I lie awake afraid they'll lose the deen

Istanbul is loud at night, the ferry horns, the mosque lights, my sons’ phones buzzing under their pillows in Turkish. I find myself awake after fajr sometimes, sitting at the kitchen window with a cold simit, thinking, what if they grow up fluent in the city's speech but not in the language of our prayers, or worse, not loving the deen the way I do? I’m torn. Do I insist on Arabic classes, extra Quran time, and risk making home strict and joyless? Or do I let them breathe and hope the roots hold, even if I can’t see them now? Has anyone lived this exact tug between holding on and letting go?