Dutch UN peacekeepers sit on top of an armoured personnel carrier as Muslim refugees from Srebrenica gather in the nearby village of Potocari in July 1995. Photograph: AP
Dutch soldiers acting as UN peacekeepers were partly liable for the deaths of about 300 Muslim men massacred near Srebrenica in Bosnia and Herzegovina during the Yugoslavian civil war, an appeals court in The Hague has ruled.
The ruling upholds a decision three years ago that the Dutch forces should have known that the men seeking refuge at their base would be murdered by Bosnian Serb troops if they were turned away.
Many of the victims had fled to Srebrenica’s UN-designated safe zone only to find themselves outnumbered and the lightly-armed Dutch troops unable to defend them. It was then that they headed to the nearby Dutch base, only to be subsequently handed over to their murderers.
Presiding judge Gepke Dulek-Schermers said that Dutch soldiers “knew or should have known that the men were not only being screened … but were in real danger of being subjected to torture or execution … by having the men leave the compound unreservedly, they were deprived of a chance of survival”.
The judge added that the soldiers had facilitated the separation of the men and the boys among the refugees.
The ruling came as a lawyer for 200 Dutch army veterans said his clients planned to sue the state for compensation for the trauma they suffered after being sent on “an impossible mission” in Srebrenica.
Michael Ruperti said the men are campaigning for a “symbolic” €22,000 (£19,500) each – or €1,000 for every year since the massacre took place, bringing the value of the total suit to €4.5m.
The 200 soldiers were serving in the Dutch battalion Dutchbat III protecting the Muslim enclave when it was over-run by Bosnian Serbs under the command of former general Ratko Mladić .
About 8,000 Muslim men and boys in total were killed by Bosnian Serb troops in Srebrenica in July 1995, in what is believed to be the worst mass killing on European soil since the second world war.
The ruling in the appeals court relates specifically to the 300 men who had sought safety on the Dutch-controlled base.
The amount of damages will be determined in a separate procedure unless the victims and the state can reach a settlement.
The Dutch government resigned in 2002 after acknowledging its failure to protect the refugees. The Netherlands maintains that the Bosnian Serbs, not Dutch troops, bear responsibility for the killings.
Mladić is on trial for genocide with a verdict expected later this year. The court rejected an appeal from relatives of other Srebrenica victims, who argued the Dutch government should be held responsible for the protection of thousands more Muslims who had gathered outside the base.
Munira Subasic, of the Mothers of Srebrenica group, said: “This is a great injustice. The Dutch state should take its responsibility for our victims because they could have kept them all safe on the Dutchbat [Dutch battalions’] compound.”'
A building boom in the city’s sacred center has created a dazzling, high-tech 21st-century pilgrimage.
In the days before rapid sea or air travel, it could take months to travel to Mecca. The spiritual heart of Islam lay far from its great capitals in Istanbul, Delhi and Isfahan. The devout came from distant lands on foot, by camel and in horse-drawn carriages. Bedouin tribes routinely robbed these pilgrims, who were the primary source of revenue for this ancient desert town. Now, the ease of air travel and the rise of a global Muslim middle class have made the journey to Mecca far less arduous and far more common. Last year, three million came for the hajj, a pilgrimage in the last month of the Islamic lunar calendar that is considered obligatory for every Muslim who can afford it; five million more came for the umrah, a minor pilgrimage that can be made for much of the year. And millions of Saudi citizens routinely pass through Mecca’s sacred sites as tourists.
The Italian photographer Luca Locatelli, visiting Mecca this year during theumrah period, captured how radically the city has changed to accommodate this growing influx of pilgrims. Until the first half of the 20th century, this was a small city of spacious stone houses famed for their mashrabiyah, or latticed windows and balconies. Five hills known as the rim of Mecca encircled the Grand Mosque and the Kaaba, or House of God, located in the city center. Today, all a visitor would recognize from older images of Mecca are the Ottoman domes of the Grand Mosque, its minarets and the Kaaba. The ancient hills, the old stone homes and many of the sites linked to the life of the Prophet Muhammad have been obliterated by towering shopping malls, hotels and apartment blocks.
