Assalamualaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh,

Bersama ini Centre for Islamic Dakwah and Education (CIDE-NSW) mengundang majlis-majlis Taklim di Sydney dan sekitarnya, untuk bersama-sama berpartisipasi menyelenggarakan Silaturahim Umat Islam Indonesia, yang Insya Allah akan diselenggarakan pada :

Tanggal : 21 Oktober 2007

Pukul : 13.00 AEDST – selesai

Tempat : Addison Road Community Centre
142 Addison Road, Marrickville - Sydney.

Acara ini dimaksudkan untuk tetap menjalin dan menjaga tali silaturahim masyarakat muslim yang ada di Sydney dan sekitarnya, dalam rangka suasana Iedul Fitri 1428H. Kami sangat mengharapakan partisipasi dari seluruh majlis taklim, sehingga tujuan mulia dari penyelenggaraan acara ini bisa mencapai sasaran.

Untuk penyelenggaraan acara ini, kami mengharapkan keikhalasan dari masing-masing majlis taklim untuk dapat berpartisipasi dalam (i) pengadaan konsumsi, berupa makanan di dalam container – yang akan dikoordinir oleh ibu Annie Mulchahi dan ibu Ida Djanaib, dan (ii) penerimaan tamu pada saat acara berlangsung.

Kami sangat menghargai partisipasi dan keikhlasan yang diberikan, dan terima kasih yang sedalam- dalamnya. Jazakallah Khair.

Wassalamualaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh.


CIDE- NSW
Ketua Penyelenggara,

Mengetahui President CIDE,

Ali Maslichan Aly Zakaria

Samuel Ullman

Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter of
rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, a
quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness of
the deep springs of life.
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Youth means a tempera-mental predominance of courage over timidity, of the
appetite for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of
60 more than a boy of 20.Nobody grows old merely by a number of years.We
grow old by deserting our ideals.
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Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.
Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spring back to dust.
Whether 60 or 16, there is in every human being’s heart the lure of wonder,
the unfailing childlike appetite of what’s next and the joy of the game of
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living.In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wireless
station: so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and
power from men and from the Infinite, so long are you young.
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When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism
and the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old, even at 20, but as long as
your aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there is hope you may die
young at 80.


YOUTH

However, GetJar say, the developer community will decline drastically as each developer makes less money.

According to the Symbian Foundation, newly in the developer market, apps will become more personal and practical as their numbers grow.

The comments were made at the MobileBeat conference in San Francisco.

"Apps will be as big if not bigger than the internet," according to Ilja Laurs, chief executive of GetJar, a leading independent application store.

"They will peak at around 100,000 by the end of the year. That will be a tipping point and after that there will be a gradual fall in the rate of development.

"The full blossom will come in ten years and mobile apps will become as popular as websites are today with consumers," Mr Laurs told BBC News.
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'Economics'

While developers rush headlong4M06(› to create applications for this burgeoning:ÃÄ marketplace, Mr Laurs warned that many are simply doomed to fail.

"The reality is that this space is only so big and only able to support so many people. Unfortunately the overhype that goes with [Apple's] App Store is what has driven so many to rush to develop for the market. It is fashionable to do apps and every media outletúãï tells you apps are cool.

"But the economics are a different story. The ratioÔÔ‡ of those developers who will fail is about 90%; they will simply not make a return on their investment or make a good enough living at this," said Mr Laurs.

He said that will result in developers taking their talent elsewhere and also slow down the rate of growth in applications.

GetJar acts as an application intermediaryòÁã , distributing apps and helping its community of 350,000 developers make money from their work.

'Hit-driven environment'
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To date, Apple runs the most popular application store with over 65,000 applications. Last week it notched ùã„ :ã„ up another milestone with 1.5 billion downloads.

Its success was a shock both to Apple and the industry. However, every smartphone company is trying to replicate˜à6 it, from BlackBerry makers Research in Motion to the world's biggest mobile phone business, Nokia.

Many at the MobileBeat conference in San Francisco felt that the popularity of Apple's App store is also its Achilles heel because it caters to the "one hit wonder" model.

It is something social gaming company Playfish is well aware of with its iPhone app, "Who Has the Biggest Brain?".
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"It has been played on the web by 15 million people and when it launched on the iPhone it went to the top of the iTunes chart. But it quickly fell away and I think that's an experience many people are going through, no matter the quality or originality of the content," Playfish co-founder Sebastien de Halleux told the BBC.

"You are competing for the top slot in a catalogue and you cannot, no matter who you are, hold onto that slot for an indefinite period of time. Many developers are realising that its hard to reach a sustainable³ï/‘„{—w„ business in a catalogue environment because it's a hit-driven environment."

