I thought it was a species that emigrated northward through the summer and fall.  Online research showed their year-round range covered most of the U.S. I just don’t see them until fall.

Checkered Skippers (Pyrgus communis) have a 3/4 to 1 1/4 inch wingspan. They lay eggs on mallows, hollyhocks and hibiscus.

“I’m the doctor” by MagicMoonCat on Deviant Art

The Weeping Angels played a vital role in the plot of the latest Doctor Who Episode, “The Angels Take Manhattan”, during which we, and the Doctor (played by Matt Smith),said goodbye to two beloved characters, Amy and Rory, played by Arthur Darvill and Karen Gillan.

And I believe the reason why the Weeping Angels grip us is because they concentrate two of our greatest fears: Being Snatched Away, and Being Left Behind.

weeping angel

Even when a family member who emigrated to a far country comes back home to visit England, it’s never the same.

The reason why is this: the time she spends here is Special Time.

And the time which the Weeping Angels snatch is OrdinaryTime.
Ordinary Time, Now, which can never be regained.

I lived and worked in Australia for four and a half years before returning to live in the UK. And during the time I was there I had a strange feeling, that I was existing in some kind of afterlife, in “the spirit world” – and that life back in England was “life on earth”.

I mention this because I think it feeds in to what I’m saying about the Weeping Angels, and the haunting power of what they do, and why the idea of them has such a grip on the imaginations of millions who watch Doctor Who.

The Weeping Angels snatch you away from your ordinary time, now, and steal all the energy you would have used to live in that time – and they transport you back to some period in the past.

I can imagine the creator of the Weeping Angels, Steven Moffat, standing in a churchyard or cemetary perhaps, and thinking about people who are snatched away.

Then he would have looked at a statue of a weeping angel, and thought: What if it dropped its hands and looked at me, and our gaze met? And that was all that was needed for me to be snatched away?

In fact, the story he tells is that he stood before a shackled gate, through which he could see a weeping angel statue in a graveyard.

And he still can’t understand why his idea touched so many people so deeply.

In moments like that, in the unconscious, far-reaching ideas are born.

Not much information about my family history had ever really existed – on both sides. I’ve always wondered about them. And I was always glued to TV programmes about genealogy, especially ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’


My Nan (grandmother Roloff) had spent some time researching the Roloff family history, a couple of years ago. Using the information she had found, I had a very strong place to begin researching, and took to ancestry.co.uk. Curious about the potential origins of my Roloff lineage, I decided initially to begin with the earliest Roloff I could find – the origin of our Roloff lineage in England. I was able to confirm my nan’s research in that this was my great great grandfather, born in ‘Germany Free State’ about 1858 as Friedrich Wilhelm Roloff, later known as Frederick William Roloff. In the majority of documents I have found, his name is listed using an English spelling (almost certainly to gain acceptance from the English nationals), therefore I will refer to him as such from here on.

St George’s Lutheran Church, Whitechapel, London. Originally posted to Flickr.

The Lutheran Church opened its doors to the parishioners of Goodman’s Fields in 1762, the fifth in the capital to cater to a large and growing German-speaking congregation ^[3]. It is now the oldest surviving German Lutheran church in the UK. It served as a religious centre for generations of German immigrants who worked in the East End sugar refineries and in the meat and baking trades right up until the First World War ^[2]. At the time, the street was called “Little Ayliffe Street” and the area was called “Goodman’s Fields”. The name of the street changed to “Alie Street” about 1800 ^[1].

When the church was established, the man behind the new place of worship was Dietrich Beckmann, the wealthy owner of an East End sugar bakery. Whitechapel had many of these refineries at the time – the smell and the smoke were said to be overpowering – and they were almost exclusively staffed by immigrant German labour ^[3]. Beckman’s cousin, Gustav Anton Wachsel from Halberstadt, became the first pastor, and set up an English-German school to satisfy parents who were worried their children were already losing touch with their heritage and language ^[3]. This area of Whitechapel had many sugar refiners of German descent in the nineteenth century and they constituted most of the congregation. From 1853 the churchyard and crypt were closed, and no longer accepted burials ^[1]. Over the years, books from the school were added, along with those which had belonged to the children and other parishioners. The library was much more than a dry reference source. The church encouraged its use as a lending library, and the children and their parents were enthusiastic borrowers of German folk and fairy tales. Some books were repeatedly borrowed over decades, and then centuries. Travel literature, guide books, colourful engravings and street plans were also hugely popular as the parishioners soaked up knowledge of a land they had, increasingly as the years drew on, never seen.The second half of the 19th century saw major expansion, with infants and secondary schools being added ^[3]. The church had a new influx of parishioners in the 1930s, as refugees fled Hitler’s Germany. For a few months, the congregation was led by the legendary Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Bonhoeffer was a theology professor from Berlin. While many of the church tolerated and even lauded the Fuhrer, Bonhoeffer travelled at home and abroad decrying Hitler’s evil record. The safest place for Bonhoeffer was probably in Whitechapel, but he insisted on returning to preach his message in Germany. In 1943 he was imprisoned by the SS, and on April 9, 1945, the beleaguered Hitler had him hanged ^[3].

