Yet some longtime residents criticize the new arrivals for clinging to their own cultural traditions: wearing headscarves, naming a Bangladeshi market BanglaTown, issuing the call to prayer in Arabic -- and then insisting that men and women worship in separate rooms.
"Why are you in the United States of America if you don't want to become an American?" Bob Golen asked.
Worshipers at the Al-Islah Islamic Center say broadcasting the azan is not about blending into -- or defying -- the mainstream.
It's about tradition. And sacred obligation.
In deference to neighbors, the mosque's president, Abdul Motlib, has agreed not to broadcast before 6 a.m. or after 10 p.m., even if prayer times, which vary depending on the sunrise, fall that early or late.
Motlib acknowledges that the call to worship is not strictly necessary these days; websites list the prayer schedule. Nor does he expect to draw Muslims citywide -- not with the loudspeaker muted so his lilting chant carries only a short distance.
He's motivated, instead, by a spiritual need to sing the invocation that Muslims the world over have called out five times a day for 1,400 years. Inviting the community to pray together, he says, brings more blessings than praying alone.
Though Al-Islah has not yet begun broadcasting -- the council's approval takes effect May 26 -- some non-Muslim residents here are already familiar with the call to prayer.
Just two square miles in area, Hamtramck is completely surrounded by Detroit. At least three mosques just across the border in Canada broadcast the azan five times a day. Majewski considers herself lucky when she hears it: "It's very, very soothing and spiritual," she said.
Others, however, complain that the Arabic grates on them.
"It sounds like a bunch of jibber-jabber," said Angela Damron, 30. She vows to move if she can hear Al-Islah's call to prayer from her house.
"Because I don't understand the language, it's even more offensive," Cieslak said.
Shahab Ahmed, who owns a local driving school, has heard such comments for years.
During his first failed run for the City Council in 1999, dozens of citizens of Arabic and Asian origin complained that they were harassed at the polls. Two residents were convicted of interfering with voters. Ahmed ran again in 2001, just after the Sept. 11 attacks. That time, he said, a flier calling him a terrorist was circulated anonymously.
Ahmed, 38, finally won election last year. As the town's first Muslim council member, he was delighted that his colleagues unanimously supported Al-Islah's request.
Majewski describes the vote as common sense. She says the mosque was already allowed to broadcast; by granting formal approval, the city preserved its right to regulate the times and volume of the call to prayer.
But Ahmed sees more significance in the decision. He hopes it's a first step toward breaking down the suspicion some of his neighbors have about the new faces on their streets.
"After Sept. 11, anything people hear about Islam, they're scared. But if they hear [the call to prayer] every day," Ahmed said, "the fear is going to fade away."
