67 daniEL EnstEdt sECtion ii (), , ,   4 . giving isL am a gErman faCE 91 Esra ÖZyürEK 5. mErging CuLturE witH rELigion Trajectories of Slovak and Czech Muslim Converts since 1989 107 gabriEL PiriCKý contents 6. moving into sHi ʿ a isL am The “Process of Subjectification” among Shiʿa Women Converts in London 130 yafa sHannEiK 7. Can a tatar movE out of isL am? 152 KatarZyna góraK- sosnowsKa and miCHał łysZCZarZ sECtion iii       8. rELigious autHorit y and ConvErsions in bErLin ’ s sufi CommunitiEs 179 oLEg yarosH 9. dEradiCaLiZ ation tHrougH ConvErsion to traditionaL isL am Hamza Yusuf ’s Attempt to Revive Sacred Knowledge within a North Atlantic Context 204 Haifaa Jawad 10. EsCaPing tHE LimELigHt The Politics of Opacity and the Life of a Dutch Preacher in the UK 232 martiJn dE Koning sECtion iv         1 1. britisH musLim ConvErts Comparing Conversion and Deconversion Processes to and from Islam 257 mona aLyEdrEEssy 12. in tHE CLosEt The Concealment of Apostasy among Ex-Muslims in Britain and Canada 281 simon CottEE vi contents 13. rELigious sKEPtiCism and nonbELiEving in EgyPt 306 Karin van niEuwKErK 14 . “ god nEvEr ExistEd, and i was LooKing for Him LiKE CraZy! ” Muslim Stories of Deconversion 333 tEEmu PauHa and atEfEH agHaEE sECtion v     15. faitH no morE The Views of Lithuanian Converts to Islam on Deconversion 363 Egdūnas raČius 16. LEt ’ s taLK about aPostasy! Swedish Imams, Apostasy Debates, and Police Reports on Hate Crimes and (De)conversion 385 gÖran Larsson Contributors 405 indEx vii 411 Ei gH t                          ’              oLEg yarosH T his chapter addresses the issue of religious authority in Berlin Sufi communities in the context of native European converts to Islam and second-generation Muslims who are born to Sufi followers (murids). In the twentieth century, Sufism expanded beyond the geographical and cultural boundaries of the “Islamic World” and became a substantial element of Muslim religious life in the West. Furthermore, Sufism plays an important role in conversion to Islam in Western Europe and North America. Larry Poston describes Sufism’s role in spreading Islam in the West as “internal-personal missiology” aimed at the “conversion of individual persons within society followed by training in Islamic precepts, which will in turn enable each convert to induce further conversions” (Poston 1992: 62). Karin van Nieuwkerk also regards Sufism as a main agent for conversion to Islam in the West, which “has ‘religious goods’ to offer that contrast with those of modernist or Islamist versions of Islam” (Van Nieuwkerk 2006: 5). She also notices that converts are more likely to first associate themselves with Sufism and only afterward possibly embrace Islam (Van Nieuwkerk 2006: 5). Scholarly publications have addressed conversion to Sufism and the converts’ motives and strategies (e.g., Ali Köse 1996; Marcia Hermansen 2000; Haifaa Jawad 2006; and Julianne Hazen 2011, 2014). These works have focused mostly on the individual context of conversions while barely addressing the role of religious authority and institutional dimensions. “Religious authority” means the power to define the proper way to interpret and practice Islam and to uphold the coherence and continuity of the Islamic tradition. Traditional forms of Muslim religious authority cannot simply be copied in Western countries. Muslims in the “minority situation” create forms of authority suitable to their new environment (Raudvere and Stenberg 2009: 9). This chapter will discuss the following research questions. How is religious Oleg YarOsh authority in Western Sufi groups constructed, and how does it affect interreligious and intrareligious conversions? How does the presence of many native European converts affect local Sufi communities? How do these European converts view Islamic normative tradition and express their religious identity? And how do they influence the defining discourses of local Sufi communities? I will particularly address intrareligious conversion, regarded here as a process of religious learning and gradual adoption of religious norms and practices in Sufi communities. This chapter will also address the institutionalization and collective expressions of religious authority in some Sufi communities in Berlin, namely in the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya and the Tariqah Burhaniyya. It will especially focus on what Donald Taylor calls “awkward converts,” or those who converted not by ritual but by behavior (Taylor 1999: 44). I will also examine their attitudes to Islamic normativity and positioning within Sufi communities1 and explain why their presence is more visible in some communities than others. I presume that intraconversion in Sufi communities not only depends on the initial individual inclinations of its members and the authority of Sheikhs but also is determined by institutional patterns (i.e., hierarchy, communication) that constitute religious authority in these groups. My research is based on twelve semistructured interviews with Rabbaniyya2 and Burhaniyya community leaders, followers who converted to Islam, and those who have not formally declared themselves to be Muslims, the socalled awkward converts. I also conducted participant observations during Sufi gatherings3 and held casual conversations with the participants.4 I will begin with an outline of the institutionalization of Sufi communities in Germany and their diversity. Next, I will discuss trajectories of conversions within Sufi communities in Berlin. Finally, I will address the construction and transformations of religious authority within these communities.   :    In her work on American Sufi movements, Marcia Hermansen uses a garden metaphor to classify Sufi communities as “perennials” or “hybrids” (Hermansen 1997: 155–158). She later developed this classification into the three-tier ideal-typical scheme (adding “transplants” as a separate category) (Hermansen 2013: 190–191). This chapter will mostly focus on the Sufi communities she characterized as hybrid. 180 conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities Hybrid Sufi communities display different attitudes toward normative Islam: some are more varied in this regard, while others strongly rely on Shariʿah and aim to familiarize their members with Islam and change their lifestyles. This last type overlaps with “transplants” but differs from them in the greater number of converts among their members and their positioning within these communities. Western Sufism has been developing in a social- cultural milieu that is marked by the “specialization of institutional domains, the pluralism of mass-culture, [and] the development of a market of world views” (Luckmann 1999: 256). The pioneers of Sufism in Germany were Abdul Halis Dornbrach, Muhammad Salah Id, and his disciple Hussein Abdul Fatah (Stefan Makowski), who founded the Institute for Sufi Research in Berlin in 1979 (Klinkhammer 2009: 136–137). In 1981, they moved to the Lüneburger Heide near Hamburg and opened a “Sufi healing school” known as House Schnede (Klinkhammer 2009: 136–137; Schleßmann 2003: 142). Their idea was to create an open Sufi Center as a meeting place for Sufi groups in Europe. Many famous Sufi teachers (e.g., Reshad Field, Muzzaffer Ozak, Sheikh Nazim) visited that place to deliver lectures and perform dhikr (remembering Allah’s names). In the 1980s, House Schnede gradually transformed into the Burhaniyya Center. In 1992, Tariqah Burhaniyya Stiftung bought the house, and it has served as their meeting place ever since (Lassen 2009: 203). Tariqah Burhaniyya is one of the most widespread Sufi