As on wings of the dawn E-Book

Sieglinde Maraschi

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 627

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Although it is an authentic book, it is more than just an autobiography. It begins with a love story straight out of 1001 Nights. Together with the author, we immerse ourselves in the magic of another world, her paradise. Thanks to her father-in-law, she is able to find her inner home in Iran, free from convention, not as a Christian or a Muslim, but as someone who trusts in God. When they are forced to flee their city during the war, it is an expulsion from paradise. There is a crisis in the marriage. Sieglinde does everything she can to save her marriage, nothing is too much for her love. In doing so, she repeatedly oversteps her own boundaries, which almost destroys her. Only when the voice inside her says: "You have to go!" is she ready to accept what has happened and leave. And to forgive, even herself.

Leseprobe

Quote

If I took the wings of the dawn and stayed at the farthest sea, there too your

Hand lead me and your right hand hold me

- Psalm 139, 9-10 -

In loving and grateful memory of Isolde Nees, author from Darmstadt, who inspired me to write this book. She left us forever on the wings of her dawn in January 2022.

Sieglinde Maraschi

Like on the wings of dawn

I lived in Iran, my children's home country

Dedication

For my children

Some of the names of the people in this book have been changed at their request and for data protection reasons.

The spelling of Persian names and words is largely adapted to the German pronunciation. The terms written in italics in the text are explained in alphabetical order in the glossary.

Reading assistance

â - like French accent circonflexe, a dark "a"

dj - like "dsch"

tj - like "tsch"

gh - is pronounced in the throat, sounds like "g" and French "r", pronounced together

z - like soft "s"

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my family and all my friends who have supported and motivated me to write this book. Without their love and unwavering belief in success, it would never have come into being.

Extra thanks go to Hadi, my rock in the surf and savior in times of need. Without him, the book would no longer exist. He was on round-the-clock standby to save what could be saved when I had once again accidentally switched off the storage program and the files had disappeared or even been deleted.

I would especially like to thank Dr. Ninja Roth, who accompanied me as an editor during the creation of the manuscript. With infinite patience, she compensated for my inexperience on the computer and encouraged me to delve deeper into my emotions and write about them. With a lot of tolerance for my unusual and often flowery writing style, which is a legacy from my time in Iran.

Prologue

I wrote this book,

to give my children and all my loved ones an insight into a paradise that has been lost. And also so that they can understand why I had to leave, even though I would have preferred to stay with them;

as a tribute to my large, lovely family in Iran, who welcomed me warmly and valued me as one of their own, and still do, despite the long years of separation between us. From them I learned to accept and overcome difficulties in life with a lightness and serenity based on trust in God;

as a tribute to all the people of Iran who are deeply rooted in their religion and the traditions of a high, millennia-old culture, and who consider them valuable and cherish them. Even the simplest people carry within them the dignity and richness of this heritage, so that they live in harmony with their faith and traditions. If they are wronged and powerless to stop it, they do not retaliate, but leave the perpetrators of the injustice to God's justice. In this way, they preserve their peace of mind. What happens worldwide in the name of Allah has nothing in common with the faith and culture of these people;

In gratitude to my father-in-law, who made it possible for me to find my inner religious home in Iran, relatively free of conventions and dogmas, neither as a Christian nor as a Muslim, but as a believer in God in an ancient tradition, culture and atmosphere. Although I was only able to experience it for four years, I owe him the many happy years with my husband and children, in the security of an extended family;

to encourage us to listen to our inner voice, which can be the cry of our soul. Courage to trust that we are guided to follow the soul's plan, even if it may be different and more painful than our own life plan with all our dreams, wishes and hopes. And the courage to defend ourselves when our soul suffers from external control.

I got involved in my life in Iran once again and walked the path I had already traveled. I could walk it with confidence, because what was going to happen had already happened. This time I was my own observer along the way. It was a different perspective and I was able to see details more clearly and in the context of other events. From time to time I left my observer's post and was back in the middle of the action, and I immediately experienced the joy, but also the pain of a situation. Sometimes a new pain was added, and I was able to experience some joys more intensely.

It is my own story, as I remember it. Many traditions, rituals and habits will differ from those celebrated in other regions or other families. I have also described the political events, such as the upheaval, the fall of the Shah, the subsequent Islamic Revolution and the eight-year war with Iraq, as I perceived and experienced them. This may differ from historical facts.

I am delighted that you would like to travel with me to the Land of Dawn. Let yourself be enchanted by the myth of 1001 nights and feel welcome and embedded in the hospitality and kindness of the people. Then even the bad and difficult times through which you accompany me will bring you many a smile.

Sieglinde Maraschi

Happy years

Everything that happens and befalls us has a purpose, but it is often difficult to recognize it. Even in the book of life, every page has two sides: One is written by us humans ourselves with our plans and wishes,

hope, but the other is filled by Providence, and what it decrees has rarely been our goal.

- Nezami -

- 1 -

It was my first flight, back in mid-July 1968.

I'm sitting with my five-month-old son, Reza, on an Iran Air Boeing 733 bound for Tehran. The gray blanket of fog through which we have been flying since our departure from Frankfurt intensifies my fear of flying even more. Doubts arise as to whether it was the right decision to fly to Iran without my husband, who still has two exams to write. His last unmarried brother had invited us to his wedding and my husband saw this as a good opportunity for me to get to know his large family.

My thoughts are racing: "What will await me there? What if I don't feel comfortable in this strange family or they don't accept me? Can I put my child, who is used to a structured daily routine, through this sudden change? What should I do if he gets sick?" Just the thought that something could happen to Reza increases my anxiety immeasurably. My body feels as if it has been clamped in a vise, stiff and unable to act. With tear-filled eyes, I look at my child, who is sleeping relaxed in my arms. The warmth of his tender body and the even, barely visible yet noticeable rise and fall of his abdominal wall as he breathes have a calming effect on me. I notice how my tension gradually subsides and my breathing becomes calmer until it is in harmony with my child's breaths.

