Ages, cycles, nay, thousands of generations
must pass away before the Sun of Truth
may mount its zenith and
shine again in its full splendor.
Now that...ye have been called to life
and gathered together in this Age,...
how thankful ye must be!
— ‘ABDU’L-BAHÁ
|
CONTENTS
(*Illustrations*) ix
Foreword xi
(*A Brief Yazdí Family Tree*) xv
PART ONE
Recollections of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá 3
Family Background 6
First Bahá’í Settlers in Egypt 10
Memories of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in Ramleh 14
‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s Departure for America 20
Memories of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in Haifa 24
The End of World War I 37
Farewell to the Master 41
Reflection 44
PART TWO
Reflections of Shoghi Effendi 49
Memories of Shoghi Effendi in Ramleh 49
Memories of Shoghi Effendi in Beirut 54
Memories of Shoghi Effendi in Haifa 58
Communications after World War I 61
Studies in Germany 65
Shoghi Effendi in Paris 72
Shoghi Effendi in England 75
Memories of Shoghi Effendi in Oxford 82
Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian 86
of the Cause of God
Notes 95
(*Photograph Credits*) 100
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When, as a girl, I heard of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, the son of the Founder of the
Bahá’í Faith, and became a believer, I had an overwhelming longing to see Him
and to attain His presence. But I was young, World War I was raging,
communication with the Holy Land was cut off, and travel out of the question.
I did write asking permission, but the letter was apparently lost, and there
was no answer.
Later, when I entered the University of California at Berkeley in the fall
of 1920, I again wrote to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and asked how I could serve the Faith,
what studies to pursue, and for permission to make the pilgrimage. His loving
reply was sent to me by Kathryn Frankland after her own visit to the Master in
November of that year. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá answered all my questions in His Tablet
and said, “I hope that you…
may make the visit, but at present it is not possible.” A year later
‘Abdu’l-Bahá passed away.
A young Persian Bahá’í came to the University of California at Berkeley
in the fall of 1921 to study civil engineering. He was remarkable in every
respect, well-versed in the Bahá’í teachings, and devoted to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá,
Who was called the Master. This exemplary and fascinating student was
Shaykh-‘Alí Yazdí, or ‘Alí for short. As a boy and youth, he had often been
with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and His grandson, Shoghi Effendi. It was three months
after our meeting that we faced together the catastrophic loss of the beloved
Master.
When I was with ‘Alí, I would beg him to tell me about ‘Abdu’l-Bahá:
“What was He like?” His descriptions filled me with awe and joy; I was
enchanted and uplifted. Throughout our friendship and later our marriage, I
loved to listen to him talk about the Master; I came to feel that I, too, had
actually seen Him and been in His presence.
I often hoped ‘Alí would write down his early experiences in the Faith for
our children and grandchildren and for the Bahá’ís and other friends. But he
was reluctant to speak or write about his intimate experiences with
‘Abdu’l-Bahá and his unique years with Shoghi Effendi. Then one day in 1975,
though gravely ill and suffering, ‘Alí stood up from his desk and with a radiant
smile gave me a number of pages entitled “Prophetic Days — Memories of
‘Abdu’l-Bahá, “ herein called “Blessings Beyond Measure”. The account
that follows is essentially as my husband wrote it. I have included a few
details from a talk he gave on 2 November 1975 at Haas Clubhouse on the
Berkeley campus of the University of California.
‘Alí’s wish to write down his recollections of young Shoghi Effendi was not
realized. However, he did speak on his memories of Shoghi Effendi at the
above-mentioned occasion, and I have included the transcription of that
recorded talk here. I have also added sections from a 1 July 1975 interview
with ‘Alí that Beth McKenty made for the National Bahá’í Information Office,
as well as excerpts from a talk he gave at the home of our daughter and
son-in-law, Barbara and Jim Markert, on 23 October 1977. In addition, I have
quoted passages from the diary and from the youthful letters of Shoghi Effendi
to which ‘Alí alluded in his talk. The very personal letters of Shoghi Effendi
to his young friend ‘Alí, written before and after matriculating at Oxford
University, are published here for the first time.
A word of explanation regarding these intensely interesting memoirs is in
order. The accounts of ‘Alí’s years with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and his grandson Shoghi
Effendi — filled as they are with experiences that affected ‘Alí profoundly all
his life — should still be considered as pilgrim’s notes, one person’s
impressions sincerely given. It should also be pointed out that the spoken
words of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and Shoghi Effendi reported here may or may not be
exact quotations. The translations of the tablets of the Master (with the
exception of the one to Roy C. Wilhelm, the original of which has not been found)
and the letters of Shoghi Effendi, however, are all authentic.
I acknowledge with thanks the publication in 1986 of an earlier and
shorter version of my husband’s recollections of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in “The Bahá’í
“World”, volume 18. An earlier version of ‘Alí’s memoirs of Shoghi Effendi will
appear in volume 19 of “The Bahá’í World”. ‘Alí’s recollections of Shoghi
Effendi as a youth were reviewed for accuracy by Shoghi Effendi’s widow, the
Hand of the Cause of God Amatu’l-Bahá Rúḥíyyih Khánum.
I want to express warmest appreciation to Dr. Betty J. Fisher and Anne
Atkinson for their proficient editing and no less for their insight and feeling
for the subject matter.
It gives me pleasure to make available to others these blessed experiences
with the Master and with Shoghi Effendi in the early life of ‘Alí Yazdí.
MARION CARPENTER YAZDÍ
We live in an age in which God is openly denied and religion is ignored
and discredited as archaic and even harmful.
Yet paradoxically, we live in an age that has witnessed the appearance of
a new Manifestation with a Message for this Day — with solutions to the problems
that are plaguing people everywhere. A Prophet of God has actually walked the
earth in our time! Such is His claim, and such is the claim of those who have
rallied to His call. His life, His teachings all testify to the validity of
His station. His name is Bahá’u’lláh.
We are fortunate to live in an age when the Manifestation
has walked the earth; it is an experience that is not given to many
generations. For even though those who have seen Bahá’u’lláh are all but
gone, there are some now living who have known people who have known and seen
Bahá’u’lláh. There are some who have known and seen His son, the Center of
His Covenant and His appointed Successor, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. And there are more
who have known His great-grandson, Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian of the Cause
of God.
Now, obviously, knowledge of the Manifestation and the Center of the
Covenant does not necessitate being in their physical presence. Yet being in
their presence, feeling the spell of their power and love, is an experience of
inimitable value and bounty. It is something that those of us who have
experienced it feel over and above even the holy words. It is a blessing that
imparts a tangible feeling of things spiritual. It enables us to reappraise
and change our outlook and gain perspective, insight, vision. It adds zest and
new hope to life.
It has been my privilege to have had a father who knew and served
Bahá’u’lláh, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, and Shoghi Effendi. His name was Ḥájí
Muḥammad Yazdí.
It has been my inestimable privilege to have known ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and His
chosen successor — Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian. While it is still possible, I
would like to share the experience with others. I hope to give as best I can a
little of the living Faith.