At its height, there were an estimated 16,000 German Lutherans in Whitechapel. The wooden pews, complete with swing doors, remain intact ^[1]. Inside, the church retains a remarkable and mostly original series of furnishings. These include a complete set of ground floor and gallery pews and a magnificent, high, central double-decker pulpit and sounding board. At the ‘east end’ hangs the coat-of-arms of King George III (pre-1801) and two carved timber commandment boards in German. The Royal Arms, once enjoined to be erected in all Anglican churches, and adopted by others as a mark of loyalty, recall a connection with the Duchess of Kent, mother of Queen Victoria, who was patron of the adjacent German and English schools from 1819. There are 18th and l9th-century memorials, stained glass of great interest and a fine German Walcker organ ^[2]. The family history records of the former congregation are now held at the London Borough of Tower Hamlets local history library, 277 Bancroft Rd, London E1 4DQ, tel 020 7364 1290 ^[2].

I hope to be able to visit the church soon, and see if, and what information the records might hold about my relatives. Specially where Frederick came from from in Germany. On Frederick’s and Johanna’s marriage certificate, both their fathers are listed respectively as Ferdinand Roloff and August Krüger (both my great great great grandfathers). To-date, I am unable to trace records of them. I have assumed that their German records are perhaps listed under more complex full names, with perhaps an emphasis on German spelling, making them hard to find/confirm. But, I will come back to them at a later date.

Johanna Roloff, née Krüger, was also born in ‘Germany free state’, about 1857. So it seems they both independently emigrated to England, and met in the heavy german population of Whitechapel, London, sometime before or in 1880.

The first was Mollie Browne circa 1712 – 1824. Mollie Browne emigrated to Bedford, Virginia with her Irish husband John Browne. He died soon after their arrival leaving behind an orphan son Richard Browne. Mollie remarried soon after John’s death to Joseph Underwood in 1730  who later settled the family in Rutherford, North Carolina. I am descended from Mollie’s daughter Elizabeth Underwood. Mollie is my 7x-Great-Grandmother.

My second Irish ancestor that I’ve found is Samuel King, Sr.  He married Elizabeth Underwood Davenport – Mollie Browne’s daughter. Her marriage to Samuel was Elizabeth’s second marriage.  Samuel was born in 1746 and arrived to America from Ireland with his brother Joseph and sister Elizabeth.

In 1770 Samuel purchased 200 acres along the North Carolina/South Carolina border which had a high hill that became known as King’s Mountain. Later on October 7, 1780, the “Battle of King’s Mountain” occurred between Major Ferguson’s troops and around 1,000 southern mountaineers making this family namesake a pivotal location in the war. Samuel King enlisted December 9, 1776, as a Private in Co. K, 11th Virginia Regiment of the Continental Army commanded by Col. Daniel Morgan. He was captured at Germantown and listed as a prisoner on a muster roll call October 14, 1777. He apparently escaped and appeared on the Philadelphia Co., Pennsylvania muster roll on February 17, 1778, in Camp Valley Forge under General George Washington. Samuel is my 6x-Great-Grandfather.

I’ve spent more time learning about each of these ancestors and their families and taking in my Irish heritage and culture.  I’ve always been a fan of Irish fare, drink and a good shanty being lucky to have some great Irish pubs here in Honolulu like Murphy’s (my fave), O’Toole’s and the Irish Rose… so I tried my hand at making my first Irish Guinness Stew and adapted several recipes I found online.  The end product was a savory slow-cooked stew that packed lots of flavor with some interesting ingredients I didn’t expect like chocolate, brown sugar, and honey to counter the bitter potential of the single bottle of Guinness Extra Stout.  The remaining bottles of Guinness were paired with a Single Shot Pale Ale to make “Black and Tans”.

To learn a little Irish language  and song — I listened to a crash course of Michael O’Laughlin’s Hello Fada and also the Irish Song and Recitation podcasts. Here’s a favorite I discovered – “Oro Se” a 17th century standard and often a beginner’s first song to learn.

caught in a lie again?

An intensive investigation has revealed the identity of the man whose Social Security number (SSN) is being used by President Obama: Jean Paul Ludwig, who was born in France in 1890, emigrated to the United States in 1924, and was assigned SSN 042-68-4425 (Obama’s current SSN) in or about March 1977.