At the same moment, the plane breaks through the cloud cover. The sight that presents itself to me is overwhelming: light and sun as far as the eye can see! The clouds no longer appear gray and threatening, but lie beneath me like a white and fluffy blanket of snow, reflecting the sunlight. Through my tears, it appears in many colors and facets and sparkles like diamonds. The seemingly endless expanse that I can see from the hatch gives me an idea of how unimaginably and immeasurably large the universe must be. And also how small and inconspicuous I am, one of billions of particles in a tiny speck of dust. And yet perceived and guided and protected on the path I have begun.

Reza has woken up and smiles at me. I hug him tenderly and gratefully and a love that is greater and stronger than anything I have ever experienced flows through every single cell in my body until there is no more room for my doubts. I know that I can trust in God and I am ready to go my way.

- 2 -

This journey had started a year and a half earlier at a carnival party. At the time, I was preparing for my state exams as a nurse. During my training, I dreamed of flying to Calcutta to support Mother Theresa, who cared for the poorest of the poor there with selfless love. I dreamed that God had great plans for me and I wanted to change the world by spreading the love I lived by to others. A man, and perhaps even a Muslim, like the one I would meet and who would ruin all my plans, had no place in my life. The fact that I fell in love and married this man was a sensation for my family, friends and acquaintances. It was an important experience for me that all planning is in vain because our plan, I call it the soul plan, has been in place for a long time.

The man who was supposed to upset my plans first upset me. It happened like this: The hostel warden of a Protestant student residence had asked our matron if a group of schoolgirls could come to an early carnival party for his fifteen students. I was recovering from a minor nose operation and spent most of my time in my room. That's why I didn't notice much of the excitement and anticipation of my fellow students until Esther and Gudrun, who were training with me, turned up a few hours before the party and urged me to come along.

"There are only eleven of us girls who have agreed. The others have to work at the weekend and can't come, but you're free," Gudrun tried to convince me.

"And besides, it will do you good to get out of here, you're only busy with your work and your books," Esther added a little reproachfully, "and just think, we don't have to be back here until midnight!" I reminded her that I was still on sick leave that day and couldn't just go out to celebrate and reinforced my objection with the comment:

"And to be honest, I have nothing to do with carnival. The last time I went to carnival, I was eight years old and dressed up as a bride."

"Oh, let's do it again then!" Esther didn't let herself be put off and ignored my reference to my sick note. She immediately had an idea for my costume: she wanted to quickly sew a wedding dress out of a white bed sheet. But my vehement protest put the brakes on her enthusiasm. She finally realized that it wasn't a good idea. The idea of what I would have looked like in it, more like a ghost than a bride, both equally bad, triggered a chain reaction of laughter in all of us. With the result that we seriously considered how we could play a prank on the students.

Somehow they managed to persuade me to come with them. The matron had no objections and just asked me to take good care of myself. Esther conjured up a shiny blue and red mini dress with double ruffles and matching blue tights from somewhere, and Gudrun used wires to transform my shoulder-length hair into two horizontal braids with bows. Within a short space of time, a budding nurse with big ambitions had turned back into a teenager who wanted to annoy the young men.

Esther had the most and funniest suggestions for pranks. With her ideas, she pushed us into an exuberant hilarity that exhilarated us so much that we arrived at the dormitory completely over-excited and giggling. We were probably trying to hide our growing nervousness.

Our plan to play a trick on the young men vanished into thin air the moment we came face to face with them and began our mutual appraisal. We were interrupted by a sudden power cut. Apparently this happened a lot, because many candles were lit in no time. Gudrun discovered an empty seating area in a corner of the hall. We moved there to watch the goings-on around us. The candlelight created a more pleasant atmosphere than the glaring, color-changing spotlights before. We marveled at Esther, who had already gathered a few students around her and was entertaining them with her carefree, humorous manner in the thickest Swabian dialect. She seemed to like one of the students in particular, as she flirted with him and adored him. And with a look in her eyes that was fit for a movie. We didn't know Esther like that and we wondered where she had learned it.

"Certainly not from her mother!" Gudrun's flippant remark caused us to burst out laughing again, because Esther's mother was a venerable missionary's wife.

"Who are you?" a pleasant male voice interrupted our laughter. Standing in front of us was a tall young man in a glittering, wide robe. He had a turban wrapped around his head, which was held together by a multi-colored glass stone. Despite the poor lighting, I could see that he had beautiful, large, dark eyes with long eyelashes that looked at me with amusement. I was spellbound, staring at him, unable to answer him.

It's hard to describe what happened inside me in those seconds. I only remember that it rang in my head as if a little bell had been caught by the wind. And it was as if I heard a voice telling me that this was the man I was going to marry. I still don't know where this voice came from, but it was there. I was confused and wondered why the topic of marriage had suddenly popped into my head out of nowhere. I tried to convince myself that these thoughts must be the after-effects of the anesthetic. Yes, I was sure that I had only imagined the voice. No one had spoken, it was just in my head.

The suddenly flashing headlights brought me back to reality. I hadn't given Prince Charming an answer and looked after him in amazement as he mingled with the other students again.

The evening began with a round of introductions and immediately afterwards it was the ladies' choice for the first dance. As the men were in the majority, there was no way I could avoid it. Without further ado, I approached the slimmest and smallest student and asked him for the first dance. He turned out to be an excellent dancer. In the first dance, a rock'n'roll, he led so well that I was able to keep up with his pace. I was spinning around as if my joints and bones were made of rubber. We danced together several more times during the evening.

