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Politics : Idea Of The Day -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: IQBAL LATIF who wrote (48152)	3/21/2005 6:32:47 PM
From: IQBAL LATIF	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 50167

Imam joins rabbi to mourn & hope. The rabbi watched the family step up to say their final farewells, the parents having flown in from Pakistan to bury a son who had died an American hero, the mother's sobs in the universal language of unbearable loss. The funeral director, Ahmad Afzali, used a felt-tip pen to mark the head of the coffin with a circled H. The imam and the rabbi stood together beside the mortal remains of Spec. Azhar Ali of the Fighting 69th of the New York Army National Guard, who was killed by a roadside bomb in Iraq. Imam Zameer Sattaur wore black Islamic attire with a white scarf. Rabbi Jacob Goldstein was in full uniform as a chaplain and colonel in the Army Reserves. His close friends once included Betty Shabazz, widow of Malcolm X, and he was one of three eulogists at her funeral. He now reached across another great divide. "Salam aleikum," the rabbi greeted the imam. The Hebrew greeting would have been the nearly identical "shalom aleichem," both meaning "peace be with you." Goldstein asked if he was welcome here, the Islamic Burial funeral home on Rockaway Blvd. in Woodhaven, Queens. "Yes," Sattaur said. "I think we are comfortable." The imam explained that Ali's body had been ritually washed and shrouded in white before being placed in the plain wood coffin. "You would understand this because of your beliefs," Sattaur said. The rabbi nodded, for this was also the tradition among his fellow Hassidim. A uniform identical to his own hung by the head of the coffin, the nameplate reading "Ali," the shoulder patch bearing the rainbow of the erstwhile "Irish Brigade" that had marched in the St. Patrick's Day parade the day before. The imam led the mourners in prayers that invoked the same values that would be heard at St. Patrick's Cathedral or the rabbi's own temple. "The purpose of life is to do good," Sattaur said. "From God we came and to God is our return." The rabbi watched the family step up to say their final farewells, the parents having flown in from Pakistan to bury a son who had died an American hero, the mother's sobs in the universal language of unbearable loss. The funeral director, Ahmad Afzali, used a felt-tip pen to mark the head of the coffin with a circled H. Another tradition entered the room in the person of the white-gloved Army honor guard. They were raising the coffin when the imam turned to the rabbi and spoke quietly. "Can you tell them? ..." Sattaur asked. The rabbi stepped over and quietly advised the soldiers what would also have been the Jewish custom. "He should come out headfirst," Goldstein told them. The honor guard shifted in accordance to a request an imam relayed through a rabbi in a moment of comradeship that made it seem the circled H now facing the door also stood for hope. "It could bring peace in the world," Goldstein said. The honor guard carried the coffin out H-first and placed it in the hearse with Sattaur and Goldstein standing on either side. The rabbi accepted the imam's invitation to join the procession to the Jamaica Muslim Center. At the mosque, Goldstein was invited to remove his shoes and join the worshipers who knelt inside. Goldstein encountered a conflict with his own tradition. "In the Jewish faith we don't bow," he explained to a reporter. Goldstein stood at the threshold during the service, then went with the others to the courtyard behind the mosque where the coffin had been placed. Someone motioned him into the row of mourners who stood shoulder to shoulder for the Namaz-E-Janazah, the final memorial prayer. It ended with a word known to Christians as well as Muslims and Jews. "Amen." The mourners proceeded to Washington Memorial Cemetery on Long Island. The military ritual included the presentation of the folded flag and four medals to the family, one a bronze star. A squad fired a rifle salute. A bugler played taps. Three Black Hawk helicopters flew over, low. The moment then came when the imam asked the rabbi to give a graveside prayer. Goldstein offered one translated from the Hebrew into English. "You are here today, gone tomorrow," Goldstein said. "You are a flower in the morning and in the afternoon you wilt." The imam gave the final prayer, and the mourners each tossed a handful of dirt onto the coffin, just as at a Jewish burial. "That's what they do, that's what we do," Goldstein said afterward. Goldstein headed back to Brooklyn to be home before sundown. He was observing Sabbath yesterday, the second anniversary of a war that thousands were protesting across the world, a war whose latest fatalities include the young Muslim who was buried as an American soldier in that coffin whose circled H seemed for a moment to stand for hope.