TIME Magazineのインスタグラム(time) - 1月4日 22時56分

When Aya, a 23-year-old Syrian #refugee living in the west #German town of Xanten, came home from her language lessons one afternoon in October, the house was in disarray. A frantic search revealed that her 2-year-old son’s stroller was missing, along with their passports and IDs. She tried her #husband; his phone was off. A few hours later Aya received a telephone call from #Syria. “Go pack your bags,” her husband’s brother told her. “Mohammad is taking Joud to Syria, and he wants you to go with them.” If she wanted to be with her son, she would have to retrace the path she and her husband had taken more than three years ago, when they sought refuge in #Europe. Instead, Aya called the police. Her son, after all, had been born in #Germany. Her time in the country had taught her that she had rights. But it was too late. The police said her husband and son had taken a plane to Greece that morning. Her brother-in-law filled in the rest: as soon as they arrived, a smuggler took them across the border to Turkey, and they were now headed to Syria. A few days later, a series of text messages jolted Aya out of her grief. “If you want your son, you have to come back to us,” her husband wrote from his hometown of Idlib, where a unsteady truce held between the two sides in the #war. “You are becoming German. Come back to your culture, your religion and your people. Come be a good mother again.” In just a few messages, Mohammad laid out a central preoccupation for many Syrian refugees in Germany: how to embrace the freedoms of their new home while preserving the culture and traditions of the one they left behind. In this photograph, Aya sits in the bedroom where Joud once slept. Read more on TIME.com. Photograph by @nannaheitmann for TIME

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