I didn't dance with the oriental prince at this party. I tried to avoid him because I saw him as a kind of adversary who wanted to upset my life plan. I had no idea that this man had long been part of my soul plan and that I would not be able to escape my fate. Nevertheless, I found my eyes searching for him and was disappointed that he showed no interest in me. Under the watchful supervision of the hostel parents, the evening passed by all too quickly and in a cheerful mood. Shortly before midnight, the students accompanied us back to the dormitory, where the matron was already waiting for us.

I was distracted by my upcoming exams over the next few days and didn't have time to lose myself in daydreams about the unknown stranger. The evening of the carnival party faded more and more into the background of my thoughts. Slowly, the memory of the prince also faded. I was convinced that my perceptions, the little bell and the voice, must actually have been the result of the anaesthetic. Nevertheless, an inner restlessness remained that I didn't really know how to classify.

Three weeks later, Gudrun asked me for help. On the occasion of an anniversary of our church congregation, I was asked to stand in for a friend who had canceled at short notice to play the flute. I was delighted that Gudrun had thought of me, because music was a way for me to be in harmony with the universe. We only needed a short rehearsal the evening before the party. Our performance went smoothly and emotionally, and the applause was correspondingly great. After the official part of the ceremony, we had coffee and cake, as is customary. I was just about to put sugar in my coffee when someone bowed to me and asked:

"Don't we know each other?" I recognized him by his eyes: it was the prince from the carnival party. And again it felt like I was under his spell. Again I felt paralyzed. It trickled and trickled from the sugar shaker without me noticing. I was amazed to see that he looked oriental even without his fancy dress costume and that his accent was apparently genuine and had nothing to do with his disguise. I remembered the voice that had whispered to me when we first met that this was the man I was going to marry. If I was confused then, I wondered whether I was losing my mind during this second encounter. How could I have come up with this crazy idea that I would marry a foreigner who was easily recognizable as such? I also suspected that he was a Muslim, so a future together seemed unthinkable.

My coffee cup was now almost full of sugar and the coffee was spilling over the table. It was only when Gudrun, who was sitting next to me, pushed me energetically and took the sugar shaker from my hand that reality abruptly caught up with me again.

Once everything was sorted out, I couldn't find the person who had caused this mishap anywhere. As suddenly as he had appeared in front of me, he had disappeared again.

The encounter had left its mark on me. On the way home with Gudrun, I was silent and thoughtful. It worried me that this guy could upset me so much that I even lost control of myself and my thoughts. How could I think about marrying him? I had other, nobler plans! Besides, it was beyond my imagination to spend my life with a person of a different faith. What faith should we raise our children in? I considered that perhaps he wasn't a Muslim at all. After all, he lived in a Protestant student hall of residence. And he was also present at the church community celebration. I had to admit to myself that I wished he was a Christian.

In the days that followed, I thought about the man with the turban very often. I was annoyed with myself for letting myself be tempted and, at least in my mind, for letting my dreams burst like soap bubbles. That couldn't be allowed to happen! I had to try to forget him. But there was soon to be a third, also unplanned, encounter. Again, it was Gudrun who had invited me. She wanted to show slides of our vacation in France to a small group of friends. As men were not allowed in the nurses' residence, her best friend Christoph had offered to meet us at his place. He had asked us if he could invite a friend. We had no objections, especially as the friend wanted to bring us all kinds of delicacies and dishes from his home country. We were joined by Esther and Saskia. Esther brought her beau Rüdiger from the carnival party. The two had fallen in love and had been inseparable ever since.

During the welcome, Christoph introduced us to his sister and his Persian friend Hesam. I couldn't believe it: standing in front of me for the third time was the man I wanted to forget. I wondered how that could be and whether he was perhaps following me. But he seemed just as surprised as I was. My next spontaneous thought was to flee and go home. But what reason could I give? I dismissed the idea again and decided to meet him normally and politely. The only thing I couldn't do was look him in the eye so as not to fall under his spell again. Fortunately, I didn't find this difficult at first, because Hesam wanted to serve the food right at the start and disappeared into the kitchen. Gudrun looked at me critically:

"That was just the guy from the community festival, are you hiding something from me? Did you have a date here?" She seemed visibly disappointed. We had talked about this man a few days earlier because she had noticed that something was wrong with me. We had come to the conclusion that he wasn't a suitable man for me. Although I no longer believed in coincidence myself, I assured her that I had ended up in this situation again purely by chance. Gudrun didn't leave my side that evening.

Many people had helped in the kitchen and prepared a buffet on the kitchen table. If the food tasted as good as it looked and smelled, it promised to be a culinary delight, as Rüdiger concluded. It tasted good to everyone and Hesam received a lot of praise.

After the meal, Esther and Rüdiger volunteered to do the cooking. Saskia and Christoph prepared the equipment for the slide show together. Gudrun and I practiced a new song on the guitar and Hesam joined us. Gudrun asked him where he had learned to cook so well. We learned that he had grown up in southern Iran and had come to Germany five years earlier to study mechanical engineering, now in his sixth semester. He had learned to cook from his older sister, who had prepared him for Germany and student life. He told us about his family and that he was the youngest of ten brothers and two sisters. He emphasized that he and his siblings all had the same parents. He spoke very fondly of his family and his voice sounded sad when he added that he hadn't seen them for five years. I concluded that his family meant a lot to him.

Gudrun couldn't fail to notice how touched I was. She knew my big, compassionate heart and interrupted our conversation by playing songs on the guitar and singing along. As if she wanted to distract me from this "exotic", as she called him. Hesam tried to sing along. With his pleasant, deep bass voice, he would have been welcome in any choir if he could have hit the notes! He sang horribly wrong.