Ludwig lived most of his adult life in Connecticut.  Because of that, his SSN begins with the digits 042, which are among only a select few reserved for Connecticut residents.

Obama never lived or worked in Connecticut!  Therefore, there is no reason on earth for his SSN to start with the digits 042.  None whatsoever!

Now comes the best part!  Ludwig spent the final months of his life in Hawaii, where he died.

Conveniently, Obama’s grandmother, Madelyn Payne Dunham, worked part-time in the Probate Office in the Honolulu Hawaii Courthouse, and therefore had access to the SSNs of deceased individuals.

The Social Security Administration was never informed of Ludwig’s death, and because he never received Social Security benefits there were no benefits to stop and therefore, no questions were ever raised.

The suspicion is, of course, that Dunham, knowing her grandson was not a U.S. citizen, either because he was born in Kenya or became a citizen of Indonesia, while enrolled in a madrasa upon his adoption by Lolo Soetoro, simply scoured the probate records until she found someone who died who was not receiving Social Security benefits, and selected Mr. Ludwigs Connecticut SSN for Obama.

Trump knows the birth certificate info and onto the issue of Barry O’s use of a stolen SSN.  There’s already so many various accusations about “Obama’s former lifestyles” and why this fake SSN would have come about – few are beyond belief. 

A link to more info:

You’ll see leftist heads exploding, because at the very least, they will have no legitimate way of defending or explaining away Obama’s fake SSN.   Their only option left is to attack the accusers – a typical Alinsky (“Rules for Radicals”)  tactic!

Although many Americans do not understand the meaning of the term “natural born” there are few who do not understand that if you are using someone else’s SSN it is a clear indication of fraud.

Let’s all get the word out to everybody on our mailing lists…. now, … before any “vetting” begins again; it’s time again to DEMAND an INVESTIGATION!

The Irish Potato Famine, or The Great Famine as it is also known as, was a period of massive starvation in Ireland between 1845 and 1852, which resulted in about a million people died and about a million more emigrated to other countries.

The famine was caused by a potato blight that destroyed the potato crops for several years. In the early 1840s the Irish population was just over 8 million, and about 3 million people depended on the potato for food.

At the time and the many years following the government was claimed for not doing enough to help the population. In 1847 the government made a soup-kitchen scheme that fed almost 3 million people daily. The scheme was surprisingly inexpensive and effective, but after only 6 months the government decided to stop this scheme.

And during the famine, when millions were starving, the government didn’t stop the massive export of grain and meat to especially England, even though it could have fed a big amount of the starving population.

Even though about a million people died due to the famine, it is believed that more people died from diseases than from starvation. But most of these diseases were caused directly or indirectly by the starvation.

The potato blight explains the immediate hunger, but the development got worse because of other factors like the bad economic situation for most of the population. It is estimated that one million Irishmen (or 12% of the population) died during the famine. Many people died of hunger, but most of the deaths came from famine-related deceases.
On top of that, about one million more Irishmen emigrated to Britain, USA, Canada and Australia.

The Irish emigrants attracted a lot of attention when they arrived at the east coast of USA. They were starving and poor, in a completely different way than the American citizens had ever seen before. These poor Catholic Irishmen spoke furthermore only Gaelic and found it hard to communicate with the Americans.

The famine had a devastating effect on Ireland and inflated the country for several generations. Ireland’s population continued to shrink for another 70 years and was then stabilized at half of what it had been before the disaster. In the west of Ireland the population wasn’t stabilized until 2006, more than 160 years after the famine!

The Irish and British population was roughly about the same size before the potato blight broke out in Ireland. It is possible that, if the Irish population had not depended so much on the potato as their main food source, the Irish population would have been the same size that the British is today.

Whatsoever, the Irish emigrants left their fingerprints in the U.S. – and also other parts of the world – in a way that they couldn’t have done if they had been able to stay home in Ireland and eat potatoes.

The Great Hunger” which the famine was called, Can be compared to the famine in Somalia.

His last words were “welcome joy!”

John Eliot a Puritan “missionary” to the American Indians on this date,8/22/1670, founded a church for Indians atMartha’s Vineyard,Massachusetts, and became known as “the Indian apostle.”

Earlier he had published The Christian Commonwealth: or, The Civil Policy Of The Rising Kingdom of Jesus Christ.   This was the first book on politics penned by an American.  It also became the first book an American government had banned.

Eliot was born in 1604 at Widford, Hertfordshire, England, attended Jesus College, Cambridge, became assistant to Thomas Hooker at a school in Little Baddow, Essex.  Eliot emigrated to Boston, Massachusetts, arriving 11/3/1631.  He died 5/21/1690.

The current residents of Moneygall, County Offaly are eagerly awaiting the arrival, on Monday, May 23, of President Barack Obama.