It is a transformation that has been underway since the late 1970s, when the wealth generated by the oil boom led Saudi monarchs to devise an ambitious plan to replace earlier Ottoman structures and to expand the Grand Mosque and its surroundings with Arab-style architecture. At a projected cost of $26.6 billion, the Saudi Binladen Group has led the efforts to increase the capacity of the Grand Mosque, adding new wings, prayer areas, escalators and hundreds of bathrooms. Before his death in 2015, King Abdullah ordered the installation of the world’s largest folding umbrellas in the piazzas outside the Grand Mosque, to shelter worshipers from the blistering sun as they offered prayers, read the Quran or simply basked in their proximity to this holy site. His successor, King Salman, announced plans to build a ring road, subways and intercity trains to accommodate millions of worshipers.
One of Locatelli’s photographs looks as if it were taken from the air, but it was actually shot from one of the highest points of the Royal Mecca Clock Tower, which houses a hulking hotel and shopping complex a few hundred meters from the gates of the Grand Mosque — 46 times taller than the Kaaba and crowned by a clock five times the size of Big Ben. Throughout the history of Islam, no other ruler built in such proximity to the Kaaba; certainly none built anything to dwarf it. In luxury hotels like the Fairmont Makkah Clock Royal Tower and the Raffles Makkah Palace, views of the holiest site of Islam are marketed as the “Haram view” and “Kaaba view,” and a standard room can run anywhere from $1,500 to $2,700 a night during the hajj.
Locatelli, who is Italian and was raised Catholic, gained entry to Mecca through his marriage to an Indonesian Muslim, which included a ceremonial conversion and gave him a feeling of sympathy for his wife’s religion. In his striking images, you can see experiences shared by pilgrims everywhere as well as the mix of crass commercialism and genuine faith common among holy sites across religions (Lourdes, Fátima, Varanasi). A group of men inihram — two pieces of white towel-like cloth that the pilgrims wear to convey a state of purity and human equality — get a bite to eat in a food court; a young man takes a selfie with the Kaaba in the background; hundreds pray inside a shopping mall. “I wanted to show my Western viewers that being a holy tourist in Mecca is not very different,” Locatelli says, “that we do similar things whether we go to a great temple, to St. Peter’s or to Mecca.”
When Locatelli first arrived in Mecca, he was anxious about his outsider status. But, he says, “Mecca was truly peaceful. My fear melted away within days.” BASHARAT PEER
By Jewish Book World Magazine - Published on Amazon.com
Format: Hardcover
The Grand Mosque of Paris is the story of the Muslim community of Paris during the Nazi occupation of World War II and their efforts to rescue Jews. The mosque constructed in 1926 had space for a community center, library, restaurant, clinic and apartments for the functionaries. It was built upon a labyrinth of subterranean tunnels and rooms, areas that had been excavated for building stones for the city of Paris. These underground passages and catacombs served as hiding places and escape routes for those hunted by the French police and Gestapo. The rescue and escape of Jews was under the leadership of the Rector, Si Kaddour Benghabrit, a sophisticated Algerian-born diplomat, who was considered the most powerful Muslim in France at the time. The clerics provided sanctuary, certificates of Muslim identity and safe passage for those who sought their help. This well written, concise history is enhanced by the beautiful double page oil paintings, which are most effective in conveying setting and mood. There is no personal narrative although this historical story has all the elements for a compelling novel as evidenced by the few examples given. It is noted that at least 100 Jews, downed Allied airmen, Resistance fighters and escaped prisoners of war, were also spirited to safety. These righteous saviors deserve to be honored and their deeds told. This book is appropriate for elementary school students who are studying WWII and/or the Holocaust, but would also interest older students and adults. An afterword, glossary and extensive bibliography is very informative and sheds light upon this important and little known story of the Holocaust. For ages 10 and up. Naomi Kramer
14 of 15 people found the following review helpful
This is a heart-wrenching, truly beautiful account of Muslims who put themselves in harm's way in order to rescue Jews during the Holocaust. The pictures are stunning, but the story goes far beyond anything I have read in this age category on this topic to date.