communities in Germany today. It originates from Sudan as an offshoot of the DisuqiyyaShadhiliyya. The forerunner of the order in Germany was Muhammad Salah Id from Egypt. After his death in 1981, forty German disciples went to Khartoum, where they were received by the leader of the Burhaniyya at the time, Sheikh Muhammad Uthman (Sidi Fahruddin) (Lassen 2009: 192–193).5 His son and successor, Sidi Ibrahim, used to spend a lot of time in Germany, and his own son and current leader of the Burhaniyya tariqah (Sufi order), Sidi Muhammad, married a German convert and settled near Hamburg. Søren Christian Lassen describes the first generation of German Burhaniyya followers as a “small number of young middle-class Germans with little interest in Islam, but in search of experiential religious practices” (Lassen 2009: 190). The second important Sufi group in Germany is the NaqshbandiyyaHaqqaniyya. Among the most prominent early figures within the German community were Sheikh Hassan Dysk, Sheikh Jamal al-Din Dirshl, and Sheikh Abd al-Jalil Stelzer. Gritt Klinkhammer calls the early followers of Sheikh Nazim “dropouts” from mainstream society and describes their path to the tariqah as follows: 181 Oleg YarOsh Some of them had traveled in the Near and Far East and later lived together as Sufis in Berlin while others moved to Mecca and Medina for religious studies in 1978, and from there went to Damascus for a while where Sheikh Nazim lived then. When they returned to Germany in the mid- 1980s, they started to offer dhikr-groups in the name of the NaqshbandiyyaHaqqaniyya Sufi Order, named after Sheikh Nazim al-Haqqani who was by that time already known in Europe (Klinkhammer 2009: 139). This is also typical for other Western countries, where many forerunners of Sufism emerged either from the heterogeneous milieu of alternative spirituality connected to the New Age movement or from “traditionalist” circles like Tariqah Mariamiyya of Frithjof Schuon. We can label them as “enlightenment seekers” who were shopping around for different religious alternatives. They were initially attracted by the mystical doctrines and practices, and they were not devoted to formal religiosity and doctrine. Tomas Luckmann emphasizes that the New Age movement gathers diverse psychological, therapeutic, magical, and marginally scientific materials with older “esoteric” materials, repackages them, and offers them for individual consumption based on selective syncretism (Luckmann 1999: 255). These New Age movements are marked by a lack of institutionalization and an absence of canonized dogma. The converts’ early turn to Islam and Sufism is marked by a shift from religious individualism (not necessarily totally revoked in this process) to some collectively shared normativity that itself is a subject of continual reconsideration within the Sufi communities. The effects of these negotiations depend on different agents such as individual religiosity of the members, religious authority, and institutional structure. Some swing to an “exclusionary canon” based on adherence to Islamic norms and lifestyles, while others remain more or less diverse and “loose” in their religious attitudes (Luckmann 1999: 257).6 Today, Berlin hosts many Sufi communities or orders (turuq). A researcher from the Freie Universität Berlin, Nasima Selim, estimates that there are twenty-seven Sufi communities in Berlin (Selim 2015: 241). Some of them could be labeled as universalist, while others fall under the category of hybrid or even transplant. The universalist trend is represented by the communities related to the tradition of Hazrat Inayat Khan (1882–1927), who belonged to the Indian Chishti-Nizami tariqah. There are three independent branches of the transnational Inayati Universal Sufi networks active in Berlin; the most important is Sufi-Movement Germany (Sufi-Bewegung), established in 1925 by the local murids of Inayat Khan (Selim 2014). 182 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities Some Sufi communities in Berlin could be considered transplants. These include communities of Turkish origin, such as the Naqshbandiyya group of Mehmed Zahid Kotku Tekkesi, a local branch of the conservative İsmailağa Cemaati from Istanbul; the Kurdish Naqshbandiyya community in Semerkand Mosque that is connected with the mother lodge in the town of Menzil in Adiyaman Province; and the local community of the Qadiriyya Halisiyya tariqah of Hafiz Mustafa Efendi.7 I should also mention hybrid communities such as the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya, which belongs to the international Sufi network Naqshbandiyya-Haqqaniyya, named after Sheikh Nazim al-Qubrusi al-Haqqani (1922–2014), and the Tariqah Burhaniyya. The latter two, the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya and the Tariqah Burhaniyya, are the main subjects of this chapter. These two communities can be distinguished from the transplant groups by their multiethnic nature (including a significant number of native Muslim converts), their attitudes toward born Muslims, and their different approaches to normative Islam and religious authority.     In modern Western pluralistic societies, conversion trajectories depend on different social and cultural patterns. The most important is the absence of the one all- encompassing religious canon—or canon and distinct countercanon—as highlighted by Luckmann. He argues that this condition complicates our understanding of conversions (Luckmann 1999: 257). Luckmann particularly applies the notion of conversion to the radical shift in religious beliefs and related social practices, thereby narrowing its meaning, while other scholars uphold more pluralistic approaches. Lewis Rambo gives a general definition of conversion: “turning from and to new religious groups, ways of life, systems of belief, and modes of relating to a deity or the nature of reality” (Rambo 1993: 3). He holds that a particular definition of “conversion” is related to concrete traditions and communities and involves special rituals and discourses. Rambo identifies five ideal types of conversion: (1) apostasy, or defection; (2) intensification, or the revitalized commitment to a faith with which the convert has had previous formal or informal affiliation; (3) affiliation, or movement of an individual or group from no or minimal religious commitment to full involvement with an institution or faith community; (4) institutional transition of an individual or group from one community to another 183 Oleg YarOsh within a major tradition; and (5) tradition transition, referring to the movement of an individual or group from one major religious tradition to another (Rambo 1993: 13–14). Some researchers distinguish between intrareligious or intrafaith conversions and interreligious conversions. Gilliat-Ray regards intrafaith conversion in Islam as a renewed and committed attachment to religious tradition, moving from a “position of indifference about the doctrines of their faith, towards a much deeper attachment and comprehension” (Gilliat-Ray 1999: 317). Thus, intrareligious conversion aligns with intensification and affiliation in Rambo’s typology. Donald Taylor, by contrast, classifies religious conversion as either inward, outward, or awkward. The last category is the most relevant for my research because awkward converts are present in great numbers in Western Sufi communities. Taylor understands the awkward conversion as an “in-between traffic”: “It consists mainly in the participation of members of one religion in the festivals, pilgrimages and even worship of another religion” (Taylor 1999: 48). Taylor