A historical resident of this village, now home to about 300 people, was the President’s great-great-great Grandfather, a man called Falmouth Kearney. Falmouth was the son of the village shoemaker and he emigrated, at the age of 19, to New York in the year 1850. This was, of course during the time of the Great Hunger (or “Famine”) and a time when American cities were filling with Irish people fleeing from starvation and the diseases that lack of food brought on. Out of horror comes hope and these good people were to play a major role in building America into the great nation we have today.

“The Irish helped forge the very promise of America…. Irish hands have signed our founding documents and fought in our wars. They’ve helped build our greatest cities. Through tragedy and triumph, despite bigotry and hostility, and against all odds, the Irish created a place for themselves in the American story.” – President Barack Obama

As the people of Ireland, with pride in the visit by a President of Irish ancestry, hope it will boost tourism and hope it will motivate them to strike out anew during these troubled times there is one more “Hope” to put on the table. Let us hope that President Obama will stop, during his visit, for just one moment to cast his mind back to the terrible times when his own ancestor left Ireland and let’s hope he acknowledges the Victims of the Great Hunger with a few words in tribute to their sacrifices. This will mean much to Ireland, Irish America and the rest of the Irish Diaspora.

Michael Walshe

And thanks to those who found my blog by searching “”and, oh, by the way? all the soldiers in the operation were gay”. That made my day.

Although, I really do hope one of the soldiers in the bin Laden operation turns out to be a gay athesit minority from Iowa who emigrated to the United States. That would make a lot of people explode from trying to comprehend it.

Anyways, let’s move on, shall we?

At ten till one, Mister Thin rang my apartment.

“Prince Sarnath has canceled your wedding etiquette lessons,” he said coolly.

“I’m terribly upset,” I said in a monotonous voice.

“He’s already informed Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, that he will not be attending Prince William’s wedding,” Mister Thin continued, “instead focusing on the budget crisis happening in the United States.” I stopped breathing. “Expect some refresher material on how the government operates within the next hour.” I heard the click on the other end of the line, but I couldn’t move. I had the opportunity to go to Prince William’s wedding, my mind kept repeating continuously. The phone’s busy signal jerked me back into reality, and I hung up the phone.

“God damn it,” I hissed, trudging back to the couch. I always missed the incredible opportunities.

For the rest of the week, I flipped through the books Mister Thin had provided me, annoyed by the asinine worksheets I had to fill out and turn in each morning. To stave off my annoyance, I kept the TV on CNN, hoping it would distract me. I found myself even more annoyed by the news, as the two major topics on everyone’s mind were Prince William’s wedding or Prince Sarnath’s globe trotting adventures.

I decided it was best to switch among watching Food Network, Travel Channel, or Animal Planet. I also found that a little bit of alcohol every few hours helped to speed the day along. I was drinking two bottles of beer a day, both of which took me at several hours to finish. By the end of the week, I had managed to start a third bottle before heading to bed one night.

“I’m livin’ the high life,” I muttered to myself, starting my third bottle of blueberry-flavored lager, as another episode in a series started on Travel Channel. I changed the channel, sick of seeing the host’s cheery face, and found myself on Paula Dean’s cooking show. “Ooo,” I adjusted myself to an upright position, moving the package of Oreos out of my lap and on to the coffee table.

I tried very hard the first few days not to descend into a state of disgusting disarray, but by the time today came, I stopped caring. The apartment wasn’t a total wreck, but the empty beer bottles and empty dishes from dinner were still sitting out. It would be enough to make Mister Thin cringe.

“Okay now y’all,” she began, “This is one of mah favorite recipes to make.” I giggled to myself, hearing her thick southern accent drawl out from the surround sound system.

“With five sticks of butter,” I added, watching her point and explain all of her ingredients.

“Now, we gotta start with a little bit of ham,” Paula began, placing diced ham into her frying pan, “and cook that until it’s a golden brown color.”

“Add a stick of butter,” I demanded at the TV screen.

“And while that’s cookin’,” she stepped sideways to a large stock pot, dropping in two sticks of butter, “we’re gonna let our sticks of butter melt over here.” I threw my hands up in the air, proud of my achievement. Paula continued cooking for a few minutes while I ignored her, trying to gulp down as much of my beer as I could.

I hated beer; it was disgusting. I never did develop a taste for it, even when I was in college. I preferred mixed drinks or flavored beer, but not just beer by itself. I was always a lightweight, and I guessed I would always be a lightweight.

“And we’re gonna let that sit for a few minutes,” she said, once I resumed paying attention to her, “and when we come back,–”

“It’ll be more of the same,” I finished for her, placing the TV on mute.

“I see you’ve kept yourself busy,” Prince Sarnath’s voice floated into the apartment.