What can I add to what is already known? I dare-say very little. There
have been many books on the subject. Shoghi Effendi’s history “God Passes By
has wonderful chapters on ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, and there was no one in the world,
after Bahá’u’lláh, who was closer to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá than Shoghi Effendi. He
not only loved Him, but he understood Him. “The Chosen Highway” by Lady
Blomfield is a remarkable book on the subject, and there are others. My
contribution will be mainly personal, a firsthand account of the feelings and
thoughts evoked in me when I was in the presence of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. I will
include incidents I learned from my father, Ḥájí Muḥammad Yazdí.
But first, I would like to give some background — a few highlights about
the Yazdí family and the early days of the Faith — beginning with the period
just after the martyrdom of the Báb and before and after the declaration of
Bahá’u’lláh.
FAMILY BACKGROUND
Around 1856 the little city of Yazd, in the very heart of Persia, was
carrying on its lackluster existence, its people mostly ignorant and
poverty-stricken, unaware of what was going on in the rest of the world. But
there was something special stirring. There was hushed talk of the Báb, the
new Prophet Who had been martyred, and of the Message He had brought. There
were people secretly spreading the news at the risk of their lives.
A youth, a mere adolescent only fourteen years old, contacted these
people, heard the Message, and wholeheartedly accepted it. His name was
Shaykh-‘Alí. He was the oldest son of the well-to-do and highly respected
Ḥájí ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím Yazdí. The family was alarmed. The boy was
in grave danger. His allegiance could bring ruin to the whole family. But
Shaykh-‘Alí was ablaze.
To distract him from the Bábí Faith, his father sent him to Kirmán with
enough goods to start a business. The shop was successful, but soon rumors
floated back that he was meeting with the Bábís. ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím went to Kirmán
and brought him home.
In Yazd Shaykh-‘Alí again attended the secret meetings. He took aid to
the beleaguered Bábís who were imprisoned there. One night he was so late
returning home that his mother, terribly worried, waited for him at the door.
When he came in, without saying a word, she slapped him. Without a word, he
took her hand and kissed it tenderly and looked at her with deep love.
Throughout this fearsome time, despite the calumnies and persecutions by
the enemies of the Bábís, Shaykh-‘Alí displayed a kindness and
fearlessness unbelievable in one so young. As time passed, his character, his
behavior, the change in his life, his attitude, and his sacrifice, all the
things he did, gradually won over the whole family who, one by one, joined the
Faith.
They began having meetings in the Yazdí home, in secret of course.
Teachers came from other cities, each with new tales. Some came from Baghdád,
and they spoke of Bahá’u’lláh. Later others came from Adrianople, where
Bahá’u’lláh was banished, and then from ‘Akká, where He was exiled until the
end of His life.
My father, Muḥammad Yazdí, who, like his brother Shaykh-‘Alí, had
joined the Faith when he was fourteen, left for the Holy Land with a friend, a
donkey, lots of faith, and very little money. they set out to see
Bahá’u’lláh and traveled over steep, rugged mountains and across hot, arid
plains until they arrived in ‘Akká around 1870. Other members of the family
came later.
Ḥájí ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím, my grandfather, left Yazd
after he had been tortured, beaten, and bastinadoed. The story of this “precious
soul, “ as the Master called him, his arrival in the prison city of ‘Akká, and
his life there, is told with tender compassion by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in “Memorials of the Faithful”.
Each member of the Yazdí family arrived and was given an assignment by
Bahá’u’lláh. He always gave each person who came to see Him a special
mission, sending him out to serve the Faith in various places. Ḥájí
Muḥammad (my father) and two other believers were sent to Egypt.
FIRST BAHÁ’Í SETTLERS IN EGYPT
My father and his friends worked hard in Egypt for many years and
eventually built up a prosperous business. Through them, all young men, the
Faith was first established in Alexandria, Cairo, and Port Sa‘íd. In each of
these cities the believers formed a well knit society where they not only
joined in Bahá’í activities but in social and business life as well. They
married almost exclusively within their own community, so that many of them
became related to one another. Thus they were a family in fact, as well as in
practice.
They were not free to teach the Faith openly because of the suspicion and
accusations of the authorities in Turkey and Palestine, which carried over into
predominantly Muslim Egypt. They had a few Egyptian and Syrian believers, but
the great majority were Persian. The Bahá’ís formed a Persian colony as well,
maintaining Persian customs, language, and Bahá’í convictions. They were on
good terms with the larger population around them and were generally liked and
respected.
My family and I lived in Alexandria, or, more exactly, in a suburb of
Alexandria called Ramleh, a beautiful and peaceful residential district
stretched right along the sandy beaches of the blue Mediterranean. There were
gardens on one side; on the south side, east of the Nile, were the Nubian
plains. The best section, owned by Europeans and rich Egyptians, was next to
the shore.
There was another section, a middle-class area, which had some villas, but
mostly there were older, once luxurious houses. It was in two of the latter
that we successively made our home. The house where I was born and grew to the
age of four or five had a separate guest house and a large garden surrounded by
a wall of rough-hewn stone covered with broken glass on top to secure both
privacy and safety. Within the garden there were many rose bushes and many
lime, sweet lemon, orange, and pomegranate trees. In the summer a tropical
scent hung in the air.
Later we moved to another house. It, too, had a large garden with a huge
wall and an annex where we cultivated eggplants, green peppers, dill, melons,
corn, sugar cane, and the like. In the main garden we had mulberry trees,
green lawns, and a bed of violets. Jasmine grew over the veranda, a large open
porch adjoining the garden. Here our family often had breakfast, with Father
presiding at the samovar and dispensing hot tea in hot glasses to the adults
and hot water with a drop of tea floating on top to the children.
Before breakfast, however, we chanted our morning prayers ad heard Father
tell wonderful stories about his experiences with Bahá’u’lláh and the Master
or read the latest communications from the Holy Land.
One of the stories was about Bahá’u’lláh and a money belt.
Bahá’u’lláh had sent my father and his friends to Egypt as pioneer settlers.
When they arrived in Egypt, they did not have much money. Money was not in
abundance among the Bahá’ís. For one thing, it was taken away from them;
they were persecuted. For example, my grandfather was a rich man when he
became a Bábí, but all he had was seized. Not having money did not stop my
father from pioneering. He and the others got notions — spools of thread,
needles, thimbles, ribbons — and they went to the European homes up and down the
Mediterranean coast from Alexandria to Ramleh, like peddlers. People invited
them in and bought those things. My father became very popular. He looked
quite different from the Egyptians; he was very fair complexioned,
very white and pink. He was honest, as were all the Bahá’ís. People were
not used to that. And so the pioneers became famous. People told their
friends about them, and gradually they prospered. They would meet at the end
of the day and pool their resources, put their money together, and work in a
truly Bahá’í fashion.
Before too long they had enough capital to open a store. They called
themselves the “Societe Rúḥáníyyih,” meaning “Spiritual Company”, and
the store, the “Grand Bazar Persian.” It became bigger and bigger until it was
the largest and best department store in all of Egypt. The Faith had prospered
also, in spite of the restrictions, and was well established in Alexandria,
Cairo, and Port Sa‘íd.