argues that liberal interreligious behavior has led to the emergence of new “multi-faith” individuals who “spun the idea of conversion” (Taylor 1999: 49). That notion is especially relevant to the Western pluralist societies underlined by Luckmann, where privatized social forms of religion have become a common type. We can, to some extent, regard the Islamic canon adopted by Western converts as within the “transplant” class because it was initially established in a social form in Muslim-majority societies and then found its way into migrant religious communities that brought this canon to the West. However, this canon is permanently subject to negotiation and reconsideration in the Western context.8 Jane I. Smith maintains that despite growing interest in Sufism, both as a spiritual discipline and in the American Sufi orders, “those who actually ‘convert’ to Islam via Sufism are relatively few” (Smith 2009: 69). Marcia Hermansen seemingly shares this view. She stresses that the “appeal of Sufism to Americans usually occurs before formal acceptance of Islam, and many persons involved in Sufi movements never come to formally practice Islam” (Hermansen 2000: 161). My own fieldwork experiences support these conclusions to some extent. A few people with whom I interacted during the Sufi gatherings could be referred to as “awkward converts.” This is especially the case for the Rabbaniyya community. The other group of converts in this community embraced Islam through their affiliation with the Sufi community. 184 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities At the same time, some murids converted to Islam before formally joining the Sufi tariqah or giving bayʿah (an oath of allegiance) to the Sheikh (Hazen 2011: 25–27). During my visit to the Berlin Qadiriyya Center in 2008, I spoke to a German convert who revealed that he was a follower of a neofundamentalist Salafi group before becoming affiliated with the Sufi community. The last group of Sufi followers consists of second-generation murids. There are many of them in the Burhaniyya order, but few in the Rabbaniyya order. Lewis Rambo and Charles Farhadian regard conversion as a step-by-step process that encompasses different stages: crisis, search, encounter or contact, interaction, commitment, and consequences (Rambo and Farhadian 2014: 23–24). They admit that this stage model should not be taken as universal or unilinear with an unchangeable order of stages. Sometimes it is characterized by a “spiraling effect” that goes back and forth between the stages (Rambo and Farhadian 2014: 23–24). An example that perfectly fits the stage model is Marcus, who could be identified as an awkward convert.9 He has not officially embraced Islam and does not identify himself as a Muslim, although he mentioned that a sheikh from the Netherlands gave him his Muslim name, Abdul Salam.10 He said: “I’m not a Muslim. I’m not connected to any religion.” However, he performs the ritual collective prayer (salah) with the Muslims at the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya.11 Other awkward members of the group do not take part in the collective prayers with Muslims and sit on the side of the room during the ritual.12 The aide to Sheikh Eşref, Metin Arikan, who is authorized to lead dhikr and to deliver speeches on the sheikh’s behalf, explained that some German converts hide their Muslim identity from other community members, especially strangers. They do this out of fear of disapproval from their relatives and colleagues, because Islam and Muslims are regarded with suspicion in Germany.13 Robert Rigney, an American journalist, wrote about a female convert in the Rabbaniyya community who wears a hijab in public but identified herself as a Sufi rather than as a Muslim because of social stereotypes about Muslims (Rigney 2014).14 Rigney also reported that another German convert who bears a Muslim name, Abdul Cemal, asked him not to mention his given name because his colleagues and boss would be unhappy with his religious affiliation (Rigney 2014). My interlocutor Marcus took a long path to Sufism. In his mid-50s as of November 2014,15 he was raised by West German foster families since early childhood. He described these families as “Sunday Christians.” Marcus formally left the church in 2003 and describes himself as a “rebel against the sys185 Oleg YarOsh tem.” He has experienced personal problems throughout his life. In the mid1990s, he became interested in Eastern religions and has since traveled across India, visiting Hindu ashrams (monasteries) and Sufi mausoleums: Religion woke up in my soul; religion is slowly coming to my soul. I have been talking to Hindi people, visiting Sufis in Ajmer. I’ve had no problem with singing to Shiva, Krishna, or praying to Allah. For me, these are merely names of God. Marcus revealed that he experienced a severe depression in 2007, which resulted in his losing a sense of his life. He began searching for relief in different places. He visited a homeopath who sent him to a Reiki master. She then advised him to visit a therapeutic Sufi community, the Institute for Sufi Research, led by the Sufi teacher Hamdi Alkonavi, which meets in his private apartment in Schöneberg, a locality of Berlin. This group mainly consists of non-Muslim Germans, although its leader was born Muslim (half-Turkish) and practices that religion. The group’s practices comprise Naqshbandiyya-Haqqaniyya dhikr and the healing Sufi dance, as well as non-Islamic practices such as reading and discussing the Hermetic and Alchemical texts and Enneagram Aura Reading.16 Alkonavi’s followers claim that he has an authorization from Sheikh Nazim. Marcus explained: “He is a disciple of Sheikh Nazim, who is a one hundred percent perfect, accomplished man, and who directs him from Heaven.” In this description, Marcus referred to a common Sufi belief that deceased sheikhs are not really dead but rather persist in the higher spiritual realm from which they direct followers. Marcus’s story matches the stage model developed by Rambo and Farhadian. At the beginning, personal problems inspired his interests in Eastern religious traditions and his initial quests for “spiritual healing.” He then experienced much more intense psychological problems that were probably exaggerated by a midlife crisis, eventually leading him to contact the Sufi community. As of November 2014 Marcus has interacted with this group for more than five years. At the beginning, he was attending only the Sufi gathering at the Institute for Sufi Research. Participation in its rituals and practices brought him much-needed comfort and inner peace and helped him to resolve other problems. He also developed a strong emotional link to Hamdi Alkonavi: I’ve found God in me. I’ve never prayed before. I’m finding my own way to God in this group. I’m not one hundred percent Muslim, but I open 186 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities myself and say: Allah, Allah. My ego decreases and I’m so grateful to these people. I’m striving to become one hundred percent Marcus. . . . I thank Heaven because I’ve been directed to Hamdi. Whatever personal problem I have, Hamdi helps me. His initial link to the Sufi community became stronger, and in 2013 he started attending Sufi gatherings in the Rabbaniyya dergah (Sufi lodge). Marcus also changed his attitude toward Islam and became more engaged in Muslim practices. I come here [to the dergah] and gratefully pray to Allah. Just being here automatically gives me inner peace. . . . I’m happy; I’m finding my way to God. I keep the Qurʾan and a picture of Sheikh Nazim at home. It’s