The call to prayer pierced the surrounding silence. It seemed strange, sad, and familiar at the same time. It was the same voice that I had grown accustomed to hearing calling the call to prayer for the past four years. But this time it was broken, humiliated, and captive. It was choked and hoarse, as if it was about to burst into tears There is nothing wrong with a little brokenness in the voice that calls the call to prayer, but when it is for the one to whom the prayer is directed. As for this voice, its brokenness was different. It was tinged with humiliation similar to the humiliation of someone forced to watch his wife being raped and violated. That was completely understandable The wormwood too When I entered the mosque, I found it desolate and dark.