My father and his friends wanted to show their gratitude to Bahá’u’lláh
and also help the Faith. So they took a wide belt, a money belt, stuffed it
with gold, large gold coins, and sent it to Bahá’u’lláh. A tablet was
received from Bahá’u’lláh expressing His appreciation.
In the 1880s there was a rebellion. An Egyptian general by the name of
Ahmed Arabi Páshá arose, and he wanted to destroy all the Europeans in
Alexandria. There were riots. Of course, the wealth was in the hands of the
Europeans, and they were robbed. All the populace wanted was an excuse to
pillage, steal, and destroy.
The French and British sent their fleets to Alexandria and threatened a
bombardment if the pillage did not stop. All the European people left in
ships. My father and the friends took the last ship out of the harbor before the actual
bombardment.
When the rebellion was over, about seven months later, they came back and
went to the site of their business. There was nothing there but rubble and
ashes — absolutely nothing. They were desperate. People asked when they would
open a new store, and they had no answer. Their credit had been good, but now
they needed some down payment, and they did not have it.
One day they were meeting together, consulting and praying, when
unexpectedly the postman came with a card — a notice of a package at the post
office. They went to the post office, got the package, took it home, and
opened it. There was the belt they had sent to Bahá’u’lláh, untouched and
full of gold. They reestablished credit and started their business again. It
flourished more than ever.
MEMORIES OF ‘ABDU’L-BAHÁ IN RAMLEH
Stories like the one my father told about Bahá’u’lláh and the money belt
left an indelible impression on me. It was in such a setting, when I was a
child, that I heard the news of the coming of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá to Ramleh. I
heard that suddenly, without warning, He had left Haifa on a steamer bound for
Europe, that He had stopped in Port Sa‘íd because of ill health and fatigue, and
that He was coming to Alexandria. Then the news came that “He was coming to
“Ramleh!” To Ramleh where we lived! What a miracle! There was intense joy within my family, within the
Bahá’í community, within me. Of all the places in the world, He happened to
choose Ramleh as His headquarters for His trips to Europe and America during
the period between 1910 and 1913.
I was a schoolboy, eleven years old. Excitement swirled through my mind,
and along with it curiosity and anticipation. All I knew about Him was what I
had heard my father tell us. No one in the family that I knew except Father
and Grandfather had seen Him. There were no pictures then, except an early
one taken when He was a young man in Adrianople. He was a prisoner beyond our
reach — a legendary and heroic Figure.
Now He was free. And He was coming to Ramleh. What would He be like?
How would it feel to be in the presence of the Center of the Covenant, the son
and successor of a Manifestation of God? I knew that He was not only a holy
man, but a divine man, that although He was not a Manifestation, still He had a
divine station. Much went on in my mind as I prepared for His arrival. But I
kept it all to myself.
The Bahá’í Faith was an integral part of me, not something superimposed.
In Ramleh I was surrounded by it. I lived it. I believed it. I cherished
its spiritual concepts as well as its goals and its principles. I
realized its fundamental importance, its necessity for the world today. Yet my
studies at the French school I attended had opened other areas to my mind. The
logical and systematic approach and the discoveries and applications of science
fascinated me. I believed they provided us with effective tools for the
implementation of the teachings of the Faith. I prayed that I might be guided
to play some role in this endeavor. The feeling came over me that my contact
with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá would provide the inspiration and the impetus to a move in
this direction.
Hence, I waited eagerly for the day, which came in October 1910.
A crowd gathered in front of the Hotel Victoria for His arrival. Suddenly
there was a hush, a stillness, and I knew that He had come. I looked. There
He was! Then He walked through the crowd — slowly, majestically, smiling
radiantly as He greeted the bowed heads on each side. I could only get a vague
impression of Him, as I could not get near Him. The sound of the wind and the
surf from the nearby shore drowned out His voice so that I could hardly hear
Him. Nevertheless, I went away happy.
A few days later a villa was rented for Him and His family not far from
the Hotel Victoria. It was in the best residential section, next to the
beautiful Mediterranean and the beaches. Like all the villas in that area, it
has a garden with flowers and flowering shrubs. It was there that
‘Abdu’l-Bahá chose to receive a great variety of notables, public figures,
clerics, aristocrats, and writers — as well as poor despairing people.
(* photograph *)
I went there often, sometimes on the way home from school, sometimes on
weekends. I spent most of my time outside of school in His garden. I would
wait to get a glimpse of Him as He came out for His customary walk or conversed
with pilgrims from faraway places. To hear His vibrant and melodious voice
ringing in the open air and to see Him exhilarated me and gave me hope. Quite
often He came to me and smiled and talked. There was a radiance about Him, an
almost unlimited kindness and love that shone from Him. Seeing Him infused me
with a feeling of goodness. I felt humble and at the same time exceedingly
happy.
I also had many opportunities to see the Master (Sarkár-i-Áqá as we
called Him) at meetings and festive occasions. I especially remember the first
time He came to our house to address a large gathering of believers. The
friends were all gathered, talking happily, waiting. All of a sudden there was
quiet. I could hear from the outside the voice of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá — very
resonant, very beautiful — before He entered the room. Then He swept in, His
robe flowing.
He was straight as an arrow. His head was thrown back. His silver-gray
hair fell in waves to His shoulders. His beard was white. His eyes were keen;
His forehead, broad. He wore a white turban around an ivory felt cap. He
looked at everyone, smiled, and welcomed all with “Khushámadíd.
Khushámadíd” (“Welcome. Welcome”).
I had been taught that in the presence of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá I should sit or
stand with my hands crossed in
front of me and look down. I was so anxious to see Him that I found myself
looking up furtively now and then.
He spoke often and on many subjects. For nine months it seemed like
paradise. Then He left us and, after three months in Cairo, sailed for
Europe. How dismal everything became. But there was school, and
there were duties. Exciting news reached us from Europe, and there were
memories.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá came back four months later. Paradise returned. He spoke to me on several occasions.
He always called me “Shaykh-‘Alí”, the name He
Himself had given me, after my uncle Shaykh-‘Alí, who was the first member of
the family to join the Faith. When ‘Abdu’l-Bahá spoke to me, I would look
into His eyes — blue, smiling, and full of love.
‘ABDU’L-BAHÁ’S DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA
Again ‘Abdu’l-Bahá left us, this time for America. I will never
forget the scene of His departure, as He came out of the house and turned to
wave His last farewell to His disconsolate family looking down from the
veranda above. They were greatly concerned about His safety and well-being.
He was sixty-eight years old. He had suffered many hardships and gone through
severe trials. He had been in prison for forty years of His life. And now He
was undertaking a journey to a far-off country utterly different from any to
which He was accustomed.
But ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had made up His mind. And when He made up His mind,
nothing could change Him. He strode out of the garden gate without looking back. He walked for
several blocks near the shore to take the electric train to Alexandria, where
He would board the ship that was to take Him to New York. He was followed by
about thirty believers who walked silently behind Him. I was one of them.