not a formal way. I have started to regard Islam much better, and I like the dergah more and more. . . . I didn’t like Muslims before, now I love them. ... Jesus was Sufi, Moses was Sufi. I feel myself present in the world where my heart is shining, and I’m becoming one hundred percent Marcus. Thank you, Hamdi! Obviously, he believes that Hamdi helps him find his own “real Self,” or identity, which allows him to live a more authentic and meaningful life. Marcus identifies much more strongly with Hamdi’s group than with the Rabbaniyya community. He explained that he relies on personal spiritual freedom and does not tolerate formal limitations: “No one is forcing me to do something; I feel freedom. I can pray again. I like to pray to Allah. Religious groups are suppressive.” Marcus upholds his individualistic and selective stance toward Islamic normativity and is more interested in the Sufi “technologies of selfhood” than in its religious side. His approach to Sufism is practical: he prefers the psychological therapeutic effects of its rituals and other “spiritual commodities” while avoiding the restrictions and obligations that belong to the “Islamic way of life” and avoiding submission to certain religious authorities.17 Nicolas Rose and Peter Miller introduce the idea of a “therapeutic authority,” which I think is relevant to this example of an “awkward conversion” (Rose and Miller 2008: 142). They define therapeutic authority as “a complex of loosely connected expertise, technologies and representations addressed to managing problems of living, or the problematization of life from the perspective of its potential amenability to therapy” (Rose and Miller 2008: 142). 187 Oleg YarOsh Another example of Sufi conversion in the Rabbaniyya community is that of a German convert named Abdul Cemal. His case clearly displays intrareligious conversion. Abdul Cemal joined Naqshbandiyya-Haqqaniyya ten years ago as a “techno-punk” with red hair and many piercings. He experienced a severe crisis, felt exhausted, and was looking for relief (Rigney 2014). At first he was suspicious of Islam and Muslims, but he soon changed his mind and became a devoted follower of Sheikh Eşref. He currently holds the position of caretaker in the dergah. Inside the dergah, Abdul Cemal usually wears Muslim-style loose short pants, a long shirt with a standing collar, a waistcoat, and a maroon fez. He expresses his Muslim identity through his body language, as well as his manner of moving, sitting, and greeting others. Abdul Cemal reports: Because we try to imitate our Sheikh, we also copy his fashion. . . . And this, interestingly, has given rise to a feeling of belonging to a group, and that lends security, and in the time being it has become a trademark in Kreuzberg and Neukölln (Rigney 2014). Abdul Cemal says that association with the community has brought positive changes to his life: Generally speaking, I can say that every person who goes there comes out a nicer person. I’ve made a number of very close friendships with brothers and sisters that developed over the years. Or there are those who come like comets every two years and then disappear again. But as a rule, everyone who passes through is changed positively. It’s because everyone who has a question laying heavily on his breast finds an answer to his question (Rigney 2014). Rigney claims that Sheikh Eşref once said: “I never wanted the normal ones. I prayed to God to send me the crazy ones, the abnormal, and that is what he has done” (Rigney 2014). Obviously, both examples refer to people from the same social background, the “dropouts” from mainstream society whose search was inspired by dissatisfaction and crisis. However, whereas Marcus remained religiously nonintegrated, Abdul Cemal successfully integrated religiosity into his life. As I will argue below, this difference could depend not only on their personalities but also on the agency of religious authority—that is to say, on how it is constructed and institutionalized inside the given community. With regard to motives for conversion, John Lofland and Norman Sko188 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities novd identify the following six most typical “motif experiences”: (1) intellectual, based on individual private investigation of possible “new grounds of being”; (2) mystical, based on sudden rapture or insight; (3) experimental, as a relatively prolonged period of trying different options; (4) affectional, as personal attachments or a strong liking for practicing believers; (5) revivalist, as inspired by collective emotional experiences; and (6) coercive, as in the case of forced conversion (Lofland and Skonovd 1981: 376–384). Stefano Allievi distinguishes between relational and rational conversions. He further subdivides relational conversions into instrumental and noninstrumental ones based on personal interactions with Muslims. Rational conversions imply an individual search and include intellectual, mystical, and political motives (Allievi 1999: 283–300). A notable example of a mystical motif experience conversion is that of Taufiq, a local muqaddam (representative) of Sheikh Bashir Ahmad Dultz of the Tariqah as-Safina.18 This small community originates from the Libyan offshoot of the Shadhiliyya-Alawiyya of Sidi al-Fayturi Hamuda, one of Sheikh al-Alawi’s successors. Tariqah as-Safina completely consists of Germans and is engaged in various public interreligious activities.19 Some of the murids, who formally joined the tariqah by giving bayʿah to the sheikh, do not profess Islam. Taufiq reports that some of them are Christian or Jewish and that they merely take part in the collective loud dhikr (recitation of divine names). Salah (prayer) is not compulsory for them, and they perform their own traditional prayers. They have regular dhikr sessions in Bonn, where Sheikh Bashir Ahmad Dultz currently lives. Taufiq originally comes from East Germany and has a secular background, although his grandparents were religious. He studied Arabic and English at Leipzig University. I noticed no sign of personal crisis in his conversion narrative, although he experienced some dissatisfaction with the outer world after the “mystical experience” occurred (described below). As a student of Arabic, he also had some prior knowledge of Islam and Sufism and, as I can assume from his narratives, was interested in Sufi theosophy (ʿirfan). Therefore, we must also consider an intellectual motif for his conversion. He converted before his formal association with Sufism: I visited Israel as a student for the first time in 1992. I visited various Christian holy places, Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus. From Jerusalem, where it was snowing, we went to Eliat, where it was warm and sunny. I wanted to swim with dolphins, but even though I am a good swimmer I could not get close to the dolphins. Suddenly, one of the dolphins left the pod and swam toward me. He looked in my eyes, he was looking longer and longer, and 189 Oleg YarOsh it seemed to me that he was looking with an intention. I felt like sinking into the eyes of a dolphin. I looked at the red mountains of Jordan around me, and I suddenly realized that this whole world is just a breath of Allah. The dolphin showed me that he and I come from the same Creator: the attribute of Al-Rahman (Allah as the Most Gracious) and our return to it called the attribute Al-Rahim (Allah as the Most Merciful). . . . My friends and their concerns seemed completely empty to me; I could not understand how they could pass through the holy places like being in the supermarket. I wondered, who am