Mimar Sinan’s ‘mind hall’:A creative space for women in historical Istanbul

As the sun sets over Istanbul, casting golden hues upon the city’s skyline, Fevzi Pasa Street in Fatih bustles with activity. Well-lit shops flank the avenue, some selling wedding dresses, some doner kebabs, making the entire neighbourhood feel unrelentingly vibrant and alive.

Just a couple of blocks down, four-centuries-old Semiz Ali Pasa Madrassa, which was designed by the legendary Ottoman architect Mimar Sinan in the 1550s, has become a meeting point for a diverse group of women from numerous countries, representing various ethnic and cultural backgrounds. Inspired by the Arabic term “majlis,” meaning “sitting room,” they call it “Sisters’ Majlis.”

Inside the madrassa’s ashlar walls, which seem to have softened with time, they sat in a circle on a recent afternoon – each one radiating her heritage through garments of differing colours. Their voices, tinged with accents from various parts of the world, made the ambiance warm.

Tucked inside the ancient Byzantine and Ottoman walls, Fatih district, the spiritual heart of Istanbul, is home to many mosques and madrassas. The entire district has been a melting pot of different cultures.

Amidst this hustle and bustle is Semiz Ali Pasa Madrassa, which has opened its doors to a “Sisters' Majlis.”

A Sisters' Majlis is a gathering in which women form a circle, or “halaqa” in Arabic, which becomes the centre point of learning. The concept of halaqa dates back to the era of Prophet Muhammad. After prayers, the Prophet and his companions would sit in a circle inside the masjid and engage in thought-provoking discussions.

In the mystical realm of Sufism, the act of sitting in a circle during a majlis is a profound symbol of fellowship and openness; a halaqa promises equal terms and inspires democratic consensus on problems.

The concept of majlis played a significant role in the continental expansion of the Ottoman Empire. They served as literary salons, of sorts, between the 16th and 20th centuries, and “encouraged the development of pan-Ottoman learned debates and a shared scholarly canon,” according to Helen Pfeifer's book titled Encounter After The Conquest: Scholarly Gatherings In 16th-Century Ottoman Damascus.

The Sisters' Majlis of today – which is part of the Majlis of Istanbul Muslims (MIM), an intellectual space created in 2019 to cater the city’s diverse Muslim thinkers – embodies the same spirit.

Ihsane, a 27-year-old halaqa participant at Semiz Ali Pasa Madrassa, sought to find a sense of belonging with Istanbul ever since she moved to the city eight years ago.

Currently a master’s student in International Relations and Politics, she recounts the day she left her home country, Morocco, to pursue higher studies in Türkiye feeling a sense of loss.

But at her first glimpse of Istanbul made her both elated and anxious – while the city’s landscape inspired confidence, its sheer size and speed were disconcerting.

“Your family is abroad and you have your studies. The society is big, the city is big and intimidating,” Ihsane said, describing the daunting task of navigating Istanbul as a foreigner.

In wanting to connect with the city on a deeper level and find a community, she came across several women who were eager to meet people and not just socialise, but also engage both spiritually and intellectually.

For Ihsane, the relationship between the local Muslim community and the city of Istanbul is one of reciprocity.

“Both entities take and give back in equal measure.”

In February this year, a few days after the twin earthquakes destroyed much of Southern Türkiye and northern Syria, the first Sisters' Majlis meeting was hosted by Bilim ve Insan Vakfi, a foundation that works out of the Semiz Ali Pasa Madrassa and not only provides scholarships to students but also offers courses on Islamic teachings.

“This is not about creating one sphere for international people [in which] to exist,” Ihsane clarifies. “We can call Istanbul home when we harvest together.”

Ihsane says it’s important for locals and international residents of the city to overcome the barriers between each other by sharing stories. At the Sisters' Majlis, several Turkish women engage with women from different parts of the world.

“Our soul moves with curiosity,” Ihsane says, “this our fitrah.”

In Arabic, “fitrah” means innate nature or original disposition. In Islamic theology, human beings are created with a disposition that guides them towards recognising and adhering to truth, promoting justice, and seeking harmony in their relationship with God, nature and fellow human beings.