What ‘Abdu’l-Bahá accomplished during His nine-month stay in America is
now history. From there He went on to Europe and then back to Ramleh on 17
July 1913 to stay until the following December. After that visit He left for
Haifa, never to return.
That was the first chapter of my experience with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, when I
was a child between the ages of eleven and fourteen.
(* photographs *)
MEMORIES OF ‘ABDU’L-BAHÁ IN HAIFA
Destiny had it, however, that in 1914 my family would move to Beirut, not
far to the north of Haifa. This opened the second chapter in which I was
privileged to be in the presence of the Master — but only on special occasions.
My first occasion to visit ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in Haifa was in the summer of
1917. World War I had been raging for about three years. The Allied blockade
had completely cut off Syria and the Holy Land from the outside world — no mail,
no trade, no telegrams, no travelers. The Turks were ruling the area with an
iron hand. The military commander, Jamál Páshá, was ruthless, cruel,
unreasonable, and inefficient. He destroyed all in his way. Everybody was
under suspicion. Many of the aristocratic families of Syria found their sons
hanged in the public square. There was a shortage of everything. Nothing
could be obtained from abroad. There were no means to produce anything. Even food such as wheat
was scarce. Whatever little grain was raised was largely sequestered by the
Turkish army without payment to the farmers, and what was left of the crops
was decimated by swarms of locusts. Famine was rampant. Poverty was
everywhere.
Such was the situation when I came to spend my summer vacation with my
uncle, Mírzá Ḥusayn Yazdí, in his home on Mt. Carmel. It was a
memorable summer nevertheless. For over two months I lived on God’s holy
mountain.
Every evening before sunset I had the bounty of being with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
I would join other believers gathered in front of the Master’s house. The
entrance had an iron gate, and inside the gate there was a garden. We would
sit on the wall or parapet on each side of the wide gravel walk that led from
the garden gate to the steps and wait for Him. He would come out with a
cheerful and warm greeting, welcome all, and take His seat on the platform at
the head of the wide stairs. The sun would be going down, and I remember it
being very quiet in Haifa.
Sometimes he sat relaxed and did not speak at all. But usually He spoke
in His commanding voice, looking straight ahead as if speaking to posterity.
He talked on Bahá’u’lláh, on Bahá’u’lláh’s teachings, and on significant
events in the history of the Faith. He told stories sprinkled with humor. And
often He spoke of the believers around the world and of their progress
in spreading the Faith. Then He became wistful. For three years He had heard
little or nothing from anywhere. The isolation and constraint weighed heavily
on Him.
Now and then He addressed individuals in the audience, asking them about
their families, their work, their problems. Then He offered advice and help.
Toward the end He asked one of the believers to chant verses from the
Mathnaví of Bahá’u’lláh. When the chanting ended, the meeting was over.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá arose and entered the house. Dusk descended over Haifa.
There were frequent trips to the Holy Shrine of the Báb. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
rode an old horse-drawn, bus-like vehicle up the mountain. The rest of us
walked the rocky road, past the Persian (or Eastern) Pilgrim House to the
terrace overlooking the city of Haifa and the blue bay beyond. In the
distance lay the hazy outline of ‘Akká. We gathered on the terrace until
‘Abdu’l-Bahá appeared and entered the Shrine. He generally chanted the
Tablet of Visitation, but sometimes He asked Shoghi Effendi to chant it. When
it was over and the believers started to come out, He stood at the door with a
vial of rose water and put a little in each one’s hand.
It has been a blessing for me beyond measure to have personally known
Shoghi Effendi, the extraordinary grandson of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, during the years
of our youth, before he became the Guardian of the Bahá’í Faith, as well as
after.
Shoghi Effendi was very close to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. The Master always
treated him a little differently from other people, even when he was a child.
He was devoted to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. From his earliest childhood, from the very
beginning of his life, he was dedicated to the Faith.
MEMORIES OF SHOGHI EFFENDI IN RAMLEH
I first met Shoghi Effendi in 1910 when he came to Ramleh, shortly after
the Master came. He was thirteen, and I was eleven. I had heard about him but
had never seen him before. Now, in Ramleh, he went to the same school I did: the
French Brothers’ School. We slowly started to get acquainted; you know how
children are. Then we got to know each other better. I would see him at
‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s house, and gradually we became friends. Even as a child he
was always dignified, but he was also friendly. He was always full of
zest — always energetic and eager, always full of life.
The first thing of importance that happened during his stay in Ramleh
proved to be a shattering experience. When ‘Abdu’l-Bahá planned to go to the
United States, He wanted to take Shoghi Effendi with Him, along with a few
other believers. Shoghi Effendi was in seventh heaven. He had heard so much
about America, and he longed to be with the Master as He traveled throughout
North America and gave the Message. He looked forward with great anticipation to the experience.
The day before ‘Abdu’l-Bahá left, Shoghi Effendi came to see me and
asked, “Shaykh-‘Alí, “ — he almost always called me Shaykh-‘Alí — “do you want to go
to the ship with me and see my cabin?”
I said, “Surely!” So, with some other believers, we took the electric train
to Alexandria and then to the harbor. Before us was the Cedric, a White Star
Liner.
It was a beautiful ship, one of two that plied regularly between
Alexandria and New York, and stopped only at Naples. Shoghi Effendi and I went
on the boat, and he took me upstairs and showed me his stateroom, the dining
room, and everything on the ship. He was extremely happy, and so was I very
happy for him. I made him promise to write to me when he got to America, and
he said he would.
The next day, 25 March 1912, was the day of departure. Earlier I
explained how ‘Abdu’l-Bahá walked silently to the train and how he went to
Alexandria and took the ship. Shoghi Effendi went with Him. In Naples
there were physical examinations; eyes were tested, for no one could enter the
United States with trachoma. The Italian doctors said that Shoghi Effendi had
this infection. He had never had trouble with his eyes. There were no signs
of trachoma, yet they insisted he must leave the ship. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was very
sad. He said, “They think we are Turks.” Italy was still at war with Turkey.
Through this, and perhaps other machinations, Shoghi Effendi was sent back.
When he returned to Ramleh, the doctors said firmly that he did not have any
problem whatever. Shoghi Effendi was heartbroken. He wanted to be with his
beloved Master, and he wanted to be in America and see the teachings of the
Faith he loved spread all over the
country. That dream was denied him. I saw how he lost weight and actually
became sick because he was depressed. It took quite a while before he regained
his health.
After ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s travels in the United States and Europe, He
returned to Ramleh for five months. Shoghi Effendi, who had been in Haifa part
of that time, came to be with Him. On 2 December 1913 ‘Abdu’l-Bahá left
Alexandria to return to the Holy Land. I did not see Shoghi Effendi again for
almost three years.
MEMORIES OF SHOGHI EFFENDI IN BEIRUT
At the Syrian Protestant College, Shoghi Effendi and I were both students.