I? It was a clear reference to al-Ahad (Allah as the One). I went back to Germany . . . and three months later embraced Islam. I met my Sheikh in 1995.20 Allievi assumes that books on Sufism attract a wide Western readership, with many becoming acquainted with Islam through these works (Allievi 2006: 123). One of my interlocutors, a female Naqshbandiyya-Haqqaniyya follower named Miriam, held that Germans are mainly interested in the intellectual side of Sufism: Germans are attracted by Sufi music and poetry. Turks who are born in the Islamic tradition are different from them; for them, many things are natural. However, when they get together differences vanish, especially in the presence of the Sheikh, whom they equally respect.21 The Sufi Center Rabbaniyya, the Tariqah Burhaniyya, and Tariqah asSafina generally accept people without demanding formal conversion to Islam. Annabel Böttcher reports that Sheikh Nazim al-Qubrusi approves “gradual familiarization with Islam and the rules of the Sufi network after the adherence” (Böttcher 2006: 258). However, formal conversion is a precondition for most Sufi networks, especially for Shariʿah-oriented ones.22 Medina, a female convert in the Rabbaniyya community, reports: He [Sheikh Eşref ] has dedicated himself to a life of dignity to serve Allah, to help people. Not to turn them into Muslims. But rather to help them in spiritual problems, in normal everyday problems, whether that is in married life or with psychological issues. But, of course, in the name of Allah and with Sufi methods, Islamic methods (Rigney 2014). The Tariqah Burhaniyya community in Germany, particularly in Berlin, consists mostly of converts and second-generation murids. Currently, the Burhaniyya community does not have many newcomers. Nevertheless, non190 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities Muslims are accepted here as a rule. A second-generation murid, Stefan, confirmed my assumption that many people go there for mystical experiences and do not want to go deeper into Islam. He reported that, in one of the Burhaniyya communities, three murids embraced Islam after being associated with the tariqah for three years:23 “We come here and pray with the others. We are actually Muslims and there is no getting around it.” The other murids continued discussing this topic during my informal conversations with them later. They stressed the importance of personal connection with the sheikh in the process of conversion. Mathias: In our tariqah, bayʿah can be given to any member; it means that you give bayʿah to the Sheikh. Everyone can give bayʿah, whether Muslim or not. There were cases when someone said to the Sheikh, “I really respect you and want to take the oath, but I like to drink alcohol in the evening.” The Sheikh accepts such a man and gives him a special wird (prayer or supplication) and, after a while, the person stops drinking. Alexander: Usually, for many people, conversion to Islam took several years. Stefan: It’s a trap, man [laughs], in which you find yourself, and you have nowhere to go. It’s as if someone said, “I do not want to live in Germany, and want to live in Berlin.” They answered him, “Well, live in Berlin.” And a few years later, he suddenly realizes, “Damn, I live in Germany.” Alexander: Those who converted did it out of their love for the Sheikh. Taufiq also confirmed that Tariqah as-Safina is not interested in proselytizing to its members: Some people accept Islam, but not a lot, since we are not engaged in the call to Islam. First, we regard it as an interreligious dialogue that enriches the tradition. . . . We do not need sermons about jinni [supernatural creatures made of “scorching fire”]. In one of the first visits to the Sheikh, I asked him about the correlation between the Essence of God (Dhat) and His Names (Asma al-Husna). He told me that one of the brothers needed a cup, the other needed a spoon, and I have to take care of it. I like his 191 Oleg YarOsh earthiness. . . . For me, Islam is a living tradition, not the history of the caliphs and sultans.24 At the same time, conversions to Islam due to marriage to a Muslim partner are not so important in the Sufi groups. In the Rabbaniyya community, some couples that marry by a nikah (Islamic matrimonial ritual) delivered by Sheikh Eşref have previously lived together.25 In some cases, a widow of one community member marries another. Sheikh Eşref gives advice about matrimonial issues and checks the intentions of the spouses. Sometimes, interethnic marriages take place in the community. Sheikh Eşref has no objection to interethnic marriage in principle but discourages them when he notices great cultural differences between those intending to get nikah. Mathias, a second-generation murid from the Burhaniyya community, reported that his brother had been dating his former girlfriend for two years before she became a Burhaniyya murid. Afterward, they married. Stefan reported that he married a Turkish spouse who follows one of the Turkish tariqas in Berlin. The results of my research on Sufi conversions are in accordance with the conclusions drawn by Julianne Hazen, who studied the ʿAlami Tariqah in Waterport, New York. She points out that commitment to the sheikh plays an important role in the conversion process, especially for those people converted through the tariqah (Hazen 2011: 24). In their narratives, members of Sufi communities expressed deep affection and respect for the sheikhs. As Taufiq reported: We need his view about daily affairs, education. He looks at things from a point that is two levels higher than we can imagine. People seek his advice in their daily activities when they need to make a vital decision. He has a connection to al-Haqq [Allah as the Truth]. His words always combine theological discourse with daily problems, social problems. As the examples above show, the charismatic authority of the sheikh is essential to both interreligious and intrareligious Sufi conversions.   Bruce Lincoln defines the main functions of religious authority as “preservation, interpretation, and dissemination of the group’s defining discourse; supervision of its rituals; adjudication and enforcement of its ethics; [and] 192 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities nurturance, defense, and advancement of the community” (Lincoln 2010: 7). Alberto Melucci regards authority or leadership as a form of interaction: “The foundation of leadership should be sought not in the qualities of the leader or in the dependency of his followers, but in the relationship, the type of relations, that link the actors together” (Melucci 1996: 333). Therefore, the authority is based on transactions between the leader and his or her constituency: “As long as the leader pursues the goals of the group and satisfies the expectations of its members, s/he can rely on them for support and loyalty” (Melucci 1996: 333). Accordingly, authority is continuously negotiated by the leader and his followers and must be reinforced by the support of the group. Charismatic authority in the Weberian sense is typical in Sufi communities.26 The combination of charismatic and traditional authority is particularly relevant for the Sufi communities in Berlin, where hereditary leadership and gradual routinization of charisma occur. In 2003, Shaikh Eşref Goekcimen opened the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya (previously called Sufi Center Berlin–European Center for Inter-spiritual Encounters) in Kreuzberg, a borough of Berlin. It later moved to Neukölln, Berlin’s biggest multiethnic borough, which is home to a significant Muslim diaspora (predominantly Turkish).27 Sufi Center Rabbaniyya has branches in Germany (Cologne, Radolfzell/Bodensee, Eigeltingen-Reute, Ludwigshafen) and abroad (Switzerland and Slovenia). The Mevlana Sufi Center in Cologne opened in October 2012 and was reinstated two years later. It became the major Rabbaniyya branch in western Germany and a hub for further expansion to the neighboring countries. The Sufi Center Rabbaniyya represents an example of a “hybrid” Sufi community. Its inner circle is composed of Sheikh Eşref, his brother Ayberk, and some senior members who are ethnic Turks.28 The followers sometimes address them as “sheikhs,” but they do not officially possess this spiritual rank. These senior members lead the dhikrs in the absence of Sheikh Eşref and give talks to the murids followed by questions and answers on Saturdays after the dhikr ceremony. In these talks, they usually discuss the topics raised in his sohbet (public conversation) on Friday. We can depict the core membership in the Rabbaniyya as follows: A group of fifty followers (around half are women) regularly attend Sufi gatherings and take part in the ceremonies on Friday and Saturday evenings. This group is ethnically mixed and includes Turks, Kurds, and Arabs; German, Polish, Russian, and American converts; Kazakhs; and African nationals. Germans are the major ethnic group within the community. Apart from this core group, there are others who Abdul Cemal described as “those who come like comets every two years and then disappear again” (Rigney 2014). 193 Oleg YarOsh Böttcher points out that, due to a minimal institutionalized infrastructure, the Naqhsbandiyya-Haqqaniyya is created and held together by the charismatic appeal and religious authority of its network leader. This is based on the Sufi doctrine of “a spiritual master having to guide a disciple’s spiritual training and the disciple having to trust and obey his spiritual master” (Böttcher 2006: 243). The murids attracted by the charisma of the sheikh are connected to him through a spiritual link (rabita). The sheikh appoints regional representatives (hulafa) and creates social links among followers by initiating and organizing marriages and subnetworks for ritual and social purposes (Böttcher 2006: 243). Böttcher states that stability and development of the network depends on how the Sheikh’s charismatic authority is exercised within the network. After the death of Sheikh Nazim on May 7, 2014, his elder son, Mehmet Adil, who lives in Istanbul, became his successor. In the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya, direct communication with Sheikh Eşref and his deputies, whom he has authorized to speak publicly, plays a key role in maintaining and reproducing the center’s defining discourse. In addition, all the sheikh’s public speeches are filmed and posted on the community website.29 The space inside the assembly room in Sufi Center Rabbaniyya is organized in such a way that the sheikh or his representative is central, sitting in a decorated chair in front of which lies a sheepskin, while the rest of the community sits in a semicircle around him on carpets or pillows. Men occupy the front seats and women sit at the back. This organization of space is the material expression of the sheikh’s authority within the community. A key communication medium in the Rabbaniyya and the Naqshbandiyya tariqah in general is the sohbet, which is recognized as one of the basic religious practices. One of the founders and eponym of the tariqah, Shah Bahauddin Nakshband (1318–1389), proclaimed that “tariqah is based on sohbet. Goodness is always with jamaʾat (assembly).” Sohbet can be described as an enlightening speech given publicly by the sheikh to his followers on religious topics considered the most beneficial to the whole community. During these speeches he also gives general instructions on spiritual matters. As Metin Arikan stated: The Sheikh speaks out of his spiritual state, provides the knowledge from the living book, of lived experience. . . . Sohbet is addressed to the spiritual side of a person who learns how to be a good person. Sohbet goes from the heart of the Sheikh to the hearts of his students.30 194 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities In Sufism, especially in the Naqshbandiyya tariqah, the sheikh is regarded as a “living Qurʾan,” and he embodies Qurʾanic norms and inner meanings. Tayfun Atay underscores that for his own students the sheikh is the “primary source of Islamic knowledge.” Even the simple presence of a sheikh is regarded as a symbol of “superior knowledge.” Atay quotes one of his informants from the London Naqshbandiyya—Haqqaniyya, who said of Sheikh Nazim that “he is our Qurʾan.” The informant never read the Qurʾan but knows half of it by heart from the discourses of Sheikh Nazim (Atay 2012: 246). The sohbet is usually delivered late on Friday evenings, after the dhikr. On Saturday evenings, one of the sheikh’s deputies also delivers a speech to the assembly. He further discusses topics from the previous sohbet, but this is not regarded as a proper sohbet. As noted by Metin Arikan: I’m not actually a Sheikh such as Tahir and others. I just have the right to deliver what I’ve learned from the Sheikh, not to speak on my own behalf. It will not be a sohbet, just talk. The transfer of knowledge from others is always safer. I know you do not treat me as a Sheikh, we are rather friends.31 He reported that Sheikh Eşref usually addresses questions with great importance to the whole community during his sohbet. Sometimes, the sohbet covers topics discussed earlier in private conversations with students. Informants also noted that, because of the presence of both Muslims and non-Muslims within the community, Sheikh Eşref avoids direct reference to purely Islamic topics and presents these issues more generally in terms of religion and spiritual development. According to Metin, Islamic knowledge is present here as a “source of truth.” Sheikh Eşref also holds individual meetings with students. Most of them are looking for advice on matters about everyday life. The religious classes, Qurʾan recitation training, and training in prayers and other rituals are organized according to the community’s needs. Most converts learn prayers and rituals by imitating other Muslims. Many of the people I met during the Sufi gathering in the Rabbaniyya dergah on Fridays and Saturdays could be described as “awkward converts.” They had not formally professed the declaration of faith (shahada) and did not consider themselves to be Muslims. Some of them stood with Muslims during collective ritual prayers, while others ignored this ritual. The latter group also displayed their “otherness” through their special body language—sitting in a yogic lotus posture with the tips of their index fingers and thumbs touching 195 Oleg YarOsh (Vardhak Mudra)—during the performance of the collective dhikr. They received an embodied knowledge by incorporating practices such as performing Sufi rituals, which develops their belonging within the community. Yet their “awkward Muslimness” was not necessarily tolerated by born Muslims, who consider themselves to be “heirs” and “repositories” of Islamic tradition. Sheikh Eşref Effendi usually accepts such eclectic attitudes and behavior from the so- called awkward converts. He developed a healing system called “Hayy-Kraft Yoga” that combines elements of Sufi dhikr and muraqaba (meditation) with yogic practices. This was primarily designed for the non-Muslim “seekers” who are usually familiar with yoga and meditative exercises and is intended to introduce them to