Gudrun left us briefly to get tea and her homemade cake. I was left alone with Hesam. I had already noticed when we greeted him that something was different about him, but I couldn't put my finger on it. So I asked him directly if he had changed anything about his appearance. Instead of answering, he took off his glasses and smiled at me. That was what was different. The glasses made his eyes look much smaller than I remembered them without them. I could see that he was fully aware of the effect of this sight and was clearly enjoying the situation. He had really beautiful eyes with unusually long and thick eyelashes for a man. The flat forehead formed two ridges under the bushy eyebrows, which made the eyes stand out even more.

Looking back, I think that was the moment I fell in love with him and our hearts met. It was also the moment when my life plan burst like a soap bubble and all my previous dreams vanished into thin air. Today I know that it was the moment when my soul plan took over.

As I was no longer under his spell, I was able to enjoy the rest of the evening with peace of mind. When Hesam said shyly as we said goodbye that he hoped to see me again soon, I would have liked to make an appointment right away. But I wasn't yet ready to admit to myself that I had fallen head over heels in love.

Over the next few days, I tried to block out thoughts of him by studying even more. However, I was unable to concentrate on the content of my textbooks. He had crept into my life and I couldn't do anything about it. A few days later, I received a call from Christoph. After a few introductory words, he soon came to the reason for his call:

"You've met my friend, Hesam. The poor guy was stood up by his girlfriend." His words hit me unexpectedly hard. Hesam, a girlfriend? I hadn't even considered that possibility. A hitherto unknown feeling gnawed at me and put me in a kind of defensive posture.

"And what business is that of mine?" I asked rather brusquely. Christoph then explained to me that the Persian students were celebrating their spring and New Year festival, Noruz, the following Saturday and that Hesam would be delighted if I came along as his companion. Christoph and Saskia were also invited. The two of them had fallen in love with each other on our slide evening. I cheered inwardly, but of course I didn't want to let it show.

"And why can't he ask me that himself? And anyway, what does he think he's doing? Does he really think I'm going to stand in for his girlfriend?" I replied indignantly.

Christoph tried to save the situation:

"I shouldn't have told you about the girlfriend. If Hesam hears that it's my fault that you're not going, there'll be trouble."

"That's your problem, not mine!" I replied snappishly. "His girlfriend will already know why she left him. He's a coward! You can pass it on to him like that!" As I hung up the phone, I was already feeling sorry. I wanted nothing more than to see him again, and at the first opportunity I blew it all because of my pride. I was convinced that I would never see him again and was heartbroken.

To my surprise, Hesam called the same evening to apologize for using Christoph as an intermediary. He hadn't had the courage to call himself because he was afraid of being turned down, he confessed. He hinted that he had fallen in love with the girl with the protruding pigtails the first time we met, but didn't dare dance with me because he thought I was only fifteen and underage. Over the course of the three-hour conversation, I told him about my plans and how I envisioned my life. I made it clear that I had no intention of getting into a relationship or even getting married. I didn't tell him about the bell and the voice. My only concession was that I let him know how happy I was about his call and the invitation.

The New Year's reception was a few days later, on March 24. Almost two months had passed since our first meeting in the student hall of residence. The time until we met again seemed endless, even though we spoke on the phone every day. For the first time in my life, I was really in love. It felt different to the crushes of my youth. I was no longer able to think clearly because my feelings were doing somersaults. Hesam picked me up at the agreed time. He had to wait downstairs in front of the dormitory. The greeting was therefore very reserved: a brief hug and a tentative kiss on the cheeks. We avoided looking at each other because we both didn't really know how to deal with our newly awakened feelings.

The party was in a large hall in the city center, just a few minutes' walk from the dormitory. As we approached the event, I could see expensive cars pulling up. Beautiful women in lavish evening gowns and men in perfectly fitting suits got out and walked towards the entrance. No, the women didn't walk, they floated. Their movements struck me as graceful, delicate and fragile, despite the strong self-confidence they exuded. I had stopped to see what would happen. Hesam urged us to go on.

"They are almost all emissaries of the Shah. They don't even leave us alone on our New Year's Day, the Shah's secret service, the Savak, is everywhere!" His voice had a bitter undertone. He continued in a whisper: "They send their people so that the students don't say anything against the Shah during the speeches. If they do, they are arrested at passport control the next time they enter Iran, if their identity can be established, and tortured in prison. They often disappear forever. These despisers of humanity and idol worshippers have already placed their hidden cameras at the entrance. Please look down when we are in the entrance hall so that they can't take pictures of us." I was irritated and doubted whether everything he whispered to me was true. As a young person who had grown up in freedom, I couldn't imagine that. Nevertheless, I looked down, just as Hesam had advised me to do.

Persian music rang out from the ballroom. When the door to the hall was opened for us after ticket control, another world opened up to me. I was fascinated by this first impression of Persian culture. A babble of more than a hundred voices rolled over us, so dense that I perceived it as static. On a stage and throughout the hall, young people danced carefree and gracefully to the live music of a Persian band. The hall was festively decorated and the guests were seated at large, round tables. Some stood up to greet us and people who were complete strangers to me showered us with words and kisses on the cheeks. It was the first time I had heard Persian. The melody and sound of the language reminded me a lot of French. The atmosphere was characterized by a pleasant cheerfulness, and the air vibrated with so much cheerful liveliness. Saskia and Christoph had reserved two seats for us at their table. I was glad that their presence made me feel less of a stranger.