The Afterword is almost more fascinating than the books itself. Every public and school library needs this book.
An article on a film based on true events - some extracts from the article -
'In doing research for the film, Mr. Ferroukhi and even Mr. Stora learned new stories. At one screening a woman asked him why the film did not mention the Ashkenazi Jews of Eastern European origin who had been saved by the mosque. Mr. Stora said he explained that the mosque didn’t intervene on behalf of Ashkenazi Jews, who did not speak Arabic or know Arab culture.
“She told me: ‘That’s not true. My mother was protected and saved by a certificate from the mosque,’ ” Mr. Stora said.
On Wednesday, the day of the film’s release here, hundreds of students from three racially and ethnically mixed Paris-area high schools were invited to a special screening and question-and-answer session with Mr. Ferroukhi and some of his actors.
Some asked banal questions. Where did you find the old cars? (From an antique car rental agency.) Others reacted with curiosity and disbelief, wanting to know how much of the film was based on fact, and how it could have been possible that Jews mingled easily with Muslims. Some were stunned to hear that the Nazis persecuted only the Jews, and left the Muslims alone.
Reviews here were mixed on the film, which is to be released in the Netherlands, Switzerland and Belgium. (American rights have been sold as well.) The daily Le Figaro said it “reconstitutes an atmosphere and a period marvelously.” The weekly L’Express called it “ideal for a school outing, less for an evening at the movies.”
Mr. Ferroukhi does not care. He said he was lobbying the Culture and Education Ministries to get the film shown in schools. “It pays homage to the people of our history who have been invisible,” he said. “It shows another reality, that Muslims and Jews existed in peace. We have to remember that — with pride.”'
It may not be the kind of place you would expect to stumble upon a mosque, but Muslims have lived among the forests and lakes of Lithuania for more than 600 years - showing that tolerance reigned here in the Middle Ages, even when religious strife was rampant in other parts of Europe.
At first glance, the square, wooden building looks like thousands seen in villages all over the Baltic. Neat timber slats, wood-framed windows, a tin roof.
But at the apex of the roof, instead of a point there is a small glass turret, topped with an onion dome of the kind you might see on a local church. Then, on top of the onion, stands a small crescent.
This is the most European-looking mosque you will ever come across.
If it looks completely at home in this northern European setting, that's because a mosque has stood here, roughly 20 minutes' drive south-west of the Lithuanian capital, Vilnius, since 1558.
There is a clue in the name of the village, Keturiasdesimt Totoriu. It means Forty Tatars, and legend has it that this is the number of Tatar families that settled here more than 600 years ago, at the invitation of the Lithuanian Grand Duke, Vytautas.
Image captionThe mosque was rebuilt in 1901, after it burned down
The Grand Duchy, with its deep pagan roots, faced a constant threat from its aggressive Christian neighbours to the west, the Teutonic Knights.
So in 1398, returning from a military campaign near the Black Sea, Vytautas brought with him a large number of Muslim Crimean Tatars and a small group of Karaite Jews to help defend Lithuanian territory.
Sure enough, 12 years later the Teutonic Knights went to war with Poland and Lithuania and the Tatars and Karaites fought alongside Vytautas at the Battle of Grunwald (between Warsaw and Gdansk) in which the crusaders were resoundingly defeated.
As a reward for their support, Vytautas gave the Muslims land and complete religious freedom - and this was at a time when both the Sephardic Jews, and Europe's oldest Muslim community, the Moors, were being driven out of Spain.