Imagining cosmopolitanism

With its rich history, multicultural heritage and cosmopolitan present, the city of Istanbul echoes this notion of fitrah.

“When I came to Istanbul, I only had one friend,” says 28-year-old Somali-Canadian Ilham. Now pursuing a master’s degree in Sociology, with the same joy and excitement of encountering like-minded spirits still lingering in her voice since she first joined the Sisters' Majlis, she reflects on how her social circle has expanded thanks to a friend who introduced her to the gatherings.

Ilham feels transported to a different place when she takes the ferry across the Istanbul Strait from Kadikoy to Uskudar. The journey is mesmerising, as she is surrounded both by the rich history and heritage of Istanbul and by its modern cosmopolitanism. Each district of Istanbul has its own unique character, and yet they all coexist in harmony.

“What Istanbul offers — and has traditionally offered — was not one city, but a series of neighbourhoods,” says Dr Yakoob Ahmed, who has been living in the city for 10 years and teaching at Istanbul University.

“These areas accommodated specific communities based on their needs, aspirations, ideologies and beliefs.”

From the days of the Ottoman Empire, Istanbul’s ability to accommodate large-scale migration and integrate foreigners from diverse backgrounds has added layers of complexity and depth to its fabric, adds Ahmed.

“The imagination of cosmopolitanism is often London or New York, but this city, Istanbul, is exceptionally cosmopolitan if we were just to open our eyes a little.”

Ahmed founded a biweekly book club on Islamic studies named the Decolonial Book Club in 2018. He has been mentoring and running it out of Semiz Ali Pasa Madrassa with the help of Bilim ve Insan Vakfi in Fatih.

The book club attracted people from diverse backgrounds. Hibatuallah Bensaid met her future husband Thomas Parker at Ahmed’s book club.

Bensaid first arrived in Istanbul in 2018. She was 23 years old — “with plans to do nothing more than gallivant through the picturesque city of Istanbul and bury myself in my graduate studies,” she says.

Venues like the book club and garden iftar meetings at Suleymaniye Mosque invigorated her social life in the city.

“It provided a much-needed sense of belonging and foreshadowed the kinds of activities we would plan in the coming months,” she tells TRT World.

Looking back at the origins of the Sisters' Majlis and how she met participants like Ihlam, Bensaid feels nostalgic.

“We spent hours delving into Syed Naquib Al Attas’ profound book, critiquing Khaled Abou Fadel’s work and basking in Salman Sayyid’s refreshing rhetoric. Those weekend meetings followed by strolls in Istanbul’s historical districts not only ignited a passion for reclaiming our narratives and intellectual agency, but also instilled [in us] a sense of pride in our Islamic civilisational heritage and identity,” Bensaid says.

Bensaid and Thomas discussed the possibility of creating a safe space for young Muslims along the lines of the Majlis of Istanbul Muslims.

Young Muslims may find themselves navigating a complex web of stereotypes and misconceptions within the broader international community in big Western metropolises.

Ihsane narrated the time when she and her Muslim friends faced the challenge of balancing their religious identity with “woke” ideologies at a number of networking events in Istanbul.

They felt the need to find a space where they could freely explore their faith, express their spirituality and engage in meaningful conversations without fear of judgement or marginalisation.

They sought to build a narrative of resilience, wherein they cherished their shared values and aspirations and also refused to be defined solely by their religious attire.

“Based on what we define as ‘a lack of faith-based intellectual and spiritual space for women’,” recounts Dilara, a Turkish product designer and co-founder of the Sisters' Majlis, “we set out to create an integrated space where young women could focus on their spiritual, mental and career development.”

In light of Türkiye reeling from the deaths of thousands of people as the result of one of the biggest earthquakes the country has seen in 150 years, coming together to find solutions and recovery methods was essential, according to Dilara. She and other women found that navigating trauma through community healing was a powerful way to overcome grief.

“Attempting it alone proved to be very difficult,” she says.

“This,” Dilara says, “is where our story truly began.”