the basics of Sufi practices. Notably, Sheikh Eşref explained the need to separate women and men during the meditation because their energies have different qualities. Women are assembled behind men in the same room and are not isolated by a curtain or other barriers. Some of the awkward female participants take a seat close to the men’s circle (halqah). This caused dissatisfaction on the part of the born Muslims of Turkish origin, who complained about this to Sheikh Eşref. After he rejected their demand to introduce strict separation between women and men during the Sufi gatherings, they complained to Grand Sheikh Mehmet Adil Efendi. As a result, Shaikh Mehmet Efendi authorized a split in the Rabbaniyya community. He disbanded the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya in Berlin and ordered it to move to another location. He also insisted that German members of the Sufi community meet separately from the Turkish followers and banned the Turks from attending the “German” meetings. Sheikh Mehmet dissolved the Sufi ensemble and suspended all the community’s public activities. The German group is allowed to work only with Germans and other European converts. In the case of the Rabbaniyya community, we see a hierarchical communication model based on the collective direct interaction between the sheikh and his students organized as a ritual. The effectiveness of this model largely depends on affective identification with the sheikh’s extraordinary qualities and consolidation of his religious authority within the community. As we can see from this example, religious authority in the Rabbaniyya Center is not properly consolidated, and thus the community is fragmented along ethnic lines. The presence of many awkward converts in this community allows them to uphold a distinct collective identity within the Sufi group. This, however, hinders the intrareligious conversion inside the community. Let us now turn to the Tariqah Burhaniyya. The current sheikh, Muhammad Ibrahim, lives permanently in Germany, so his German followers have 196 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities easier access to him and can directly ask for his opinion in solving their problems. He usually does not respond to messages sent by email, especially from German students. However, students can visit him personally. The sheikh spends hours in individual communication with his students.32 Matias reported that, after the death of Sheikh Muhammad Uthman in 1983, disputes over the succession caused internal splits. That is why only Muhammad Ibrahim is considered to now be the sheikh, and this title is applied to other senior members of the tariqah only in a figurative sense. Therefore, the structure of the Burhaniyya network is more formalized than that of the Naqshbandiyya-Haqqaniyya. Tariqah Burhaniyya in Germany consists almost completely of converts and second-generation Muslims of German origin. There are also a few Sudanese murids who are widely respected by other members. Kinship ties play a very important role in the communities. For example, in the Berlin center, many murids are relatives of the local murshid (mentor) Abdullah. Recently, the community has mainly developed through marriage and new generations, not by acquiring new members. Religious authority in Tariqah Burhaniyya is mediated by the regional network of representatives. The sheikh appoints local representative-mentors (murshids). In the regional communities, guiding (irshad ) committees are set up hierarchically: the local murshid is a mentor for senior students, who in turn are responsible for the newcomers. Each community member should entrust her/his needs and problems to her/his own mentor, who will try to resolve them. If necessary, the mentor may consult with the local murshid, who in turn may apply directly to the sheikh. On Saturday evenings, the Berlin zawiyah (assembly) hosts “family meetings” of community members. They come together to prepare and share a meal, discuss issues of community life, and read and discuss discourses and speeches by sheikhs such as Sheikh Hussein and Sheikh Muhammad Ibrahim. The attitude toward Islamic normative tradition in Tariqah Burhaniyya is more rigorous than in Rabbaniyya. In 2003, Sheikh Ibrahim banned women’s “bodily participation” in the dhikr/hadra ceremony. Since then, women in this community can perform dhikr only “spiritually,” like a meditation, while separated by a curtain from the men who are actively engaged in the dhikr ceremony. Matias complained to me that, once Sheikh Ibrahim introduced these restrictions, it became difficult to attract new female followers because they regard this separation as a form of discrimination.33 Thus the Burhaniyya community looks more homogeneous; its structure is more formal, and religious authority is consolidated to a greater extent than in the Rabbaniyya. These conditions have a positive impact on intrareligious 197 Oleg YarOsh conversions in this community, where almost all members have formally embraced Islam and are practicing it religiously. Meanwhile, the current shift toward Islamic normativity makes the Burhaniyya less attractive for newcomers who are socialized in a liberal interreligious milieu.  Religious authority in the Western Sufi communities represents a form of interaction between the charismatic leader, or sheikh, and his followers. In other words, it is a kind of exchange in which the leader satisfies religious and everyday life expectations of community members and receives their loyalty in return. At the same time, the presence of a significant number of converts in Western Sufi communities makes a noticeable difference in terms of discourses, practices, and religious authority. Western converts often express their religious identity in modern forms characterized by selective and individualist attitudes toward the Islamic tradition. “Being Sufi” and “Being Muslim” are not similar, at least for some of them. They are the so-called awkward converts who attend Sufi meetings and take part in Sufi rituals without formally professing the declaration of faith. They are not involved in the process of “intrareligious” conversion based on religious learning and the adoption of Islamic normativity. The defining discourse within the Rabbaniyya community and its relation to the Islamic tradition has been negotiated by different actors, including local agents (sheikh, converts, born Muslims) as well as translocal actors (other Haqqaniyya groups in Berlin and Germany, as well as the central authority of the Naqhsbandiyya-Haqqaniyya network). We can regard it as pluralistic in that it appropriates Western social and cultural patterns as well as contextualized Islamic norms. The awkward converts feel more comfortable within a group like the Rabbaniyya, which tolerates their ambiguous attitudes toward Islamic tradition. Therefore, the expectations of many Sufi converts are different than those of born Muslims. What converts consider to be an advantage—such as the absence of gender segregation within the community—some born Muslims refuse to accept. This can lead to a situation in which a group within the community, or the central authority in the network, withdraws its support for the local leader. That is what happened at Sufi Center Rabbaniyya in December 2014. Because of the availability of other Haqqaniyya groups in Germany, converts can shop around for different alternatives: the more Shariʿah-oriented 198 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities versus the more eclectic. This allows them to form a new transcommunal framework of loyalty, which in turn weakens the consolidation of religious authority within the Rabbaniyya community. Meanwhile, religious authority in Tariqah Burhaniyya appears to be more consolidated because of its developed infrastructure, formalized communication, and ethnic homogeneity. This enables the sheikh to control the defining discourse of the Sufi network and to promote the intrareligious conversion of its members based on the gradual adoption of Islamic norms and lifestyles. At the same time, it makes the Burhaniyya community less attractive to novices with a secular or an eclectic religious background.  