Vytautas the Great, ruler of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania (1392-1430)
Image copyrightAlamy
"Vytautas is highly revered among us. He did not order us to forget the Prophet... We swore an oath upon our swords to love the Lithuanians when the fate and destiny of war brought us to their homeland and they said... 'This land, these waters... will be shared between us'"
Tatar petition sent in 1519 to Grand Duke of Lithuania and King of Poland, Sigismund I
Today about 120 people who live in Keturiasdesimt Totoriu are Tatars, with many claiming to be direct descendants of the founding Crimeans.
"It is because of Vytautas we are here, but we know we are Crimean Tatars," says Fatima Stantrukova, a 75-year-old former teacher of Russian literature.
The oldest identifiable grave in the mosque's cemetery belongs to a certain "Allahberdi" who was buried here in about 1621.
The Tatar population in Lithuania continued to grow and spread to the south and west. Once there were dozens, possibly hundreds of Tatar mosques in villages between Vilnius, the Belarusian capital, Minsk, and the Polish city of Bialystok.
There were still 25 in Lithuania on the eve of World War One. Now there are three - in Keturiasdesimt Totoriu and the nearby villages of Raiziai and Nemezis. Four others are split between the Polish settlements of Kruszyniani and Bohoniki and the Belarusian towns of Navahrudak and Iwie.
Image captionGraves at the mosque in Nemezis
It was the Tatar language that disappeared first, apparently in the early part of the 18th Century.
"It came to pass that the 'spiders of forgetfulness' spread their webs over their customs and their tongues with the passing of the ages," wrote the Russian Tatar Orientalist Muhammad Murad al-Ramzi, in the 19th Century.
"Yet, despite that, they have never lost their faith in Islam, though they have no scholarly knowledge of the faith."
What little Islamic knowledge was left, took a further blow in the 20th Century.
"The Soviet period was the worst. All the religious leaders and people of any knowledge were either killed or sent into exile into the farthest reaches of Siberia. Books and archives were burnt. Mosques were closed and destroyed. Communities were closed. Islam was forbidden," says another descendant of the Crimeans who arrived with Vytautas, the Grand Mufti of Lithuania, Ramadan Yaqoob.
Image captionBaltic Tatars traditionally had two names - Ramadan Yaqoob (the Muslim name he has always used with family and close friends) is officially Romas Jakubauskas
Yaqoob grew up knowing almost nothing about Islam, and was only exposed to it properly after the fall of the Soviet Union, when Muslim students began to arrive in the country. He felt an immediate connection with them, and was able with their help to study in Lebanon and Libya. The multicultural atmosphere of Lebanon was the perfect place to train to lead a European Muslim community, he says.
Despite a revival of interest in religion among some young Tatars, none of the mosques opens for the five daily prayers. Even in Keturiasdesimt Totoriu, where a third of the population is Muslim, the mosque only opens for special religious occasions.
But in addition to these seven surviving Baltic Tatar mosques, there is another many thousands of miles to the west - at 104 Powers Street in Brooklyn - which bears an uncanny resemblance.
"I used to go to the mosque, mainly with my family, for festivals like Eid," says Alyssa Ratkewitch, the mosque's vice-president, a third-generation Lipka Tatar - as Tatars from the Baltic are sometimes called - who traces her roots to the Belarusian town of Iwie.
"One of my earliest memories was the 'awful' wood panelling that decorates the interior of the mosque. So when I became vice-president, I planned to get rid of it, until an elder told me that the panels were there to remind them of the mosques they had left behind in the Baltic."
The Brooklyn mosque - which opened in 1927 and is believed to be the oldest in New York - also no longer opens for daily worship. But it is crucial to the identity of the tiny Tatar community, just like the seven Tatar mosques still standing in Lithuania, Belarus and Poland.
"We did not let our mosques fall! During the [Soviet] time, our mosque was used in secret," remembers Fatima in Keturiasdesimt Totoriu.
"The imam and the community of the 1940s kept the mosque alive for us children.