“Mostly,” I said. Should I be frightened? I took another sip of the beer, and decided I didn’t even care. Was this how people felt when they were drunk?

“What on earth are you watching?” He asked, leaning on the back of the couch.

“Paula Dean cooking,” I said, “with five sticks of butter.”

“She’s only used two.” I laughed lowly, unmuting the TV as the show resumed.

“Just wait,” I said, “southerners would fry ice if they could.”

 I take refuge with Allaah from the accursed devil.  

بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَـنِ الرَّحِيمِ 

  Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Raheem: In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful.  

 Welcome to my blog and praise the Magnificent Lord as you enter: Allahu Akbar: Allah is the Greatest .

May the Peace and Blessing of Allah Azza wa Jal, our Lord Glorified and Praised be He, be upon our beloved Prophet, his Family, and Companions.

The reward of those who emigrated for the sake of Allah, Glorified and Praised.

وَالَّذِينَ هَـجَرُواْ فِى اللَّهِ مِنْ بَعْدِ مَا ظُلِمُواْ لَنُبَوِّئَنَّهُمْ فِى الدُّنْيَا حَسَنَة وَلاّجْرُ الاٌّخِرَةِ أَكْبَرُ لَوْ كَانُواْ يَعْلَمُونَ

(41. And as for those who emigrated for the cause of Allah, after they had been wronged, We will certainly give them good residence in this world, but indeed the reward of the Hereafter will be greater; if they but knew!)

الَّذِينَ صَبَرُواْ وَعَلَى رَبِّهِمْ يَتَوَكَّلُونَ

 (42. (They are) those who remained patient, and put their trust in their Lord.)

Surah 16 An Nahl Verse 41-42

Tafsir Ibn Kathir

Allah tells us about the reward of those who migrated for His sake, seeking His pleasure, those who left their homeland behind, brothers and friends, hoping for the reward of Allah. This may have been revealed concerning those who migrated to Ethiopia, those whose persecution at the hands of their own people in Makkah was so extreme that they left them and went to Ethiopia so that they would be able to worship their Lord. Among the most prominent of these migrants were `Uthman bin `Affan and his wife Ruqayyah, the daughter of the Messenger of Allah , Ja`far bin Abi Talib, the cousin of the Messenger , and Abu Salamah bin `Abdul-Asad, among a group of almost eighty sincere and faithful men and women, may Allah be pleased with them. Allah promised them a great reward in this world and the next. Allah said:

(We will certainly give them good residence in this world,) Ibn `Abbas, Ash-Sha`bi and Qatadah said: (this means) “Al-Madinah.” It was also said that it meant “good provision”. This was the opinion of Mujahid. There is no contradiction between these two opinions, for they left their homes and wealth, but Allah compensated them with something better in this world. Whoever gives up something for the sake of Allah, Allah compensates him with something that is better for him than that, and this is what happened. He gave them power throughout the land and caused them to rule over the people, so they became governors and rulers, and each of them became a leader of the pious. Allah tells us that His reward for the Muhajirin in the Hereafter is greater than that which He gave them in this world, as He says:

(but indeed the reward of the Hereafter will be greater) meaning, greater than that which We have given you in this world.

(if they but knew!) means, if those who stayed behind and did not migrate with them only knew what Allah prepared for those who obeyed Him and followed His Messenger . Then Allah describes them as:

(those who remained patient, and put their trust in their Lord.) (16:42), meaning, they bore their people’s persecution with patience, putting their trust in Allah Who made their end good in this world and the Hereafter.

www.tafsir.com

Read Full Story from Bolivia Bella’s Blog

It was an easy decision. I had no ties, I wanted a fresh start. I wanted to be able to be me without having to think about those who already ‘knew’ me.

I soon realised that part of the problem was that I didn’t actually know who I was. So being ‘me’ was a lot harder than you might think. Two years later and I have a better understanding of who I am but it hasn’t changed the fact that I still don’t have anyone. Anyone who knows the real me. I’m trying to comprehend the obvious fact that no one really knows you apart from yourself (and even that’s not guaranteed) but I still can’t help but cling on to a tiny bit of hope that someday I might find a similarly tortured soul. I thought I might find them here. I haven’t. And for some reason, I’m starting to think that I might find them exactly where I used to be. Confused? Undoubtedly.

Some have never known what it is to love or to be loved, I am lucky enough to have experienced both. And I miss it. I enjoy my own company immensely but after three years of zero intimacy, I’m craving it. My personality is as such that although it would be quite easy for me to engineer intimacy, I am incapable of doing so. I’m a real-deal or not-at-all type.

Walking down the street, sitting on the bus, browsing in a shop; I might think you’re attractive, yes, but that’s as far as it goes.