I didn't understand any of the many speeches. Hesam said that the speakers had very skillfully introduced political topics, but had not given the Savak any concrete reason to intervene later. The slogans in between were also formulated in such a way that they could not be legally challenged. Despite the oppressive information about the Iranian secret service and the feeling of being under constant surveillance, it was a magical evening. Especially because I was in love and also won the main prize in a raffle.

Our numbered tickets were also tickets for a raffle and used to determine two people who must answer questions about Iran. The main prize of this question game was a real Hamadan bridge. As chance or fate would have it, I was one of the two people. During my time at school, I had given a presentation on Iran and another on Islam. With the knowledge I had acquired and a bit of luck, I won the main prize. My opponent was an Iranian. After the ceremony, I called my mother:

"Imagine, I've won a real Persian!" Hesam stood next to me, the bridge skillfully draped over his left shoulder like a merchant. He had his free arm around me. It was the closest physical proximity we had ever allowed. For me, it was an indescribable feeling that I had never experienced before, and the butterflies in my stomach were fluttering. Hesam's addition, which he shouted loudly into the phone: "She's won two Persians!", made me infinitely happy. It probably caused my mother sleepless nights for the time being.

Over the next few weeks, we spent almost every hour of our free time together. We usually went somewhere and had a picnic, even though it was still very cold. When it rained, we strolled through the department stores holding hands. The initial infatuation soon turned into love. I realized that I could no longer imagine my life without this man. His elegant restraint, his respect for my wishes, his understanding and patience for my questions and his tenderness gave me a feeling of security and trust.

Nevertheless, I also had many concerns. Our different religions were a barrier that we had to overcome somehow. From the first meeting, we talked a lot about our faith. This was a central topic, because before we got into a real relationship, I really wanted to know how we would deal with it.

One of these conversations was particularly important. I remember it well and will try to reproduce it verbatim.

Hesam found it difficult to understand the Christian image of Jesus as the Son of God.

"Jesus is not the Son of God! You blaspheme God when you say that. God didn't sleep with Mary! Besides, God alone is God, but you have three Gods!" For the first time, I experienced Hesam very firmly, almost angrily.

"That's not what it means," I tried to intervene. "You're looking at it the wrong way." I explained to him how I understood the trinity:

"God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit are not three persons. God works in us through his Spirit and he shows himself to us in Jesus. God is the love that unites everything, the Spirit and Jesus are in this love. It is difficult to explain."

"Yes, because it can't be like that, because it isn't like that," Hesam replied defiantly.

"It's like water, which can also appear in different forms, as water, as steam or as ice. But it's the same thing, just in a different form. That's how it was explained to me as a child." As he seemed to be thoughtful, I continued: "God's spirit works in each of us, it is the divine within us, without which we would be an empty shell. And God needed Jesus because he wanted to go among people in human form and show them his love and mercy and make them feel it."

"When God wanted to tell people something, he proclaimed it through the prophets. That is why Jesus is a prophet, but not a son of God! He is one of the five great prophets in Islam: Noah, Abraham, Moses, Jesus and Mohammad. They were all conceived and born of human beings. We revere Jesus very much. Mary, his mother, is also a example of purity in Islam, as God chose her to be the mother of one of his great prophets. There is a girl named after her in almost every one of our families."

"Jesus is more than a prophet because...", as if he had guessed what I was about to say, Hesam interrupted me:

"Jesus did not die on the cross. God doesn't need blood sacrifices to forgive people! You make it very easy for yourselves!"

"You of all people are saying that? What about the millions of animals that are sacrificed every year when the great pilgrimage takes place in Mecca? Do you want to achieve something with God with that? God cannot be bribed. He has already given us everything before we ask for it! Why would he want Abraham to sacrifice his son? The dearest thing God had given to him? God loves his children, why would he have them cruelly slaughtered? That was certainly not God's voice which Abraham heard. People passed it on because it fitted in with their cult of sacrifice and idolatry at the time." Now Hesam must have realized how contradictory his statements were!

But he continued unperturbed: "You are committing a great sin if you doubt God's word, the hell is yours." I could not take that lying down and replied:

"God is a loving God and not a punishing God. He has given us the guidelines for our decisions, but also the freedom to decide for ourselves. No matter what we decide, God will always love us. The consequences of our choices are the experiences we have that make us the person we are responsible for." I shuddered at my own words for never thinking of it that way before. While I was still pondering, stunned, whether my thoughts were heretical and where I had gotten this "wisdom" from, Hesam didn't seem particularly impressed. Undeterred, he continued:

"The point is that Abraham loved God so much that, in response to a dream, he was ready to sacrifice his son Ismael. However, God did not accept this victim. Instead, he instructed Abraham to slaughter an animal. With the animal sacrifices in Mecca, we thank God for his mercy," he argued very cleverly.

"But you sacrifice them! That is idolatry! Imagine how every animal victim struggles and screams in agony. The other sacrificial animals hear these death cries, and long before it's their turn, they remain in agony. That is cruel! Animals have a soul too! God would never want that. And besides, it was Isaac and not Ismael that Abraham wanted to sacrifice." He ignored my last objection and replied:

"Then we wouldn't be allowed to eat meat anymore. We distribute the meat to the people who live there. It's not a sacrifice, it's food for people in need." I was speechless, sure, he didn't believe that for himself!

"Where do you get all the needy people for a million lambs, sheep, camels or other cattle in the middle of the desert?", I wanted to know. He assured me very convincingly that everything would be stored in huge freezer halls and then distributed or reused.

"I swear to you, no animal will ever be sacrificed in my family!" I meant that very seriously. We discussed the subject of Ismael or Isaac for a while longer. I was amazed at how stubbornly he stood his ground. To end this dispute, I gave in:

"You know, it's not at all relevant which of the two sons he wanted to sacrifice. What's important is the fact that he was willing to do so." "But it was Ismael, only the Koran tells the truth!", he insisted.