Mr de Halleux said heated conversations are going on within the industry to solve this problem. He also said he believed Apple wanted to find a way to help developers make money making apps that consumers want to use and pay for.

Meanwhile Lee Williams, executive director of the Symbian Foundation, said he was not sure the consumer or the industry needed any more application stores.

"The App Store is flawed - right now [it] is just a bucket of apps. You need to get beyond that bucket and give the consumer the opportunity to wander8a down a really relevantøs„-¯„ aisle of content and applications that they can get access to.
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"When this problem is solved, the type of application you will see will be about more than an iBeer drinking app or a candle that flickers in different colours.

"The type of application you will see will help enrich your life in some way. It will let you do your image sharing, your social networking and establish presence with your friends, colleagues and family in completely new ways - which is really what mobile applications are all about," said Mr Williams.

The Story of Deirdre

There was a man in Ireland once who was called Malcolm Harper. The man was a right good man, and he had a goodly share of this world's goods. He had a wife, but no family. What did Malcolm hear but that a soothsayer had come home to the place, and as the man was a right good man, he wished that the soothsayer might come near them. Whether it was that he was invited or that he came of himself, the soothsayer came to the house of Malcolm. Just out of the chat.
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And the soothsayer went forth out of the house and he was not long outside when he returned.

"Well," said the soothsayer, "I saw in my second sight that it is on account of a daughter of yours that the greatest amount of blood shall be shed that has ever been shed in Erin since time and race began. And the three most famous heroes that ever were found will lose their heads on her account."

After a time a daughter was born to Malcolm, he did not allow a living being to come to his house, only himself and the nurse. He asked this woman, "Will you yourself bring up the child to keep her in hiding far away where eye will not see a sight of her nor ear hear a word about her?"
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The woman said she would, so Malcolm got three men, and he took them away to a large mountain, distant and far from reach, without the knowledge or notice of any one. He caused there a hillock, round and green, to be dug out of the middle, and the hole thus made to be covered carefully over so that a little company could dwell there together. This was done. This site is on the Crusherssbm

Deirdre and her foster-mother dwelt in the bothy mid the hills without the knowledge or the suspicion of any living person about them and without anything occurring, until Deirdre was sixteen years of age. Deirdre grew like the white sapling, straight and trim as the rash on the moss. She was the creature of fairest form, of loveliest aspect, and of gentlest nature that existed between earth and heaven in all Ireland--whatever colour of hue she had before, there was nobody that looked into her face but she would blush fiery red over it.
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The woman that had charge of her, gave Deirdre every information and skill of which she herself had knowledge and skill. There was not a blade of grass growing from root, nor a bird singing in the wood, nor a star shining from heaven but Deirdre had a name for it. But one thing, she did not wish her to have either part or parley with any single living man of the rest of the world. But on a gloomy winter night, with black, scowling clouds, a hunter of game was wearily travelling the hills, and what happened but that he missed the trail of the hunt, and lost his course and companions. A drowsiness came upon the man as he wearily wandered over the hills, and he lay down by the side of the beautiful green knoll in which Deirdre lived, and he slept. The man was faint from hunger and wandering, and benumbed with cold, and a deep sleep fell upon him. When he lay down beside the green hill where Deirdre was, a troubled dream came to the man, and he thought that he enjoyed the warmth of a fairy broch, the fairies being inside playing music. The hunter shouted out in his dream, if there was any one in the broch, to let him in for the Holy One's sake. Deirdre heard the voice and said to her foster-mother: "O foster-mother, what cry is that?" "It is nothing at all, Deirdre--merely the birds of the air astray and seeking each other. But let them go past to the bosky glade. There is no shelter or house for them here." "Oh, foster-mother, the bird asked to get inside for the sake of the God of the Elements, and you yourself tell me that anything that is asked in His name we ought to do. If you will not allow the bird that is being benumbed with cold, and done to death with hunger, to be let in, I do not think much of your language or your faith. But since I give credence to your language and to your faith, which you taught me, I will myself let in the bird." replica rolex,And Deirdre arose and drew the bolt from the leaf of the door, and she let in the hunter. She placed a seat in the place for sitting, food in the place for eating, and drink in the place for drinking for the man who came to the house. "Oh, for this life and raiment, you man that came in, keep restraint on your tongue!" said the old woman. "It is not a great thing for you to keep your mouth shut and your tongue quiet when you get a home and shelter of a hearth on a gloomy winter's night."

"Well," said the hunter, "I may do that--keep my mouth shut and my tongue quiet, since I came to the house and received hospitality from you; but by the hand of thy father and grandfather, and by your own two hands, if some other of the people of the world saw this beauteous creature you have here hid away, they would not long leave her with you, I swear."