An introduction, drinks, a few nights out; I might start to fancy you, yes, but that’s as far as it goes.

Let me tap into your intellect, let me see the way your mind whirrs and clicks, let me see you’re not just another vacuuous nihlist and I might start to fall.

The big L-word takes a long time to even be considered. The higher you go, the harder you fall? That’s me.

Time and effort, physical and mental and I’m a definite casualty.

Appearance wise I have favourites: brunette, floppy hair, dark brooding eyebrows, a height of 6′ +, more mod than rocker… but these points, on the whole, are inconsequential.

It’s your mind that I want. I want your vivacity, your insatiable appetite for autodidacticism, your fascination with seemingly unimportant things, your unashamed emotional responses to music; those perfect combinations of tempo, harmony, melody, rhythm and colour, your enthusiasm for the new and unfamiliar. And crucially, your ability to make me laugh and appreciate me for the person that I am.

But how do I find you? How do I know it’s you? You don’t need to tell me that sitting alone in my sweaty bedroom on a saturday night in July isn’t particularly helpful in my endeavour but I’m scared. It’s one of those social phobias that is all to easy to run away from. And it makes me lean toward the easy option of believing that I did already find him and just pushed him away. In actual fact I know he wasn’t and isn’t the one, but at least by fighting for him still, that I feel like I’m being…proactive? But is fighting for him really better than doing nothing at all? I highly doubt it. Even I know that concentrating on searching for you (and not necessarily actively, serendipitously works!) would be better and dare I say it, a wiser way to spend the evening….

Naturally, I dowsed for any lost souls from the above as well as the million who died during the famine, and 376 passed.  THEY GATHERED IN LANES AND FIELDS, PINPOINTS OF LIGHT WHICH JOINED THE ONE MAIN BEAM SENT TO PICK THEM UP AND TAKE THEM HOME….! Such JOY!  The END OF THEIR SUFFERINGS! ^i^

ISTANBUL, January 22 (Compass Direct News) – Syriac Christians in southeastern Turkey say a land dispute over the historic Mor Gabriel Monastery is part of a larger system of discrimination against the religious minority in this overwhelmingly Islamic country.

Muslim residents of southeastern Turkey dispute the boundary lines of an ancient Christian monastery dating to the fourth century as being unnecessarily large for the needs of a religious community. Islamic village leaders from Yayvantepe, Eglence and Candarli are attempting to confiscate one-third of the monastery’s property, claiming it was wrongfully appropriated and that they need it for their livestock.

Area Muslims also say the land in question is forest and thereby registered as land belonging to the State Treasury.

“Our land is being occupied by the monastery,” said Ismail Erlal, village leader of Yayvantepe, according to Cihan News Agency. “We make use of the forest there and pasture our animals; we won’t give up our rights.”

Among the most contentious issues are the monastery walls built around its perimeter, rebuilt 15 years ago. Village leaders complain in a lawsuit to obtain the land that the monastery has gone beyond its rightful bounds. In August the land survey office of Midyat said it had determined that 270 hectares of the monastery’s 760 hectares were government property, including land inside and outside the monastery’s walls.

A court in Mardin originally scheduled a hearing for Friday (Jan. 16) to determine the legal status of the monastery walls, but it was rescheduled to Feb. 11 to allow the court more time to examine the case. At the February hearing the court will determine if the 270 hectares of land belong to the government or the monastery.

Metropolitan Timotheos Samuel Aktas, leader of the monastery, answered in a report that the monastery has the right to leave its land uncultivated and has paid taxes on the property since 1937.

The state originally charged the monastery with being founded illegally, but it dropped those charges by canceling a hearing originally schedule for Dec. 24. Rudi Sumer, the attorney representing the monastery, said that the claim was groundless since the monastery has foundation status dating back to modern Turkey’s origins, not to mention centuries of existence beforehand.

The mayors of Yayvantepe, Eglence and Candarli also charged the monastery with attempting to proselytize young children (illegal in Turkey) and carrying out “anti-Turkish” activity.

Metropolitan Aktas said in a report that these claims were groundless and of the same provocative nature that has historically sparked violence against Turkey’s Christians.

“All the allegations are frivolous and vexatious, devoid of any logic or evidence, solely aimed with the malicious intent of rousing anti-Christian sentiments by the surrounding Muslim villages,” he said.

Europe Watching

Mor Gabriel Monastery, founded in 397, is the most revered monastery for Syrian Orthodox Christians. It is inhabited by 15 nuns and two monks and is the seat of Metropolitan Bishop of Tur Abdin Diocese.

In recent decades the monastery has turned into a religious and social center for the country’s remaining Syriacs by offering schooling to children and teaching their ancient language of Syriac, a variant of the language spoken by Jesus.