It was a memorable day with more endless discussions. Much earlier than planned, I asked him to drive me home. The reason I gave was that I had arranged to meet Saskia to study. I couldn't sleep that night. My initial concerns turned into fears and these scared me. His stubbornness in holding on to his faith and his intolerance towards my beliefs raised doubts: Was he really the right man for me? The man my soul plan had determined for me? How could my soul want that? How could God want that? We couldn't live together like this.

I needed clarity about my feelings and clarity about what I wanted and whether it was in harmony with my soul. I needed some time out. When he called the next day to arrange to meet me, I told him that I needed some space after the previous day's conversations. I asked for a two-week reflection period during which we would not meet or speak on the phone, explaining that I had a lot to think about. Hesam seemed surprised and said that a relationship should be able to withstand such discussions. He said he didn't need it because he knew I was the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Nevertheless, he agreed when he realized that I meant it seriously. He seemed to be very sure of himself.

My work distracted me in the days that followed. Those were the nights when I quarrelled with God. I reproached him for giving me this man and at the same time putting huge, insurmountable obstacles in our way. I was disappointed and angry. At God, at Hesam, at myself and at everyone who was worried about me. In my free time, I hid in my room and stared at the phone, which was silent. After six days, I felt worse than I had at the beginning of the time-out. I was unable to concentrate at work. Something had to be done. But what could I do?

- 3 -

My eyes fell on the picture of my godmother on my desk. Fourteen years ago, she had emigrated to America with her family and had given me this picture as a parting gift.

"Oh, Auntie, if you were here now, you would know what to do," I sighed, and a deep longing for her wanted to tear my heart apart. It was as if I heard her dear, familiar voice: "And when I was in trouble, I went to my tree." Was that supposed to be an answer? My mind wandered back fourteen years. My aunt had observed how much I was suffering from the impending loss. On my last visit to her, we walked along a stream surrounded by tall trees. I had begged her not to go to America because there was so much water between us and I couldn't visit her. Her promise that I could fly over the water and be with her very quickly had not been able to reach my desperate childish soul. What she said to me then stayed with me and stayed with me throughout my life:

"I know what it's like to be sad, because I'm sad too, my girl. But if you're always sad, then the sadness will become as big as a mountain and you'll never be able to be happy and cheerful again. And everyone will be sad with you, including me. Do you know what I used to do when I was your age, when I had a grief that I could not confide in anyone? I ran to my tree and poured my heart out to it." She went on to tell me how she and her friend Lisa had chosen the tree and how it had helped her.

I wanted to have a tree that was so tall that it could whisper my secrets quietly into God's ear. I already knew where it was: near my parents' house on the edge of a forest. I had noticed it because it towered over all the other trees. Its trunk was also different. It had smooth, light-colored bark, in contrast to the bark of the other trees, which was barky and dark brown. I told my aunt about the tree and that it was so tall that she could see it from America. She took me in her arms and promised me that we would always be connected in our hearts because the tree would connect us to God and to each other: "God and your guardian angel are always with you, never forget that."

It's hard to tear myself away from the memory of my godmother. Three months before she died, more than six decades after her emigration, her daughter arranged a first reunion of the two of us in America. It was a very moving and emotional reunion where we discovered many things we had in common. I was finally able to say thank you to her. Thank you for her love, which she had given me so richly in the eight years we spent together that this love had been my shining star and companion for all those decades. I was finally able to say thank you for the precious legacy she had given me that day on my journey through life when she told me about her grief tree. I was finally able to tell her that the experiences of my childhood, which were linked to the grief tree, were formative and helpful for my development and later, when I had to manage without the tree, for my whole life. Like that day when I didn't know what decision to make and I felt as if my aunt was indirectly asking me to go out into nature and to my tree. And so I did.

An hour later, I was cycling along the familiar paths of my childhood in bright sunshine. It was a good decision. With every pedal stroke, my heart grew lighter and every breath I took helped to gradually calm and clear the chaos in my head. I could see my tree from afar: tall, steady and towering above everything. Its crown tilted in the wind in my direction, as if it wanted to greet me and show me its joy. As I had done as a child, I sat down under it and leaned against its trunk. Above me, the sun broke through the foliage in thousands of rays. It seemed as if they were coming from a concentrated and very intense source of light directly above the tree. As a child, I thought the light above the tree was my guardian angel. Since then, I have associated everything heavenly with light.

The magical energy of my tree and the shadows cast by the rays of light caused me to fall silent inside. I was in harmony with my soul and at peace with myself. I don't know how long I sat like that. It was only when a strong wind suddenly arose, driving dark clouds in front of me at breakneck speed, that I realized that a thunderstorm was brewing above me. I thanked my tree and drove away from the forest as fast as I could. I dismissed the idea of staying with my parents, who lived nearby, until after the storm. I didn't want to think about Hesam that day and I certainly didn't want to talk about him. I just wanted to calm down again so that I could make my decision with clear thoughts. Maybe I could make the six kilometers to the dormitory in the dry.

Icould leave the storm behind me for the time being. When it did catch up with me, I was just passing my old school, a monastery school. Fortunately, the church next to the monastery was open and I went inside. Just in time, because the weather had worsened. A torrent was pouring down from the sky and thunder and lightning were already following each other closely. As in my school days, I sat down in the back row of benches, which at the time was reserved for the few Protestant schoolgirls. We Protestants also had to attend the Catholic early mass every morning before lessons began. I didn't mind that. On the contrary: the same rituals, the Eucharistic consecration and the beautiful liturgical singing of the nuns created a mystical atmosphere in which I felt at home.

