Libas: Our hero lion Aaron Tokak column |

A blonde autumn of 1979.

I look from Cape Hill to Antalya, where I am a new recruit.

The Taurus Mountains extend their heads towards the sky, the huge Mediterranean Sea looking great. Orange groves make the city a fresh and magnificent beauty to those who pour all their scents along the seashore.

The Mediterranean is moving.

Under the autumn sun, I walk wearily down the street to the Chamber of Commerce with a small bag in my hand.

My eyes are fixed on a shop signboard …


Suits, shirts, ties, T-shirts lined up.

A young man in his thirties is standing behind the counter.

Her eyes, playing with the waves of brown hair on her forehead, were like a pair of lights blazing in the thick forest on a dark night.

With a sweet smile mixed with the charm of the village and the sincerity of the village; “Welcome!” Said “I am Hasan, Hasan Ilmaz, they call me ‘Libas’ for short.”

At that moment, “Have a nice day in Antalya!” My heart says.

Even on the first evening, I find myself among the Mediterraneans, sweating and sweating, giving thousands of roses in love with the ever-growing rose.

The beautiful days of the Mediterranean, which will last for ten years, begin that night.

The town where the light was born in the summer of 1989 is calling to me.

I am leaving Antalya, the city of blue dreams.

I’m leaving, but I can’t stay away from Antalya and its beautiful people. Although we meet often, these do not go beyond the taste of conversation.

Finally, exactly thirty years later, we were guests on a foreign evening in memory of Hassan Agabe with a few old friends in a foreign land.

You still have that smile on your face, even though the wind has blown away the hair that has fallen on your forehead.

Ammar, Hansas and Sumaiya have grown up. They mingled with the children. In the process, each of them was thrown somewhere.

Nekati Mert, “Brother Hassan, can we get to know you a little better?” Said

She is smiling.

“I came from the village of Chackler in the center of Antalya.” He began to explain.

“This quaint village at the foot of the Taurus Mountains was surrounded by oranges when I was a child.

At night we would light it on the neighbors. Our houses were lit by gas lamps.

Here is the rural life of the 1960s.

Nothing was bought from the city except clothes. The bread of the city was very luxurious.

My whole family was religious.

My mother did not miss the morning and Awabin prayers. My father was the best man in the village.

My brothers were also clean people.

But I was a very naughty kid. I would break the neighbors’ tiles and throw stones at their windows. The locals did not say anything out of respect for my father, but both the villagers and my father made me tired.

One day while chasing the neighbor’s child, my father grabbed my hand.

He said, ‘Son, what shall I do with you?’

My cousin, who attended Imam-Hatip High School, was also there.

‘What if we give it to your school?’ My father said.

‘It would be good.’ Said my cousin.

I started Imam-Hatip School.

When I was in second grade, my dad got sick.

One day we were alone in the hospital room with Dad

‘Boy, I’m going to die. Read the Qur’an behind me. ‘ Says

An icy wind blew through the room. A big branch broke inside me.

At that moment I saw compassion in my father’s faded eyes.

The doctors gave my father a leave of absence, saying he would have to spend the last days at home.

On the sick bed he said, You go to school, boy, I’m fine. My father said.

Three days later the news came that my father’s body had deteriorated.

I ran three kilometers from Conialti to our village. It was too late to run to my father.

Everyone believed my dad was dead, but I couldn’t believe it.

My abuse at school continues. Teachers and school administration are tired of seeing me.

I dress well in school.

The students thought I was the teacher.

One day, a young teacher named Abani Ilhan came to our school.

I was fascinated by his demeanor and mannerisms. As if he is one of us. He was more like a friend than a teacher.

‘If I could explain it to my friend Hasan.’ He will say

In the morning he gave his opinion.

Those two years have gone very well. I went back to the old days when he went to Izmir as a lecturer in Higher Islam.

I was very interested in football.

I like the word ball.

After graduating from Imam-Hatip High School, I started playing ball in Antalspor.

Then comes the military service.

I did not like the military.

After the boot camp, they asked me to join the Presidential Guard Regiment football team in Ankara.

I fell ill there. Doctor ‘Quit football.’ Says

“I will die if I give up football.” I said.

“If you don’t leave, you’ll die anyway.” Says ‘You have jaundice, jaundice turns into cirrhosis.’

I was so scared. I also lost my father to cirrhosis.

I suddenly fell into a deep, very deep, blind well. My soul wanted a light.

I had a military friend named Mehmet Okak.

One day he secretly gave me a book.

It had ‘Youth Guide, Sed Nursi’ written on the cover.

I turned the page.

‘O sick patient! Sickness is a divine gift to someone, a gift of compassion. ‘

‘This man wrote me this letter.’ I said.

‘There is no doubt that youth will go. Even youth will change into old age and death because summer gives place to autumn and winter and changes from day to evening and night.

This world is not a destination made to last forever. However, it is an inn and a waiting room for the gathering of invited animals in the eternal and everlasting ‘Dar-us Salam’ range of Almighty God. ‘

The words hit me in the head like a whip.

He made a sentence that an entire village, a seven-year Imam-Hatip school and my football life could not do for me. A volcanic activity started inside me. Something like a broken rock and a rock began to break down from the mountain. A small ray of light appeared from a distance.

I was reading in such a way that I was drinking. Everything from the past flowed inside me as I read and drank.

One day, Bairam came to the garrison to meet Mehmet Okak at Uxel Agabe.

‘Hasan bhai, Hasan bhai!’ He hugged me.

