.
“Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken like the first bird.” Cat Steven, now Yusuf Islam’s voice was ringing in my ears at Brussels Airport. It was my first and only morning in this magnificent city - which has been at the cross roads of history often.
Earlier that year in July 2011, Space Daily reported that “when Belgian astronaut Frank De Winne feels homesick when in space, all he needs to do… is look down for the bright spot for even nowadays Belgium keeps its highways switched on.” Having worked on the Space Shuttle program some thirty years earlier, I knew what De Winne was talking about.
Morning had broken on March 22, 2016 while I was driving on Hunter Mill Road. On the daily Writer’s Almanac, Garrison Keillor narrated the poem for the day - “a morning breeze stirs the now turning tide, breathing over it, sighing toward bayside.” He reminded the listeners on National Public Radio that on this day in 1895 the first private screening of a motion picture was held in Paris.
A few minutes later, going downhill on one of the Civil War trails near an equestrian farm, I heard the news of the awful bombing at Brussels airport over the airwaves.
Like a slow motion movie, I recalled every moment in the last remaining days of 2011 when one could feel the Holidays spirit in the air. The Brussels airport looked like a beautifully dressed bride ready to start a new life in 2012. The counters of Brussels Airlines were busy handling passengers among whom I was standing in line full of excitement to begin the next leg of my journey to Madrid. I would take a train to Cordoba to pray at the mosque that I long remembered from its opening in 1982. Staying a night at the house of a friend who served as the care taker of the Basharat mosque in Pedrobad near Cordoba brought back memories of my Vietnam Veteran friend A. K. Raja whose sister was Razak’s wife. The next morning was again a train ride back to Madrid for a spiritual journey to Zaragoza. A day later, a plane ride from Madrid took me to Frankfurt in memory of my father who served there after World War II. The next day I remember taking another train to see the Christmas lights still shining brightly in Dresden.
Years past that beautiful day in Brussels, as the news bulletin spread through the airwaves, it occurred to me that while I was able to complete many more enjoyable journeys through Europe, too many lives will be interrupted with pain, injury and death.
Passing by churches on Hunter Mill Road reminded me being in La Seo Cathedral and admiring the magnificent Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar in Zaragoza late at night from the windows of my friend’s apartment. Each precious moment in Zaragoza came into focus of my memory. The aroma of the coffee after brunch at Angel Sancho Grañena’s apartment in Zaragoza - shortly after New Year in 2012 - was still fresh in my car as I drove along Hunter Mill Road. John Denver’s songs that we both loved played on Angel’s stereo were still ringing in my ears.
Of those memories, none was more unforgettable than being in the Dresden’s Frauenkirche, a church which was completely rebuilt from the ashes of the indiscriminate bombings of World War II. Praying in the Frauenkirche Church, early morning during my stay, was just as satisfying any other place I was able to visit.
On this memorable journey, my prayers were a sincere effort to appreciate my beloved parents for their sacrifices for my education that enabled me to understand that a mosque, a temple, a church, or a synagogue are hallowed places for prayers and not a cesspool of anger. In these places, we go to pray for family friends – which for me are like Tariq and Carmena, who helped my community when a small mosque was built near Cordoba in 1982.
Learning that the barbarous bombings in Brussels involved suicide bombers was both sad and incomprehensible. So as the news was being broadcast, I remembered what Ambassador Johan Verbeke of Belgium told me two years earlier: “Youth radicalization and Islamic militancy is of course a serious concern to us and so we are working with our allies to counter this threat. A large number of these extremists are fighting in Syria. Our concern is that the youth from Europe are being exploited in this fight. But, we have an intensive program to deal with this situation at home. We are engaging the local imams to stem the flow of foreign fighters. And, yes, we will enforce the laws taking judicial action where required.”
From each journey to this beautiful continent and every interaction with the people and its diplomats, one learns about how much Europe has to offer. In these difficult times, it becomes now more important to be united in ensuring that the local imams serve as healers and not haters. It was disturbing to learn from BBC that an Imam of a mosque in Glasgow, Scotland praised an extremist killer who committed murder of Governor Salman Taseer in Pakistan. Strangely enough soon afterwards, a Muslim shopkeeper expressing good wishes to Christian customers via his Facebook page on Easter was stabbed to death by a 32 year old extremist.
The views presented in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily represent the views of any other organization.