The race against the storm had exhausted me. I was relaxed, almost sleepy. My thoughts passed by unheeded, it was empty and quiet inside me. Into this silence I heard myself say: "Lord, speak just one word and my soul will be healed." It was a prayer that was part of the early mass ritual at the time. I called it the prayer of trust. Was that supposed to be a sign? What was it trying to tell me? I felt how my heart expanded, how peace filled me, how I sank into the universe and was nothing but love. I realized with clarity that my soul was protected and that nothing could happen to it that I did not want myself. I just had to trust. I also realized that I really loved Hesam. My love was greater and stronger than all my concerns and fears. I had got an answer without having asked. What was meant to happen would happen.

When the storm had passed and the rain had stopped, I made my way home. The air was pure and clear, everything looked clean and new. There were still a few rain clouds in the sky, which were moving away to the east. The sun flooded them with its light and there was nothing to indicate the violent thunderstorm. Suddenly, a rainbow appeared before my eyes. Beautiful, in delicate colors, a marvel of nature. It seemed as if it wanted to build a bridge for me, from west to east, and at its highest point it looked as if it was touching the sky and wanted to bring me a message from there. I felt relieved of a heavy burden and was sure that we would find a path together. A rainbow path on which there was also room for our assorted colors! After all, the God we both believed in was the ONE God. I would have liked to tell Hesam the same evening that everything was fine, but I also had to give him enough time to rethink. Therefore, I used the remaining days to study.

- 4 -

When we met, I realized that Hesam had long since made his decision and used the time for other things for the first time after the reflection period. He picked me up punctually at the agreed time. We had spoken briefly on the phone the evening before and agreed to go for a walk in the woods and talk. But he had a surprise for me: he had moved out of the student hall of residence and into a small private apartment in the old town, which he wanted to show me.

For the first time, I was given an insight into the personal life of the man I loved. I was pleasantly surprised! In the middle of Darmstadt, he had created a piece of home for himself. With colorful cushions, a small rug and a real sheepskin, he had transformed his bed into a cozy sitting area. A Persian copper lamp hung above it, its light casting magical reflections and shadows on the walls and ceiling. Filigree, exaggerated ornaments had been worked into the copper according to ancient craftsmanship, creating these lighting effects. Color-coordinated colorful cloths and blankets with oriental patterns were scattered throughout the room. Water bubbled away in a samovar, a tea kettle.

Hesam lit tea lights that he had already distributed earlier. I hadn't spoken a single word; I was so surprised. He put daisy blossoms in my hair, knelt down in front of me and asked the question of all questions: "Will you be my wife?"

Everything inside me cheered: "Yes, I do!", but I was in a trance and unable to answer. Hesam took a small box with two simple, golden rings out of his jacket pocket and we exchanged them. When he kissed me afterwards, I didn't resist. He interpreted that as a sign of my consent and approval.

"Now we're engaged. It's as good as being married," he said happily.

The memory of this memorable and magical moment brings a smile to my face after all these years. I feel the love and happiness that flowed through me back then and I know it was the right path for me. That makes it easier for me to write this book authentically, without bitterness and without recriminations.

I was deeply touched by the way he had gone out of his way to propose to me romantically. On the one hand, I was happy about it, but on the other, I felt blindsided because we hadn't talked about our time away yet. I had hoped for a proposal at some point, but not that day. So I made him understand that I wanted nothing more than to become his wife, but that there were still a few things to clarify before I made my final decision. Hesam seemed more forgiving. The distance had also given him time to think. He was prepared to make concessions to me and promised me that I would be allowed to live my faith as his wife and, if the opportunity arose, to go to church and sing in a choir, because that was part of my wishes. Legally speaking, I would be a Muslim in my new Persian papers, but in my heart, I would always remain a Christian, I was convinced of that.

Even before the time out, I had agreed that we would live in Iran. This was important for Hesam because, as the youngest son, he wanted to look after his parents. In return, he promised that I could spend the three-month summer vacation in Germany with our children every year. The next important point we discussed at the time concerned the religious upbringing of our children. In Islam, the children of a Muslim father are born Muslim and must not be brought up in any other religion. Hesam said that this rule was also laid down by law in Iran.

"God's love is not limited to dogmas, conventions and religions. It is the same for all people," I tried to calm my still existing, unspoken doubts. I thought that God would have a reason for sending me on a different path than the one I had planned and for bringing me together with a Muslim. As long as the common center of our lives was God, everything would be fine, I told myself. I thought of the rainbow and was sure that we could walk on a common path with our different roots. In mutual respect, he as a Muslim, I as a Christian. A path on which there would be room and acceptance for the roots of both sides with a lot of generosity. Most of the time, the roots would unite, as in everyday life, in commonalities, in joy and in sorrow. Or when we celebrate the different holidays together. But there should also be enough freedom and tolerance to be able to walk certain paths alone, such as in prayer and in our own freedom of opinion. Just as two different trees stand side by side in harmony and complement each other by showing consideration for each other. Their roots are also different, but the earth that gives them firm support and nourishment is the same. The love of God, which is given to us all equally, would unite us. The first step on this path that evening was our engagement and my vows.

Two days later, Hesam told me that engaged couples in Iran often entered into a sigheh at the same time as their engagement so that they could meet. That would be a kind of temporary marriage vow to God. Temporary, he explained to me, meant from half an hour to ninety-nine years. In our case, the temporary marriage would last until the civil marriage ceremony. Hesam also said that we could make this vow ourselves by mutual consent, God didn't need a witness. I wouldn't have to do anything other than repeat the Persian words he recited. I wanted to know what these words meant. Hesam assured me that they were the same words as for a normal marriage, but instead of "eternal marriage", the exact duration had to be specified.