There was a group of Bahá’í students who met to discuss the teachings. That
was our extracurricular activity and our time for comradeship. Shoghi Effendi
was one of the group, and so was I. These students were mostly Persians who
were marooned there. They could not get home because of World War I and the
blockade of the coast; during the summers they went to Haifa and spent their
vacations on Mt. Carmel. There was an anteroom to the Shrine of the Báb that was
assigned to them, and they spent very happy summers there. When I was in
Haifa, I greatly enjoyed being with Shoghi Effendi and with them.
At the college Shoghi Effendi was always jolly, optimistic, and hopeful.
He had a wonderful personality. All of a sudden he would burst forth with loud
laughter. Or sometimes a smile would break on his face. He had a very small
mouth; beautiful, expressive eyes; and very regular, handsome features. He was
bouncy. He just bounced.
At college we were in the same dormitory. Shoghi Effendi’s room was right across the hall from mine. I have stated that there
was a shortage of everything, including food, which led to famine. I remember
being downtown and seeing women dying on the streets. No one paid any
attention to them. I did not go back again; I preferred staying on campus, for
it was terrible to see those people dying when no one was able to do anything
for them. Luckily, because of President Bliss of the college, even though
America was in the war, rations were allowed to come to the college. The main reason for this was
that the Syrian Protestant College trained doctors, engineers, and so
on — professionals who were useful to the Turkish authorities. We were not
actually deprived of anything, but we had not luxuries either.
From time to time Shoghi Effendi would have things sent from Haifa. He
would receive good, brown, home-baked bread; honey; dried fruits; and nuts.
the fruits from Haifa and Lebanon were absolutely delicious. Shoghi Effendi
would invite me to his room, and the two of us would sit together, feasting,
talking, and enjoying ourselves. He was always very generous.
We would converse on many subjects. Actually, our relationship was now of
two young men, two personal friends, as we were beginning our life on our own,
and we had much to share. We often talked to each other about the future. His
vision was always of the Faith spreading all over the world and of everybody
serving the Cause; these were his only ambitions. We shared a common goal of
personal service to the Faith. He himself did not know he was going to be the
Guardian. Even at Oxford, where I later visited him, he never gave any
indication that he knew he was to be the Guardian.
Though Shoghi Effendi was of holy lineage, and I was a member of an old
pioneer family in the Faith, we forgot about that and were just two young men
being very happy together. We both had logical minds, and we both liked to
discuss things analytically. We also enjoyed sharing our creativity and
vision. These were aspects of our relationship then and later.
MEMORIES OF SHOGHI EFFENDI IN HAIFA
In 1917 I spent the summer vacation in the home of my uncle, Mírzá
Ḥusayn Yazdí, on Mt. Carmel. The trip from Beirut to Haifa was something I
will never forget. I had never been on a horse before, and yet I had to go
from Beirut down the coast by horseback. There were other Persian students
riding too, but they all knew how to ride.
Despite my inexperience, I managed fine. The horse was not exactly an
Arabian steed, but we trotted along until just before Tyre. I remembered
something about the land of Tyre in the Bible. At that point we had to go over
steep mountains. There was only hard rock, and we were high up looking down,
way down, onto the waves of the Mediterranean beating against the rocks — I not
knowing what I was doing.But I trusted the horse, and I prayed all along the way.
There were compensations. We traveled by day and by night. It was
strange to pass through the fields right along the seashore as people had done
in Biblical days, and to see women working through the night, gathering
vegetables. The fresh summer night air made it a delightful experience. Best
of all, we made it safely to ‘Akká.
There were compensations. We traveled by day and by night. It was
‘Akká is an old city paved with stones. By the sea-
shore there was an old fortress made of stone, brick, and masonry blocks. It
was built out over the ocean with holes in the walls through which guns could
be fired. The waves would beat against the walls. There I looked down and
could see the house where I was to stay that night. Later I heard about all
the things that had happened in that same house in the history of the Faith.
The next day we went to Haifa and were in the presence of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
During the summer I was frequently in the company of Shoghi Effendi. He was
part of the group — not just with me; we were all together, enjoying one
another’s company.
COMMUNICATIONS AFTER WORLD WAR I
Shoghi Effendi graduated from the Syrian Protestant College the same year
I did. He went back to Haifa; I went to Damascus. Later on, when the way
was opened for communication and travel, Shoghi Effendi was exceedingly happy.
His diary and his letters at that time are a truly remarkable record of what
the Bahá’ís were doing, as well as of his own feelings. They show how
excited he was, after the long spell of silence and isolation, to see the mail
flooding in from all over the world — from the United States, from Germany, from
France, India, Burma. Letters came with news of the Faith; telegrams
expressed the joy of the believers that they could again communicate with
‘Abdu’l-Bahá. Shoghi Effendi was thrilled by all of these greetings as his
letter of 26 December 1918 shows:
Every day carries with it its fresh tidings and happy
news. From the Far-Eastern land, the center of news has
shifted today to Persia, in the Middle East, and thence to
the extreme West in the U.S. of America. Many telegrams
have arrived, and each contributed its share of consolation
and solace. From the dear land of Persia, the doors of
which are still practically closed, in a material sense to
the face of the Beloved, this bit of good news is wired:
“Good news made all extremely happy; friends well safe and
united; desiring only Thy will.” From France a similar cable
is at hand expressing joy at the receipt of the Beloved’s
cable and conveying love to all. From Boston and Chicago
alike the news arrive[s] that the friends rejoice at
‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s deliverance, supplicate Tablets, and even
beg the Master to come to their shores.
We shall wait to see the response of the Beloved.
Early this morning I was ushered to His Holy presence,
and there facing the Beloved on the sofa, enwrapped in His
mantle with masses of supplications scattered around Him, I
sat, pen in my hand, putting down the words that flowed from
His lips. A Tablet was revealed to Miss Juliet Thompson of
New York….
Another Tablet was addressed to Aḥmad Yazdí [an uncle
of ‘Alí Yazdí] of Port Sa‘íd….
Now the friends were again free to teach the Faith. My father received
permission to come to Haifa. Shoghi Effendi described the visit in letter of
13 February 1919:
The call of the Beloved bidding the friends of God to
arise…has resounded throughout all regions….The city of
Damascus…has awakened to the spirit of the new age. The
prominent figure among its friends [Ḥájí Muḥammad
Yazdí, the father of ‘Alí Yazdí] has attained to the court
of the Beloved’s presence and has brought with him…good
news…This morning he was ushered to the Beloved’s presence
and the first thing he did after seizing the hem of the
Beloved’s garment and repeatedly kissing it, was to offer a
supplication from an erudite Arab, a native of Medina, an
influential and responsible personage in Damascus, an
authority in the Muslim creed who had been attracted and
moved to write to the Beloved….In short the news of our
beloved and dear visitor, Áqá Ḥájí Muḥammad
Yazdí was refreshing, numerous, and significant. With a
smile and a nod of appreciation the Beloved greeted every
bit of news and was glad to know that a reaction to the
passiveness and inactivity of the past had set in. “Deliver
the Divine message with prudence and wisdom” was the
Beloved’s recommendation to the teachers who are serving in
these regions. Having said this, He arose, again welcomed
our guest…leaving us with our friend whose source of news
and glad tidings seemed inexhaustible.