1. The problem of Sufi followers who do not formally embrace Islam has been partially addressed in the works of Marcia Hermansen and Jane I. Smith (Hermansen 2000: 161, passim; Smith 1999: 68–69). 2. During the period of my fieldwork in Berlin, a major event dominated the situation in the community: a formal split of the Rabbaniyya on the command of Sheikh Mehmet Adil Efendi and the relocation of Sheikh Eşref Efendi to Bodensee. This situation will be discussed below. 3. I actively participated in the Sufi rituals while maintaining my “outsider” status within these groups. 4. The fieldwork took place from October through December 2014 in the Rabbaniyya dergah and the Burhaniyya zawiyah in the Neukölln borough of Berlin. I appreciate the support of the Berlin Graduate School Muslim Cultures and Societies (bgsmCs), which provided me with a fellowship that enabled my research. The names of my interlocutors (except Metin Arikan and Taufik Mempel) are pseudonyms. 5. The Burhaniyya murids repeatedly told this story (whether true or partly fictional) to newcomers. Over time it has been transformed into a ritualized “origin narrative.” (Lassen 2009: 193). Meanwhile, Khalid Duran, who himself functioned for a while as imam at Haus Schnede (Hoffman 1995: 322), presents an alternative account of this event, namely, that several years before his death Salah Id had taken forty German followers to Khartoum to pledge allegiance to Sidi Fahruddin (Duran 1991: 467). 6. According to Luckmann: “Canons originate in social processes, or more precisely, in institutionalized communicative interactions. The aim of these interactions is to regulate communicative interactions and their results. The processes consist of selection and elimination (censoring), as well as systematization of those collective representations which are central to the world view of a society. The result, an exclusionary canon (defining orthodoxy and orthopraxis), is given institutional support by routines of transmission and enforcement” (Luckmann 1999: 257). 7. I visited all these communities between October and December 2008. Their mem- 199 Oleg YarOsh bership, with a few exceptions, consists of born Muslims of Turkish and Kurdish origin. As Margaret J. Rausch notes: “The ‘transplanted’ Sufi orders provided familiar communal structures and a sense of home in exile” (Rausch 2009: 159). 8. Here we refer to Lewis Rambo and Charles Farhadian’s notion of context: “The context is the ecology in which converting takes place. It could be argued that the context is not strictly speaking a stage but rather the total environment of religious change” (Rambo and Farhadian 1999: 24). 9. Collecting the conversion narratives was not a major concern in my fieldwork, so the design of the interview and questions did not follow Rambo and Farhadian’s stage model. That is why his example is notable. 10. On the significance of the choice for an Islamic name, see Allievi (2006: 124–125). At a meeting in the Rabbaniyya Center, I asked Sheikh Eşref “What is the significance of giving Muslim names to your followers”? He asked me first if I wanted to receive a name from him myself and then replied: “Those who experience a ‘rebirth’ in the community get two names for the convenience of their socialization in the Western world. They can use Christian names at work or at university, while here they can be referred to by Muslim names.” 11. Interview with Marcus at the Rabbaniyya dergah in the Neukölln borough of Berlin, November 2014. 12. My assessment is based on their interreligious behavior. According to Metin Arikan, the aid to Sheikh Eşref, German converts usually perform ritual prayers in the dergah on Friday and do not regularly pray at home. 13. Interview with Metin Arikan at the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya, Berlin, October 2014. 14. Robert Rigney is a freelance journalist from California who was visiting Sufi communities in Berlin at the same time I was. 15. Interview with Marcus at the Rabbaniyya dergah, Berlin, November 2014. 16. Nasima Selim writes: “The Berlin Sufis invest a lot of energy in either designing or promoting newly constructed rituals, a diverse set of ‘innovative body practices’ to mobilize their distinct therapeutic politics” (Selim 2015: 242). 17. Jeremy Carrette and Richard King claim: “At a cultural level, the shift in interest from ‘traditional religion’ to ‘private spirituality’ has overwhelmingly been presented to us as consumer-oriented, that is as reflecting the concerns of the modern, ‘liberated’ individual to free themselves from the traditional constraints of religion, dogma and ecclesiastical forms of thought-control” (Carrette and King 2004: 27). 18. Interview with Taufiq in Berlin, November 2014. 19. See www.sufi-tariqahh.de. 20. Interview with Taufiq in Berlin, November 2014. 21. Interview with Miriam in Berlin, December 2014. She is a 25-year-old, secondgeneration Naqhsbandiyya-Haqqaniyya murida, born to an ethnically mixed couple. 22. For example, in the Kyiv Centre of the al-Ahbash movement, connected to the Rifaiʾyya-Qadiriyya tariqah, novices are required to attend individual lessons with the teacher to acquire an Islamic basis before they are allowed to take part in the Sufi rituals. 200 Conversions in Berlin ’ s sufi Communities 23. Interview with Stephan in Burhaniyya zawiyah in Berlin, November 2014. 24. Interview with Taufiq in Berlin, November 2014. 25. Interview with Metin Arikan at the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya, Berlin, October 2014. 26. Weber describes charisma as “a certain quality of an individual personality by virtue of which he is set apart from ordinary men and treated as endowed with supernatural, superhuman, or at least specifically exceptional powers or qualities. These are such as are not accessible to the ordinary person, but are regarded as of divine origin or as exemplary, and on the basis of them the individual concerned is treated as a leader” (Weber 1947: 358–359). 27. The other Naqshbandiyya-Haqqaniyya dergah in Berlin is located at Bundesplatz. This multiethnic community, where German converts predominate, is led by Shaykh Ahmed Kreusch. Shaykh Ahmed reported that, during his voyages across Europe, Shaykh Nazim used to stay there. They traditionally hold dhikr sessions on Thursday evenings. I also noticed some of the Rabbaniyya followers there. 28. Annabel Böttcher distinguishes between the three categories of the NaqshbandiyyaHaqqaniya followers: mubtadi/mubtadiʾa (novice), murid/murida (advanced follower), and muhibb/muhibba (nonconnected “sympathizer”). The last category is most numerous in the Haqqaniyya (Böttcher 2006: 258). 29. See sufi-zentrum-rabbaniyya.de. 30. Interview with Metin Arikan at the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya in Berlin, October 2014. 31. Participant observation at the Sufi Center Rabbaniyya in Berlin, November 2014. 32. Interview with Matias in the Burhaniyya zawiyah in Berlin, December 2014. 33. 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