"What men are these you refer to?" said Deirdre.

"Well, I will tell you, young woman," said the hunter. This is the next

"They are Naois, son of Uisnech, and Allen and Arden his two brothers."
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"What like are these men when seen, if we were to see them?" said Deirdre.

"Why, the aspect and form of the men when seen are these," said the hunter: "they have the colour of the raven on their hair, their skin like swan on the wave in whiteness, and their cheeks as the blood of the brindled red calf, and their speed and their leap are those of the salmon of the torrent and the deer of the grey mountain side. And Naois is head and shoulders over the rest of the people of Erin."

"However they are," said the nurse, "be you off from here and take another road. And, King of Light and Sun! in good sooth and certainty, little are my thanks for yourself or for her that let you in!"

The hunter went away, and went straight to the palace of King Connachar. He sent word in to the king that he wished to speak to him if he pleased. The king answered the message and came out to speak to the man. "What is the reason of your journey?" said the king to the hunter. Just out of the chat.
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Connachar, King of Ulster, sent for his nearest kinsmen, and he told them of his intent. Though early rose the song of the birds mid the rocky caves and the music of the birds in the grove, earlier than that did Connachar, King of Ulster, arise, with his little troop of dear friends, in the delightful twilight of the fresh and gentle May; the dew was heavy on each bush and flower and stem, as they went to bring Deirdre forth from the green knoll where she stayed. Many a youth was there who had a lithe leaping and lissom step when they started whose step was faint, failing, and faltering when they reached the bothy on account of the length of the way and roughness of the road.

The Story of Deirdre

"Just a few more minutes…please Mommy!"
Although my own children were grown, I found myself turning instinctively in the direction of the little voice. He was trailing after his mother, looking reluctantly over his shoulder at a display of remote control toys in the large department store.

He couldn't have been more than four years old. With chubby checks and wispy blond hair going in several directions, he trotted behind his mother down the main aisle of the department store. His boots caught my eye. They were green. Really green. Bright, shiny, Kermit-the-Frog, green. Obviously new and a little too big, the boots stopped just below his knees leaving a hint of dimpled legs disappearing into rumpled shorts. Perfect boots for the rainy transition from summer to fall.
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He stopped abruptly at a display of full-length mirrors, lifting one foot at a time, grinning and admiring his boots until his mother called for him to catch up to her. Dressed in a suit, heels clicking on the tile floor, she was tossing items into her cart as she and her son made their way to the checkout lanes at the front of the store.

I smiled at the picture he made clumping noisily behind his mother. I found myself wondering if she had just picked him up from daycare after a busy day in an office somewhere. I sighed as I selected an item and put it in my own cart. My days of trying to juggle a full time job and two small children had been busy, sometimes even hectic, but I missed them.
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Finishing my own shopping, I forgot about the little boy and his mother until I stepped outside the store. There a panorama unfolded before me. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, perforating the numerous puddles in the parking lot. Several mothers with their small children were hurrying in and out of the department store. The children were, of course, making beelines to the puddles that dotted their way from the cars to the store's entrance. The mothers were right behind them, scolding.

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"Ge"You'll ruin your shoes!"

"What's the matter with you? Are you deaf? I said, GET OUT OF THAT PUDDLE!"

And so it continued. The children were being pulled away from the puddles and hurried along. All except for one…the little green-booted boy.

He and his mother were not rushing anywhere. The boy was happily splashing away in the largest puddle in the parking lot, oblivious to the rain and to the people coming and going. His wispy hair was plastered to his head and a huge smile was plastered on his face. And his mother? She put up her umbrella, adjusted her packages and waited. Not scolding, not rushing. Just watching.
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As she fished her car keys out of her purse, the boy, hearing the familiar jingling, paused in mid-splash and looked up.

"Just a few more minutes? Please Mommy?" He begged.

She hesitated, and then she smiled at him.

"Okay!" she responded and adjusted her packages again.
By the time I got to my car, loaded my packages and was ready to ease out of my parking space, the green-booted boy and his mother were walking toward their car, smiling and talking.

How much time did that "few more minutes" take out of her day? Probably about five. Not so much time out of a busy day. So what if she got home a little later than she had planned?

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What a contrast the boy and his mother were to the other families I had just seen. What volumes that "few more minutes" spoke to that little boy about his value to his mother. Nothing in her universe was so pressing that it couldn't wait a few more minutes to let her young son try out his new boots-an important event in the life of How many times had my children begged for "just a few more minutes"? Had I smiled and waited like the mother of the green booted boy? Or had I scolded?