“The monastery is everything for us,” said a Syrian Orthodox Christian who grew up in Turkey’s southeast. He added that many families in the area had named their children after Mor Gabriel. “Syriacs would give up everything for the monastery.”

An international outcry from the European Parliament and numerous Assyrian organizations throughout Europe arose in response to the charges, according to the Assyrian International News Agency. A member of the German consulate said his country would monitor the case closely, as Turkey is attempting to join the European Union and its human rights record has come under close scrutiny.

Many Syrian Orthodox Christians have left southeast Turkey in the last 30 years as violence escalated between the military and Kurdish terrorists. In the last five years, however, some Syriacs have begun returning home – only to find their property occupied by others.

Residents who fled Mardin province in the mid-1980s returned to find two of their village’s Syriac churches converted into mosques. And the demographic shift from Syriacs to Kurds has increased pressure on the monastery.

“Turkey must protect its Assyrian community,” said Swedish parliamentarian Yilmaz Kerim to the Hurriyet Daily News. He visited the monastery as part of a delegation in December. “There are only 3,000 left in Midyat.”

The lawsuit has the support of a local parliamentarian who claims Christians relished their opportunity to leave Turkey. Süleyman Çelebi, member of the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP), said Syrian Orthodox Christians had never come under pressure, despite their claim that they were exploited, and even emigrated away from Turkey “with joy” in previous decades.

The three villages that brought the lawsuit against the monastery overwhelmingly supported the Islamic-rooted AKP in last year’s national elections. Çelebi claims that the official boundaries of the monastery were established in Ottoman times but not properly observed by the Syriac Christians.

According to the 1923 Lausanne Treaty, Turkey grants full protection to churches, synagogues and other religious establishments to freely practice their own religions. But this treaty only designated Greek and Armenian Orthodox Christians and Jews, creating complications for groups such as the Syrian Orthodox and Protestants to open schools and churches.

Syriac Christians claim to be one of the first people to accept Christianity in the Middle East. Their historic homeland stretches through southeastern Turkey, but their numbers have dwindled to 15,000 following decades of government pressure and fallout from war against the Kurdistan Workers’ Party.  

Report from Compass Direct News

The Bible stands like a rock undaunted
’Mid the raging storms of time;
Its pages burn with the truth eternal,
And they glow with a light sublime.

Refrain

The Bible stands though the hills may tumble,
It will firmly stand when the earth shall crumble;
I will plant my feet on its firm foundation,
For the Bible stands.                            (see more at Cyberhymnal.org)

Written and composed by Haldor Lillenas, 1917.  Lillenas, born on Stord Island (near Bergen) Norway, emigrated to the US with his parents, living first in Colton, South Dakota and later in Oregon.  He was converted to Christ at 21in Portland and attended Deets Pacific Bible College (later renamed Pasadena College).  His pen left some 4000 hymns/poems.

Also read/hear “The Garden of My Heart” “Glorious Freedom” “Jesus Will Walk With Me” “Wonderful Grace of Jesus” 

Well, it’s where my dad is from. My dad grew up near Pittsburgh, PA but left for California during his twenties. He’s now semi-retired and moved to Las Vegas. My half sister Kim, lives with her son Grant in Kansas City, MO. I’ve only seen them a few times. My dad wanted us all to meet up in Pittsburgh so that we could get reacquainted with his sister (my Aunt Jane) and my cousin Bob. I had heard of them over the years but had never connected with them. I learn later that I was about seven when I last saw them. Kim also had not been in touch with them.

Arrival
I arrive in the evening. Right off the plane and straight to dinner to meet up with everyone at a local restaurant, Wow, I’ve not been with so many of my blood relatives…EVER!! This hits me a few more times over the weekend…here I am with my true family ties and yet, other than my dad…I barely know them!

Day 1
Aunt Jane, Dad, Kim, Grant and I drive around visiting all the homes that my dad and his sister lived in growing up. I begin to feel like a Real Estate agent happily jumping out of the car to snap pics of about half a dozen homes in the neighborhoods that spanned their childhood.

Aunt Jane and my dad in front of the house where my dad was born in 1929

We also visit the cemetery where my ancestors are buried! Wow! Later, when I read my family history that Aunt Jane wrote, I learned that my Great-Great-Grandfather Andrew “H”, was born in 1850 in Rathfryland, County Down, Northern Ireland and arrived in the United States in 1872. Sheesh, here I am in my forties and just now learning my family history on my dad’s side for the first time. I’ll put this in more perspective by adding that both my mom and her sister were adopted, so on my mom’s side I have no family history. This is why it is so exciting for me to learn family history on my dad’s side.