Two days later Shoghi Effendi wrote enthusiastically that the pilgrims
were arriving as before the war:
Tonight, around the Master’s table for supper sat
Messrs. Aḥmad Yazdí, Ḥájí Muḥammad Yazdí,
Mírzá Ḥusayn Yazdí [‘Alí Yazdí’s uncle, father, and a
second uncle, respectively], Áqá Muḥammad Taqí,
three of the Parsee friends of ‘Adasíyyih who have
recently arrived, Badí’ Effendi, and my father. The Master
was tired and did not converse long. That night the
recollection of those prewar banquets wherein believers from
every part would gather came to my mind, for new faces I
saw, and delicious dishes were placed….
Major Tudor-Pole due to a slight indisposition has had
to postpone his departure from Cairo….
When he arrives, our joy will reach its utmost….
‘Abdu’l-Bahá worked all hours. One morning Shoghi Effendi was sleeping
when ‘Abdu’l-Bahá called him to get to work. This tender description was
written later that day:
Early this morning I was awakened by a gentle knock at
my door, followed by the sweet voice of the Beloved calling
me to rise from my sleep, to shake off my drowsiness, and to
attend to my work.
‘You could see the Faith was Shoghi Effendi’s life; his joy was service to
‘Abdu’l-Bahá. He kept repeating all the time, “I am in the service of my
Beloved.” He was happy in those days and intent on the future of the Faith.
But Shoghi Effendi was also aware that all the Persian students of our
group were leaving, some for
Persia, some for Europe, some for America. He wrote of the separations in his
diary on 24 August and noted that I was coming to Haifa to say good-bye to
‘Abdu’l-Bahá:
This week has been, viewed from one aspect, a sad and
depressing one. It has witnessed the scattering of friends
who during the war and prior to it have been for years held
closely and affectionately together by bonds of fellowship
and common interest. The student Bahá’í group at the
American University — that company of young, brilliant,
active, and upright men, which has all throughout the war
retained, notwithstanding its vicissitudes and blows, its
cohesion, is now splitting up, its numbers mostly graduates
of that university departing from that common center….Mr.
‘Alí Yazdí is just starting from Damascus to Haifa
where, after meeting the Beloved, he will proceed to Berlin
to engage in higher studies.
Sad has been the farewell…, but the idea that these
young men, enlightened and active as they are, may one day
each in his own sphere of action render a service to the
Cause, affords sufficient consolation for the hearts that
remain behind.
STUDIES IN GERMANY
I left Haifa by train to go to Port Sa‘íd where I would take the ship to
Switzerland and Germany. Shoghi Effendi came to the station in Haifa to see me
off. He sat in the compartment until the train was ready to leave; then he
said good-bye, and he asked me to write to him. It was the end of August 1919 — the last time I was to be in
Haifa until 1928, after my marriage to Marion Carpenter when we both made the
pilgrimage and were in Shoghi Effendi’s presence.
There were five other young Bahá’ís, one of whom was older than the rest
of us, who had been students at Beirut and were now being sent by
‘Abdu’l-Bahá to Stuttgart to contact the believers after the war. We all had
passage on a small, old Italian boat of the Lloyd Triestino Company. The route
was from Port Sa‘íd to Alexandria to Venice. In Alexandria I went to the offices and arranged a
transfer to a new ship, which was just ready to sail. The others followed
suit. We had the most beautiful trip along the Adriatic by the Dalmatian
coast, with its sunny little hamlets and islands, to Trieste. In Venice we
were marooned for a couple of weeks with passport difficulties; things were not
easy right after the war. I stopped for a short time in Switzerland. But the
university had already begun, and I went on to Germany.
I studied for a year at the Technische Hochschule in Berlin and spent a
summer in Stuttgart. It was a wonderful Bahá’í summer. There I came to know
Consul and Mrs. Albert Schwarz. He died in 1931, but she served the Faith
actively for many years and died much later. They were both remarkable people.
They took me to their house many times. The Bahá’ís there were most kind.
The southern Germans were very friendly, mild, and loving.
There was also another family with whom I became close. The head of that
family, the father, was Herr Hauff. He had a factory outside the city that made
photographic equipment. He was quite well-to-do. He had built a large house
that was a replica of an old castle. He invited me to stay there. His family
were all Bahá’ís; he was the only one who was not a believer. He offered me
some of the choicest wine from his cellar and was rather shocked when I turned
it down. He could not understand such a thing.
Herr Hauff and his wife had two daughters and a
son. The older daughter, Johanna Hauff, was a very sweet, lovely girl, and we
became good friends. When I was in Berlin, she and her father came to see me,
and we went to some of the interesting places together. Later I read in “Star
of the West”, in 1922, that she was in Haifa at the time of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
passing.
Germany was a marvelous experience for me, but all of Shoghi Effendi’s
friends had gone, and he was left behind — until 1920. But he was happy in his
work.
He was busy translating all the incoming mail in French and English into
Persian and translating the tablets revealed by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in reply to
these people. He was very much occupied and extremely happy. I corresponded
with him now and then.
After I arrived in Germany, I received this letter from Shoghi Effendi
written 9 December 1919:
My dearest ‘Alí
For a long time have I awaited your letters as I was in
the dark as to your whereabouts. But now that your father
has come for a few days from Damascus, I secured your
address and am sending you herewith some news of the Holy
Land.
The Beloved is in the best of health and so are the
friends and pilgrims. Your dear and devoted father is as
ever warmhearted, loving, rosy-cheeked, and in full bloom.
Your brother is studying at the S.P.C. and all runs
smoothly. I was told last night that he is growing
wonderfully in height and his studies above par.
As to myself, the same work and the same room.
So please write me and forget me not as I do not and
cannot forget the dear Shaykh!
Yours affectionately
Shoghi
Eight days later he wrote that fifty pilgrims had arrived from many parts
of the world. He enclosed a tablet revealed by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá commending me to
the believers in Germany:
Dearest ‘Alí!
Your letter from Stuttgart dated Nov. 27 is at hand. I
exposed its contents to the Master, and I secured this
Tablet for you in His own handwriting addressed to the
German friends. I herewith enclose it.
Your dear father is here, and we exchange the news of
your letters to me and to him. He is well and happy. I
trust you have received my letter to you dated Dec. 8, which
I sent to the Technische Hochschule and in which I enclosed
some diary letters of mine which I thought might interest
you.
We are exceedingly busy here. Some fifty pilgrims,
Arabs, Kurds, Persians, Americans, Europeans, and Japanese.
How we miss you and the dear Trio, Bakers & Co.; I have
written them letters, and I wonder whether they have been
received. Áqá Mírzá Muḥammad-Báqir Khán is on
his way to Haifa and is now in India.
Give please my love to all the brothers and sisters in
Stuttgart,
I am ever
your brother
Shoghi
Most admirable Tablets have been revealed for Consul and
Mrs. Schwarz, Mr. and Mrs. Herrigel, Miss Knobloch and
Pastor Hydron. Inform the recipients of the bounty
bestowed upon them.