I was sure that a marriage vow before God would give our relationship a special value, and I decided to make it in my mother tongue. We made a promise to each other in a small ceremony. This is how we became husband and wife before God. Through this vow, Hesam remained faithful to the laws of Islam, which stated that a sexual relationship was only permitted in a marriage. I was happy and from then on, I no longer dreamed of Calcutta, but of a life in Iran with the man I loved by my side.

My social environment reacted very distantly and differently to our marriage announcement. Some of my friends and acquaintances tried to dissuade me.

"You don't really know him yet! You're in love and only see everything through rose-tinted glasses. At least wait until after your exams, give yourselves some time!" Gudrun said. She couldn't understand why I didn't want to wait.

"Do you know what conditions are like in Persia? They still eat from the floor!", a friend warned me. "Yes, and they even eat with their fingers and all from the same pot!" I added irritably. Why couldn't they begrudge me my happiness? My matron was more seriously worried about me:

"You've only known each other for three months, you can't know if you want to stay together for life! It won't work out," she said. "Do you really want to give up all your dreams and ideals? You're a Christian, he's a Muslim, what faith do you want to raise your children in? And believe me, he will oppress you as soon as he gets back to his country!" I tried to convince her that Hesam was a good person, but she couldn't accept him and kept trying to change my mind. I was sad and disappointed by the reactions of people in my circle of friends and acquaintances.

My mother was the only one who didn't show any major reservations. She probably trusted my adaptability, which she had taught me over many years of education, indeed almost imposed on me. She had no idea at the time that she had given me a suitable foundation for my life in Iran. Hesam had also taken her heart by storm. He was good-looking, charming, educated and well-mannered. I think the thought that I was probably better off in his hands in Iran than somewhere alone in Africa with Albert Schweitzer or in India with Mother Theresa was decisive for her instant affection for my future husband. She spoiled him wherever she could. Perhaps she also hoped that he would change his mind by the end of his studies and stay in Germany after all.

My father, on the other hand, was more skeptical. He didn't particularly like Hesam at first. When the two of them talked, he deliberately used the language generally associated with foreign unskilled workers. "You don't understand anything about work, you go to university," to name just one example. He didn't take his future son-in-law seriously. For him, a man was only a man when he could drink a beer with him. Hesam, however, detested alcohol. He ignored my request to speak to Hesam normally, saying, "I won't say anything more, but you'll see!" I suspected that he was just a little jealous.

The turning point came when his beloved car wouldn't start and it definitely wasn't the battery. We were visiting his parents and Hesam got the chance to impress his father-in-law, because my father knew nothing about cars. Hesam, on the other hand, had completed a year's work experience in a garage. With a practiced look at the engine, he quickly found the cause and was able to fix the problem. This really impressed my father and from then on he used chummy language when they talked about cars and later also about other things. The icing on the cake was that Hesam was given a privilege that no one else had: He was allowed to drive my father's car. Perhaps also because he had saved me from "landing in the gutter". My father was a chief inspector and overprotective of his daughters. At the slightest transgression of his rules, he saw Sodom and Gomorrah befalling us all and my sister and I ending up in the gutter.

My parents only had one condition: I had to finish my education before we got married. Despite the distraction of Hesam, I did very well in the written exam. I still had three months of surgery ahead of me, including a practical exam. My parents' request didn't stand in the way of our own plans, as we also planned to get married after my last exam.

It was clear that it would be limited to a civil ceremony. A church wedding was out of the question for Hesam. He explained very convincingly that, as a Muslim, he would have problems with this. Since my plans had gone in a completely different direction before I met him, I had never dreamed of being a bride. I was convinced that God had given us his blessing by bringing us together. Why did we need a church wedding?

If I pay attention to the pain that is spreading through me as I write these lines, it did more to me than I wanted to admit at the time and over the years. It was the first big, albeit unconscious, lie in our relationship. My memory brings out one of her long-kept secrets and confronts me with it in my observer position. It is a dream that I often had in Iran. Only in dreams did I allow the longing for my roots. Only in dreams could I stand in front of the familiar altar where I was baptized and confirmed, and in front of which we performed a nativity play every Christmas as a youth group. I stood there all alone in a white dress and received the blessing of marriage. I let the pain pass and the tears that I could never cry could finally flow. It's as if pain and tears are like balm around the wounds that have just been opened. They are now allowed to heal.

Shortly after our Islamic marriage vows, I became pregnant. We had known each other for four months and had been a couple for six weeks. The pregnancy disrupted our plans a little, but we were really looking forward to our child. My mother was happy, it was her first grandchild. She asked us to bring the wedding forward. The reason she gave was that the wedding dress she had just bought might no longer fit me. I suspected that she was more concerned about the neighbors talking. Two months earlier than we had originally planned, we ordered the marriage certificate from the registry office in Darmstadt. It was 1967, the year in which family law was radically reformed in Iran under the rule of the Shah.

There were two types of marriage in Iran: traditional religious marriage, also known as temporary marriage, and marriage under family law, which has been in force since 1929 and has no time limit. This is why it was also called eternal marriage. If a man wished to divorce his wife, he was allowed to repudiate her. All he had to do was proclaim loudly three times in the presence of a witness: "I repudiate you, I repudiate you, I repudiate you!" and the divorce was final. To ensure that the woman was not left destitute in such a case, a bridal gift, also known as a morning gift, was stipulated before both types of marriage, which the man then had to pay out in the event of repudiation. A morning gift, Mehrie in Iranian, could be money, gold or shares of land. This unilateral right to divorce for men was to be completely abolished by the new law as part of the Shah'