Captive in Iran: A Remarkable True Story of Hope and Triumph Amid the Horror of Tehran's Brutal Evin Prison by Maryam Rostampour & Marziyeh Amirizadeh & Anne Graham Lotz & John Perry

Author:Maryam Rostampour & Marziyeh Amirizadeh & Anne Graham Lotz & John Perry [Rostampour, Maryam & Amirizadeh, Marziyeh & Lotz, Anne Graham & Perry, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Biographies & Memoirs, Leaders & Notable People, Religious, Christian Books & Bibles, Christian Living, Politics & Social Sciences, Social Sciences, Criminology, Religion & Spirituality, Religious Studies, Theology, Crime & Criminals, Penology, Inspirational, Spirituality, Biography
ISBN: 1414371209
Amazon: B008PX20X4
Publisher: Tyndale Momentum
Published: 2013-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

Marziyeh

After Maryam and I were separated, I thought hard about how I could find out whether she was still close by. I had no paper and nothing to write with, so a note was out of the question. I talked with Munis and Mahtab about it, and they suggested some kind of symbol that Maryam would recognize. Munis warned me that if the guards found it before Maryam did, we would both be punished. But I decided it was worth the risk. The next morning, as we were eating our breakfast, I made a small cross from the foil top of a yogurt cup, which I then concealed in the washroom. My heart was overjoyed when Maryam found the cross I had made and left me one of her own. When I found out that Maryam’s new cellmate was Fereshteh, Mahtab told me that she knew her and that she was a kind, gentle woman who would be a great companion.

During the long days, Munis, Mahtab, and I had lively discussions about faith and religion. They observed the Islamic traditions of prayer and fasting, which they tried to explain to me.

“The regime gives people a distorted version of Islam,” Munis insisted, “and its actions have nothing to do with the real principles of the faith.”

These debates helped to take my mind off my continuing sickness—a severe sore throat and chest infection, as well as the backache and headaches I had suffered off and on for weeks. A trip to the clinic in Ward 209—not actually a clinic, but just a room with a bed—yielded another round of ineffective antibiotics. The pills weren’t even in a container. The “doctor” scooped a handful from the table behind her and handed them to me.

When Munis and Mahtab were praying a few days later, I asked them why they covered themselves to pray. “If you believe God is your creator, don’t you believe He is closer to you than your skin? Why cover yourself up from someone who is already in your heart?”

“It’s a sign of respect and part of our faith,” Munis explained. “Otherwise we don’t have to do it.”

“But has God asked you to do this?” I said. “And has He asked you to speak to Him only in Arabic? Can God not understand you in Farsi? Do you really have to bow to Him five times a day? Can’t you pray to Him whenever you want?”

Munis couldn’t answer these questions, and they upset her. Seeing her agitation, I apologized and let the matter drop. That night, Mahtab came over to me and said, “Your conversation with Munis made me think a lot. You’re exactly right, and I wonder why I never thought of these things before. You prayed to your Lord for me and it really made a difference: I felt much more relaxed. The routine, obligatory prayers I say as a Muslim are rituals, clichés, nothing but habits that have no benefit. I’m going to stop doing namaz prayers and pray with you instead.