SHOGHI EFFENDI IN PARIS
The time came when Shoghi Effendi, too, would leave Haifa. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
wanted him to continue his studies. However, the hard work had broken his
health. The Master sent him to a sanitorium just outside of Paris to rest,
undergo treatment, and recuperate. He was not to open a book while he was
there. His postcard, written 8 May 1920, gives some idea of what he was going
through at this time:
Dearest ‘Alí!
I have not forgotten you, but do you know and realize
what crisis I have passed and into what state of health I
have fallen! For a month I have stayed and am still staying
in this “maison de convalescence” away from Paris and its
clamor in bed until noon, receiving…treatment and
following the Master’s instructions not to open a book during my stay
in this place. Be sure, dear friend, that your place in my
heart is ever reserved and warm! I wish, when recovered, I
could come to see you. But I am afraid this is not
possible. Your dear father had gone to Port Sa‘íd for a time
when I left Haifa. The Master is in splendid health.
Fourteen American pilgrims have arrived. The Holy Land is
astir!
On 28 June 1920 Shoghi Effendi wrote that he had almost recovered and was
waiting for instructions from the Master:
My dear unforgettable ‘Alí!
Your letter and the good news of you imparted by
Ghulám-‘Alí made me wish or yearn to come to you and see
you for a few days now that I am better and almost fully
recovered Shoghi I shall wait and see the turn of events before
I decide to pass a sojourn with you in Berlin. Now that I
have recovered after three-months regime, hydrotherapy, and
electric treatment, I am impatient to plunge again in a
valuable, profitable work, to build the structure for my
future and whether I shall resume my work in Haifa or go to
England for two years study — it all depends upon the
Master’s will, which shall be communicated to me within a
fortnight.
I have deplored the hard financial situation you are in,
and I really feel with you. I have just written home and
exposed your situation to the Holy Mother, and I trust
something will be done to remedy the situation. Dr.
Mírzá has lately arrived here from Baghdád….Who knows?
Perhaps we may both come and see you for some days in
Berlin! It is a long time I have received no news from
home, and I am growing impatient…. President Bliss has
died in America. A great blow indeed to the college! I
do not like Paris. People are so superficial, empty,
pleasure-seeking, and frivolous. Life bores me here, and I
hope I will have soon a change for the better.
Later in his life Shoghi Effendi went to Switzerland during the summers to
climb mountains and walk a lot. He loved the outdoors and the mountains, and
he needed time with nature, because all his work was desk work. But in 1920
his stay in Paris was only a stop on his way to England and Oxford University.
SHOGHI EFFENDI IN ENGLAND
Shoghi Effendi was happy with the Bahá’ís in England. He saw Dr. John
Esslemont, whom he had known the previous winter in Haifa, and they struck up a
great friendship. Dr. Esslemont had tuberculosis.
Shoghi Effendi used to go to his private sanatorium in Bournemouth; they
had meals together, and they enjoyed talking.
Then he went to Oxford, and there, of course, things were different
because he had to study very hard. He was working for a special certificate,
not for a Master of Arts or a higher degree. He was studying special
subjects — English, economics, history of religion, and so on, as described in
the letter below. He was not taking required courses for an advanced degree.
the best way to understand his feelings at that time is through the letters he
wrote:
Balliol College
5.10.20
?
Dear ‘Alí:
Your letter reached me at a time I was immersed heart and
soul in my manifold preparations for entrance at Balliol
College, Oxford. I am fearfully anxious and occupied, but
your letter absorbed my interest and diverted it from this
phase for a time. I am glad and extremely sad in receiving
your letter — glad at the knowledge that at last my efforts
have proved partially successful and some pecuniary help has
been extended to you. I wished, dear ‘Alí, to have had
enough money at my disposal to share it with you! I
immediately wrote to Mrs. George and exposed the case fully.
I hope you will soon and easily sail. I am so grieved at
the sudden turn of events and the complications and cost of
travel have only marred the brightness caused by the
knowledge that some financial help has been finally
extended.
I really wondered and got even angry at the delay and
silence following my letter which I sent home concerning
you. I wonder whether you have experienced brighter
developments since you wrote me your last letter. I assure
you, dear friend, that if some are free from pecuniary
anxieties, they are nevertheless subject to another set of
various physical, intellectual, and social drawbacks and
preoccupations. Do you believe me when I say that I, the
grandson of the Master, have been victim of painful
experiences, sometimes of bitter disappointments, and always
of constant anxieties — all justified — for my immediate work
and future? If you have spent of late painful and trying
times, my share of these troubled hours is by no means much less and
my burden much lighter.
My field of study is so vast, I have to acquire, master,
and digest so many facts, courses, and books — all essential,
all indispensable to my future career in the Cause. The
very extent of this immense field is enough to discourage,
excite, and overwhelm such a young and inexperienced beginner as myself.
Think of the vast field of Economics; of social conditions
and problems; of the various religions of the past, their
histories and their principles and their force; the
acquisition of a sound and literary ability in English to be
served for translation purposes; the mastery of public
speaking so essential to me, all these and a dozen more — all
to be sought, acquired, and digested!
Prayer, faith, perseverance and effort will alone do it.
Praying for your success from all my heart!
MEMORIES OF SHOGHI EFFENDI AT OXFORD
In the fall of 1920 I left Germany and went to London, where I wired
Shoghi Effendi to tell him I was going to the United States. He immediately
telegraphed, “You don’t mean to tell me you are going to America without coming
to see me.” I wrote a note, and he answered by postcard on 3 November 1920:
Oxford 45 Broad St.
My dear ‘Alí.
When I received your telegram, I wondered to
what address I should forward my answer. Now that I have
been informed I hasten to tell you how glad I would be to
meet you, shake hands with you, and perform the ceremony of
“muṣáfiḥih”. I am bound with my lectures and courses
and feel sometimes depressed. I shall be your host when you
come to see me. I don’t know how you have managed for your
traveling expenses.
On Thursday and Friday a brilliant debating society and an
address by Bryce will be delivered.
With this invitation I went to Oxford and stayed in Shoghi Effendi’s rooms
and spent a couple of nights there. He took me all over the university,
showing me the sights and unburdening his soul. There, again, we were two
young men, one of holy lineage and the other from a family that had long been
in the service of the Faith. We talked about the future of the Faith and our
part in it and of the opportunities that lay ahead. He told me, as he had
written me, that he wanted to go to Haifa to serve the Faith. He never
discussed his career in more detail — only that he hoped to be of service to the
Cause in whatever way the Master would say. It was always, “What the
Master would say.” Of course, translation alone would not have been enough for
him. He never gave any indication that he expected to become the Guardian.