My Great-Great Grandparents who emigrated from Northern Ireland in 1872

My Great Grandfather

My Grandparents

During the tour of Dad and Aunt Jane’s childhood homes we see the billiard parlour where Dad worked during his late teens (he still shoots a killer game of pool which I unwittingly discovered a few years ago after suggesting we spend an afternoon together at a local pool hall in Santa Clarita).

Jester's Billiard Parlor - Charleroi, PA

This dog was in the backyard of one of the childhood homes we visited. Just a random pic of an awesome looking dog:

That night Kim and I went through loads of Aunt Jane’s old family pics. This is a digital shot of a print of my Grandmother Margaret:

My Grandma

Day 2
Next day Dad, Kim, Grant and I head to downtown Pittsburgh for some sightseeing with me in the front passenger seat partly navigating but mostly madly snapping pics through the front windshield of the car.

Liberty Tunnel, Downtown Pittsburgh

West End Bridge, Downtown Pittsburgh

We went to the Carnegie Science Center to see Bodies: The Exhibition. I’d seen the exhibit once in Las Vegas but this was the first time for Dad, Kim and Grant. Absolutely enthralling, don’t miss it when it comes to your area.

Leaving the exhibit…Joy of Joys!!! It’s lightly snowing!!! Yipeee!! Next stop the Duquesne Incline. My Dad had never been on this growing up so it’s a first for all of us.

The Duquesne Incline

We get to the top and I freeze my hand trying to manage snapping pics from the observation deck. Actually I was well prepared for the weather with tall boots, long wool coat, gloves and scarves. Me, the native Californian was the warmest of us all!

View of Downtown Pittsburgh and Fort Pitt Bridge from the observation deck of The Duquesne Incline

Here’s a vid going back down the Incline. Boring really, except for the little girl next to me providing riveting in-depth commentary. Be sure to hold out for her shocking reveal when the uphill car passes us. Classic kid stuff.

Later, everyone meets for dinner at cousin Bob’s (and his wife Diane) home. They have an absolutely beautiful house with a finished basement and wine closet, plus a fantastic upper deck overlooking their wooded area out back, with…wait for it….TURKEYS!! Apparently turkeys will fly to get up to the bird feeders atop tall poles (accessorized with raccoon guards). I was too late to see turkeys on the feeder but we spot a few later on the ground amongst the trees and even saw about 4 deer walking through the area (twice!) sigh…

Here’s a vid of the turkeys:

After dinner we set the camera up for a group photo:

(L-R) me, Dad, Aunt Jane, Bob, Diane, Grant, Kim

Day 3
It’s Easter Sunday!! We’ve booked an Easter Dinner Cruise for us four (Dad, Kim, Grant and I). Entertainment was provided by The Bobby Short Trio. I took a vid of one of their songs but the buffet tables were in front which didn’t really appeal to me during playback. So just a pic:

The Bobby Short Trio

I just love cruises, especially to take pics of downtown areas. You get the perfect foreground of water with the buildings completely spread out before you. Chicago and London are other great cities to view from the water.

Downtown Pittsburgh

Smithfield Street Bridge, Downtown Pittsburgh

It’s about this time that I realize that Pittsburgh is a fantastic destination, despite the name! How awesome is this view!

Point State Park and Downtown Pittsburgh

After the dinner cruise, my dad wants to visit where he went to college some fifty odd years ago. So the four of us invade the University of Pittsburgh campus and specifically, The Cathedral of Learning. The Cathedral of Learning, a historic landmark, is the second-tallest education building in the world, 42 stories and 535 feet tall. Likewise, it is not an easy building to get in one frame without standing in the street. Here, I finally get lucky with a corner shot:

The Cathedral of Learning, University of Pittsburgh

We go inside to the “Commons Room”. It’s as quiet as a library…shsshh:

Commons Room - Cathedral of Learning, University of Pittsburgh

Dad heads straight for the far corner where he says that he and his buddies used to hang out back in the day, and who…were not as quiet back then!

Grant and his Grandpa in the Commons Room, The Cathedral of Learning

While in the University gift shop we learn that there are eight classrooms open to the public on the 3rd floor that have been converted into “Nationality Rooms“.

Nationality Rooms, University of Pittsburgh

We head up there and I was delighted at such an unexpected treasure trove of sights. You can take a virtual tour of ALL the Nationality Rooms online. Here’s just a few examples.

The Austrian Room - Nationality Rooms, University of Pittsburgh

The Japanese Room - Nationality Rooms, University of Pittsburgh

The African Heritage Room - Nationality Rooms, University of Pittsburgh

And that’s my trip! Dad, Kim, Grant and I headed to the airport 6 am the next morning for Dad’s flight which was first out, Kim’s was next and I flew out mid afternoon. That meant I got to spend most the day at the airport. Two meals, plus extensive window shopping and non-eventful flight later and I was quite knackered by the time I got back home. But what a fabulous time I had!