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From Brussels to Dresden
April 25, 2016
“Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken like the first bird.” Cat Steven, now Yusuf Islam’s voice was ringing in my ears at Brussels Airport. It was my first and only morning in this magnificent city - which has been at the cross roads of history often.
Earlier that year in July 2011, Space Daily reported that “when Belgian astronaut Frank De Winne feels homesick when in space, all he needs to do… is look down for the bright spot for even nowadays Belgium keeps its highways switched on.” Having worked on the Space Shuttle program some thirty years earlier, I knew what De Winne was talking about.
Morning had broken on March 22, 2016 while I was driving on Hunter Mill Road. On the daily Writer’s Almanac, Garrison Keillor narrated the poem for the day - “a morning breeze stirs the now turning tide, breathing over it, sighing toward bayside.” He reminded the listeners on National Public Radio that on this day in 1895 the first private screening of a motion picture was held in Paris.
A few minutes later, going downhill on one of the Civil War trails near an equestrian farm, I heard the news of the awful bombing at Brussels airport over the airwaves.
Like a slow motion movie, I recalled every moment in the last remaining days of 2011 when one could feel the Holidays spirit in the air. The Brussels airport looked like a beautifully dressed bride ready to start a new life in 2012. The counters of Brussels Airlines were busy handling passengers among whom I was standing in line full of excitement to begin the next leg of my journey to Madrid. I would take a train to Cordoba to pray at the mosque that I long remembered from its opening in 1982. Staying a night at the house of a friend who served as the care taker of the Basharat mosque in Pedrobad near Cordoba brought back memories of my Vietnam Veteran friend A. K. Raja whose sister was Razak’s wife. The next morning was again a train ride back to Madrid for a spiritual journey to Zaragoza. A day later, a plane ride from Madrid took me to Frankfurt in memory of my father who served there after World War II. The next day I remember taking another train to see the Christmas lights still shining brightly in Dresden.
Years past that beautiful day in Brussels, as the news bulletin spread through the airwaves, it occurred to me that while I was able to complete many more enjoyable journeys through Europe, too many lives will be interrupted with pain, injury and death.
Passing by churches on Hunter Mill Road reminded me being in La Seo Cathedral and admiring the magnificent Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar in Zaragoza late at night from the windows of my friend’s apartment. Each precious moment in Zaragoza came into focus of my memory. The aroma of the coffee after brunch at Angel Sancho Grañena’s apartment in Zaragoza - shortly after New Year in 2012 - was still fresh in my car as I drove along Hunter Mill Road. John Denver’s songs that we both loved played on Angel’s stereo were still ringing in my ears.
Of those memories, none was more unforgettable than being in the Dresden’s Frauenkirche, a church which was completely rebuilt from the ashes of the indiscriminate bombings of World War II. Praying in the Frauenkirche Church, early morning during my stay, was just as satisfying any other place I was able to visit.
On this memorable journey, my prayers were a sincere effort to appreciate my beloved parents for their sacrifices for my education that enabled me to understand that a mosque, a temple, a church, or a synagogue are hallowed places for prayers and not a cesspool of anger. In these places, we go to pray for family friends – which for me are like Tariq and Carmena, who helped my community when a small mosque was built near Cordoba in 1982.
Learning that the barbarous bombings in Brussels involved suicide bombers was both sad and incomprehensible. So as the news was being broadcast, I remembered what Ambassador Johan Verbeke of Belgium told me two years earlier: “Youth radicalization and Islamic militancy is of course a serious concern to us and so we are working with our allies to counter this threat. A large number of these extremists are fighting in Syria. Our concern is that the youth from Europe are being exploited in this fight. But, we have an intensive program to deal with this situation at home. We are engaging the local imams to stem the flow of foreign fighters. And, yes, we will enforce the laws taking judicial action where required.”
From each journey to this beautiful continent and every interaction with the people and its diplomats, one learns about how much Europe has to offer. In these difficult times, it becomes now more important to be united in ensuring that the local imams serve as healers and not haters. It was disturbing to learn from BBC that an Imam of a mosque in Glasgow, Scotland praised an extremist killer who committed murder of Governor Salman Taseer in Pakistan. Strangely enough soon afterwards, a Muslim shopkeeper expressing good wishes to Christian customers via his Facebook page on Easter was stabbed to death by a 32 year old extremist.
The views presented in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily represent the views of any other organization.