The following week, Mehmet Okak and I went to see Beram Agabe.

Hacı Bayram, No. 27.

I really like the spiritual atmosphere at home.

The following week, Mehmet Okak took me to a house in Maltepe where university students lived.

A young man led the prayers. He read the Qur’an perfectly. He had a soul piercing voice. After the prayers, he took the lesson of Risale-i Noor. Then the introduction began.

I realized that I was working with political, hashtag, and bright university students studying in the Middle East.

The student is leading the prayer, ‘My name is Mansur.’ “I am studying politics. We’re in the same class as Dennis Gazmis. ‘

‘Take care of my mind, O Lord!’ I said.

I am an Imam-Hatip graduate. I can’t pray properly, I can’t read Qur’an.

The principal of our school, Hussein Tulpar Hoja, graduated from me on the condition that I would not lead the prayers because he did not find me reading enough of the Qur’an.

Military service is over.

Mehmet Okak gave me some books.

‘These are forbidden, beware!’ He said. I put the books under my suitcase.

‘In Antalya, there is lawyer Gultekin Sarigul. Find out. ‘ Says

I met Gultekin Agabe in Antalya.

He was a young and well-trained lawyer.

‘Greetings from Mehmet Okak.’ I said.

‘Mashallah, mashallah Hasan bhai, you say, O Allah!’ Says

I really liked his sincerity and sincerity.

We had a conversation with a girl whose family was leftist when she was in the military.

I told him my condition. “I have come a long way.” I said.

‘We can’t, let’s break up.’ Says

We parted.

One day, Brother Gultekin took me to a dilapidated two-story wooden house in the garden. It was Nazim’s uncle’s house. There he met many beautiful young men. Nevjat Ivachi, Ramzan Duagu, Yavuz Irilamz, Ali Sekar, Muslihidin.

They were all very nice people.

Combined munajat and tasbih are performed. Ramzan Duyegu, a very elegant young man, was giving emotional lessons. Her dress was also beautiful.

We rented a general store next to Jirat Bank.

We started selling wedding dresses, groom suits etc.

Gultekin Agabe used to go to the store almost every day.

One of the bridegroom’s sons was entering, and the other was leaving.

One day Gultekin Agabe said, ‘Ya Hassan, it’s hard for you to work here.’ Says

I understand what you mean.

I quit the partnership.

I opened a men’s clothing store.

We have named it ‘Libas’.

We went to Bornova every Friday to listen to Hokafandi.

The shop was closed for two or three days. Subject-neighbors ‘They are crazy.’ He was saying.

By the time we reached Izmir, we were listening to Hokafendi.

Same when turning.

We were driving.

The sound that broke from the platforms of the Aegean mosques turned into a raging river that split into many branches, and the plains, oases, and steppes turned green in that crystal water.

We have established the Antalya Rasnet Foundation under the presidency of my teacher Hussein Tulper.

We rented a building from Halil Yuba, a social worker in Dogu Garage, and turned it into a dormitory.

Just then a young man entered the store with a bag in his hand.

‘I’m Aaron, Aaron Tokak! You have opened a new house. I have come for him. ‘ Says

After that day, Rasanet Yardu became the heart of the Antalya Service. As soon as we got out of work in the evening we went straight to the dormitory and read the evening and night prayers amidst the chirping of the kids. Some nights we were on duty in the dormitory. We would cover the children and take them to the morning prayers.

Then there was the 1980 coup. Hard days have begun. The teacher wanted. One day the doorbell rang. I looked, Master. The worlds are mine. We stayed together for a few days. I still feel in my heart that he recited the Qur’an in Hujjam Makam and behind it was the private prayer that I prayed and the conversation that I heard. There seemed to be no night in my dreams that I did not fly. It was as if I were going out, flying over clear white clouds.

Those days were good. ”

The night is far ahead. It is time to leave Libas, whose heart is as warm as a red bud and as soft as an orange flower.

It was good for me and our teacher Hussein Karar to recall the good days of the past, which were almost forgotten here and there.

We realize again that the past has made us.

When the memory is frozen on the lips of the night, the orange flowers are still breathing unknowingly, as if in the darkness of a magical night.

Those good old days came and sat inside us with all his love. It was time to part again.


You are beautiful only in folk songs.

That’s it!

How did I know that our first conversation in that humble store with the “Libas” sign, written a few years ago, would be a prelude to the memory of Antalya that will always be intact and our last meeting abroad would be the last word. His life story!

Hassan Agabe, who wears his signature ‘Libas’ name as a medal, no longer exists. Our world went dark with the black news of our teacher Hussein Kara. As if all the lights of the world were extinguished in an instant. The water has never fallen so high. Every time I answered a painful phone call, my friends were crying over the handkerchief. Very few people have found him as much as loved him. I never heard anyone hit him.

We are losing many beautiful people one by one in the country of exile. They fall like seeds away from their homeland, away from their loved ones, on foreign soil. The shooting scene of the stars on a dark blue foreign night is like never before. I have never felt so close to death.

Antalya was a land of beautiful people, but Hassan Agabe was a very, very special person.

A mutual friend sent us a picture of his desk. The chair is waiting for its owner, as if in a moment he will come and sit again.

His spectacles are on the Qur’an, which is open.

Risale-i Nur lined up …

And the blood is falling into the water …

You have set our hearts on fire, dear brother.

Eba Eyyub El Ensari can wish you to open the door of his house to our teacher in the most difficult time!

We were not hurt by you. You have started this journey on a very beautiful day, we wish from the highest owner of the road that the roads do not hit you!

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