Just a few more minutes. Everything I have read about time management for working mothers can be summed up in one picture. The picture of that young mother standing under her umbrella, arms full of packages, smiling her assent to a wet, green-booted boy who had asked her the universal time management question for working mothers everywhere,

"Just a few more minutes?"

The Escaped PrisonerMr Stapleton came to the Hall and met Sir Henry that same afternoon.The next morning he took us to the place where the evil Sir Hugo died.Then we had lunch at the House.Sir Henry clearly thought Miss Stapleton was very beautiful.His eyes followed her everywhere.He liked her very much,and I was sure that she felt the same about him.He spoke about her again and again as we walked home.After the first meeting,we met the Stapletons almost every day.

After a short time it was clear that Sir Henry had fallen deeply in love with the beautiful Miss Stapleton.At first I thought that Stapleton would be very pleased if his sister mar ried Sir Henry.However,I soon realized that he did not want their friendship to grow into love.He did everything he could to make sure that they were never alone.On one or two occa sions they did manage to meet alone,but Stapleton followed them and was not pleased to see them together.
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I soon met another neighbour of Sir Henry's.His name was Mr Frankland,and he lived about four miles to the south of the Hall.He was an old man with a red face and white hair.He had two hobbies.The first was arguing.He argued with everybody.The second hobby was studying the stars.For this he had a very big telescope.For several days he had been watching the moor through the telescope.He wanted to find Selden,the escaped murderer.Nobody had seen the prisoner for a fortnight,and we all thought that he had probably left the moor.

A few nights later I was woken by a noise at about two in the morning.I heard someone walking softly outside my door.I got up,opened the door and looked out.I saw Barrymore moving carefully and quietly away from me.I followed him,as quietly as I could.He went into one of the empty bedrooms and left the door open.I went quietly up to the door and looked in side.

Barrymore was standing at the window.He was holding a light in his hand and looking out onto the moor.He stood without moving for a few minutes and then he put out the light.

I went quickly back to my room.A few minutes later I heard Barrymore go softly by.
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The next morning I told Sir Henry what I had seen.

'We must follow him and find out what he is doing,'said Sir Henry.'He won't hear us if we move carefully.'

That night we sat in Sir Henry's room and waited.At about three o'clock in the morning we heard the sound of footsteps outside the bedroom.We looked out and saw Barrymore.We followed him as quietly as we could.He went into the same room as before.We reached the door and looked in.There was Barrymore,with the light in his hand,looking out across the moor,exactly as I had seen him on the night before.

Sir Henry walked into the room and said:'What are you do ing here,Barrymore?'
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Barrymore turned round quickly,surprise and horror on his face.

'Nothing,Sir,'he said.The shadows on the wall from his light were jumping up and down as his hand shook.'It was the window,sir.I go round at night to see that they are closed,and this one wasn't shut.'

'Come now,Barrymore,'said Sir Henry.'No lies.What were you doing with that light?You were holding it up to the window.'

I suddenly had an idea.'I think he was sending a message,' I said.'Let's see if there's an answer from someone on the moor.'

I held the light up to the window,and looked out into the darkness.Suddenly a light answered from the moor.

'There it is,'I cried.I waved my light backwards and for wards across the window.The light on the moor answered by moving in the same way.wow power leveling

'Now,Barrymore,who is your friend on the moor?What's going on?'

'That's my business,'said Barrymore,'I won't tell you.'

'Are you making some criminal plan against me?'Sir Henry said.

'No,it's nothing against you,sir,'said a voice behind us.It was Mrs Barrymore.She had followed us and was standing at the door.'He's doing it for me.My unhappy brother is cold and hungry on the moor.We cannot let him die.Our light is to tell him that food is ready for him.His light shows us where to take it.'

'Then your brother is…'began Sir Henry.

'The escaped prisoner,sir.Selden,the murderer.He is my younger brother.He has done evil things,but to me he is still the little boy I loved and cared for.I had to help him.Every thing my husband has done has been for me.Please don't take his job from him.It's not his fault.'

Sir Henry turned to Barrymore and said:

'I cannot blame you for helping your wife.Go to bed,and we'll talk about this in the morning.'

The Barrymores left us.maple story mesos,

'The murderer is waiting out there by that light,' said Sir Henry.'He's a danger to everyone.I'm going to catch him.If you want to come with me,Watson,fetch your revolver and let's go.'

We left the Hall immediately.

'We must surprise him and catch him.'said Sir Henry.'He's a dangerous man.Now,Watson,what would Holmes say about this?Do you remember what the old papers said? They said the Devil does his work when the world is dark.'

The Escaped Prisoner