TODAY, I write on behalf of CAIR-Chicago to mourn the passing of a good soul.

Zahid Tahir, CAIR-chicago's accountant, husband, father, and tireless advocate for justice has returned to his creator.

Brother Zahid Tahir, affectionately known in our office as ZT, was always there for us, ensuring that our financial transactions are in full compliance with the law. But ZT was much more than our accountant. He was our cheerleader, our friend, our counsel, and our father. He read every email we sent out and gave heartfelt feedback, he visited our website regularly and always had encouraging words for us - as well as no-nonsense advice.

I would always feel bad when I would fail to return one of his calls in a time-sensitive matter. When I would finally call back, expecting a possible disgruntled voice at the other end of the line, he would always greet me with the warmest "Assaaaalamu Alaikum."

"I know you are very busy," he would say, "how about this, just send Fedex me the documents, and I will take care of everything."

There was never a doubt in my mind that ZT cared for the organization as much as I did; time and again when he would see me overwhelmed, he would go out of his way to step in and relieve the load.

The last time I spoke to ZT was a mere two days ago.

He called me before he went to the hospital to undergo a major operation on his hip, one that would prove terminal.

I reckon he was fully privy to the personal jeopardy that lay ahead, but he was never one to complain, or for that matter, to lose concentration. When I expressed concern for his health, he was grateful yet dismissive of his personal affliction, asking me only to "pray for him," and then quicker than I could say "Amen," he delved straight into business making sure that we knew what to do with the outstanding accounting work while he was gone. In that final phone call still fresh in my ears, he was as meticulous and detail-oriented as ever - as genuinely caring as ever.

Today, we remember ZT as the embodiment of the "professional Muslim activism" model that CAIR-Chicago has always aspired to emulate and promote: He mastered the substance of his work, and perfected its presentation. He excelled in his science, and beautified his art. He was concise, precise, and punctual. He had a zeal for life, but an undying awareness of the hereafter.

The single word I remember ZT using more than any other is "ethical." Making sure every detail of our work was ethical by the highest possible standards, his own, was his sincerest gift to us.

You may expect public eulogies to be strictly for those whose names and faces have appeared frequently before us. But this is a eulogy for the great among us, embodied in ZT, who may pass as relative unknowns to most of us, recognizing that their backstage contributions are no less important, and no less influential in our lives.

Yaser Tabbara, CAIR-Chicago's former Executive Director, referred to ZT as "a silent soldier," that rare breed of human beings who play a huge role in the community's success yet remain distant from the limelight, relatively unknown to most. In recognizing ZT, our beloved brother, we salute all the silent soldiers in our community whose courage, persistence, and selflessness we owe everything to.

In the Muslim-American activist scene, you may have come to know a few of our names, but there are many others that you may never get to know. They work relentlessly behind the scenes to ensure that our struggle to fight for justice continues unabashed. They are interns, volunteers, mentors, advisers, spiritual guides, parents, spouses - and ZT.

Whenever the times get tough, I think of the silent soldiers in my life, and I am inspired to go on with nothing but hope in my heart, and optimism in my mind. With no shortage of silent soldiers, ours is a blessed community.

As we bid farewell to ZT, I am reminded of my last visit to his office in Palatine, and how I was surprised to find it decorated with a large number of miniature cars. "I didn't know you were into cars," I told ZT. "I am," he smiled bashfully without looking up from the stack of paperwork on his desk, "you still didn't Fedex me those documents, did you?"

We feel saddened by the loss of this wonderful man, but we pray that Allah helps us find solace in his touching legacy.

From God we come, and to God we Return.

Zahid Tahir: Saluting Our Silent Soldier