He was intensely interested in the outstanding speakers at Oxford and
especially those in Oxford Union, where their great statesmen had received
their training. He wanted me to attend the debates with him and to hear the
address by Bryce. He hoped we could discuss the talks together. After my
visit I received a card from him dated 6 November 1920, which bore the crest of
the Oxford Union Society:
Dear ‘Alí:
I have received your card, and I knew well that it would
be difficult for you to come here again. I did miss you
profoundly last night and the night before, particularly as
I firmly anticipated that we would both enjoy and comment
upon the procedures of the debate and lecture. I trust,
however, that you will not be detained a long time and that
you will have not any difficulties to surmount. I have
written to Grandmother about you reminding her of your
difficult and strained situation yet your patience and will.
I hope that some help might issue by the time you prepare
yourself for entrance into college. My best and tenderest
wishes be with you always. May we meet again under better
circumstances.
A few days later, shortly before I sailed, I received this further
evidence of Shoghi Effendi’s tender heart, loving kindness, and generosity,
at a time when his own problems were almost overwhelming:
Oxford
10.11.20
Dear ‘Alí:
I really never realized how minute, intense, and urgent
were your financial needs. I hasten, therefore, to send
you all that I can for the present — namely, five English
pounds banknote, which I enclose with this letter. I hope
you are staying at Miss Herrick’s. She has some rooms to
offer to friends who come to London. If you are not there,
do apply. She is so kind.
My studies and preoccupations are exerting an effect
upon me almost as distressing as your
own difficulties. Believe me it is so. I don’t know what
I shall do at the end.
Yours lovingly
Shoghi
For Heaven’s sake think not of sending me back anything. I
flatly refuse and decline. Let your mind be at rest.
SHOGHI EFFENDI
THE GUARDIAN OF THE CAUSE OF GOD
THE GUARDIAN OF THE CAUSE OF GOD
It was two years later, when I was in Berkeley, California, that I heard
the news of the ascension of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. It is strange, but we never
thought that ‘Abdu’l-Bahá would die. Though He Himself alluded to His
passing, our minds had not, could not, accept the possibility. Before the will
of the Master was opened, I wrote to my father expressing my grief, my
affection, and my concern for Shoghi Effendi. It was the beloved young
Guardian himself who answered my letter.
You have read in the history books how the unexpected news of
‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s passing almost broke Shoghi Effendi’s spirit. Coming
suddenly, without any warning, it was too much for him. He actually had to
leave Haifa and put the affairs of the Faith in the hands of the Greatest Holy
Leaf. He had to recover from the
shock and regain his strength.
His answer to my letter to my father, which he wrote on 23 January 1922,
gives you some idea of how he felt at the time:
My dearest brother:
The touching letter you had written to your dear father
has been such a relief and comfort to me and to those who
have perused it. In the midst of our sorrows, one ray of
hope gives us the solace and peace that the world cannot
give — namely, His sure and repeated promise that He will
send souls that shall gloriously promote His Cause after
Him. My dear brother! The pure faith, the ardor and the
services of your father, I am sure, as well as your own
noble wish, will make of you an efficient and
energetic servant in His Cause, and I assure you of my
prayers at His hallowed Shrine, that whatever you do,
whatever you acquire may in the near future be wholly and
directly put to the service of His Cause.
I am too overwhelmed to write more fully, but I assure
you of my prayers for you, my attachment to you, and my
fervent hope that we shall both cooperate to the very last,
in our servitude at His Holy Threshold.
The bereaved Holy Leaves remember you with tenderness
and hope and wish you a bright future wherever you may be.
Yours in His Love and Service
Shoghi
An envelope was enclosed on which he had written: “Rose petals that have been
laid upon His Sacred Threshold.”
I did not see Shoghi Effendi again until 1928, when
my wife and I went to visit him. He had been the Guardian for seven years.
Our friendship continued throughout the years of the Guardianship. Shoghi
Effendi encouraged me to write him. But I was reluctant to do this, for he
always responded warmly, and I felt I must spare him. I did write under
special circumstances, or with good news, and have his exceptional letters of
those later times. But that is part of another story.
As to his Guardianship, you all know about Shoghi Effendi’s splendid
achievements. How did his contributions affect the Bahá’ís at the time? Out
of the whole world this one man undertook tremendous tasks in every phase of
the Faith. There were translations of important books that he did almost
single-handedly. Before his translations we had very few good ones. His first
translation was “The Hidden Words”. Mrs. Corinne True in 1922 brought back from
Haifa a copy of the manuscript. A college girl, a guest of Mrs. True’s, spent
thrilling hours copying by hand the new translation to take home to California.
This young woman was later to become my wife.
I can recall the day in Berkeley when we heard that Nabíl’s “The
“Dawn-Breakers” had been translated
by Shoghi Effendi. We could hardly wait to receive a copy of this
enormous book. We immediately established a class to study it. The beautiful English
translation gives the flavor of the Persian original. Through reading “The
Dawn-Breakers”, the believers in America could, for the first time, get the
feeling of what the early Bábís had gone through and the experiences they
had had.
There was also “Bahá’í Administration”, the Guardian’s letters to the
American National Spiritual Assembly and to the American Bahá’í community,
form January 1922 to October 1932. Through such messages the Guardian built an
administrative institution block by block. Then there appeared “The World
Order of Bahá’u’lláh” in 1938, in which he established the Bahá’í
Administrative Order as “the nucleus and pattern of the world civilization”
emerging under Bahá’u’lláh. His own comprehensive history of the Faith, “God
Passes By”, appeared in 1944. Before it was published, an eager Berkeley
believer got the galley sheets from Wilmette and read all night.
Among his other achievements the Guardian completed the outer shell of the
Shrine of the Báb. He extended and beautified the gardens on Mt. Carmel and
at Bahjí. He carried on a vast correspondence with believers all over the
world — in Persian, in English, and in French. He had no staff for carrying out
major projects. Nobody went to Haifa to work with him when he needed help so
greatly — perhaps because they thought that he was indestructible. Actually,
they did not really realize how much he needed
assistance. In the early days of the Faith in America and elsewhere,
everything was happy-go-lucky and informal. Each one did what he liked. When
the Guardian came, he established the administrative order. It was not easy.
Some people did not like the idea; they were not used to it. Until the friends
could function properly, he could not use them. When that time came, he
appointed the Hands of the Cause of God. It was through that institution and
through the International Bahá’í Council (the precursor of the Universal
House of Justice) that he was able to get the help he so desperately needed.
Of course, his marriage
to Rúḥíyyih Khánum was a great blessing; that was really the greatest
thing that happened to him during his Guardianship. She meant so much to
him and helped him tremendously.
But despite the lack of help until later in his life, Shoghi Effendi
completed vast teaching plans and innumerable projects. It was incredible how
much work he could turn out through his determination to serve the Cause. He actually
broke his health, and that is one reason for his untimely death.
Shoghi Effendi left us a majestic legacy. When I think of that brilliant,
devoted, and purposeful Guardian and his unbelievable accomplishments, I am
awed by the bounties bestowed upon us.
Nevertheless, my mind keeps going back to the lively, handsome, happy,
young man I knew in my youth, who looked ahead eagerly to the future. He could
not have known, in those days, how unique, how momentous would be his destined
role in the triumph of our beloved Cause.
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