Presentation for primary classes “Echoes of Beslan Sorrow”

A lesson in memory of the tragedy in Beslan (Presentation “When someone else’s pain becomes your own”)

State educational institution

for orphans and children left without parental care

"Krasnokamensk orphanage"

(about the tragedy in Beslan)

Purpose of the event:

to show, using the example of the tragic events in Beslan, what mutual assistance and mutual assistance, heroism, patriotism are, to form in pupils an idea of ​​the misfortunes that terrorism can lead to.

Form:

memory lesson (educational event for pupils 13 – 18 years old)

Progress of the event:

I. _ Introductory talk:

Guys! Today we will not have an ordinary event, but a sad and exciting event. We will talk about children just like you. But they can’t sit at a school desk anymore, don’t answer in class, don’t run through the school corridors like you do. Because these children are no longer alive. These are the children of Beslan. 2014 marked 10 years since the tragic events in Beslan. This terrible tragedy claimed many innocent children's lives.

Death... is always scary. Humanity has seen the death of a child. This horror has become a symbol of terror against children in recent history. Our event “When someone else’s pain becomes your own”

dedicated to this event. (Slides 1- 2)

II . Vocabulary work.

Let's pay attention to the meanings of the words that we will repeatedly pronounce today.

“Terrorism”, “terrorists”, “terrorist activity” - these concepts appear almost daily in the media, giving rise to anxiety and concern among our citizens for their present and future, for their rights and freedoms.

Terror (lat. terror

- fear, horror) - intimidation of the civilian population, expressed in physical violence, up to destruction. Terror also refers to the threat of physical violence for political or other reasons, or intimidation with the threat of violence or murder.

Terrorism is a policy based on the systematic use of terror. (Slide 3)

IV .
Main part:
Beslan is a city in Russia, the third largest city in North Ossetia. Located 10 km from the border with Ingushetia. (Slide 4).

Let's try to reconstruct the events of these days.

Slides 5- 92

V. _ Conclusion

Guys! Today you have learned a lot about what terrorism is and how terrible a phenomenon it is. You must be vigilant, attentive to people. Be careful when communicating with strangers!

Let us once again perpetuate the memory of those killed at the hands of terrorists by standing up and taking a minute of silence.

Slide 93

This is the moment “When someone else’s pain becomes your own.”

Thank you!

This concludes our event. Thank you everyone!

Class hour “Beslan School Diary” class hour on the topic

MKOU "Lermontovskaya Secondary School"

Irkutsk region, Kuytunsky district

Class hour

"Beslan School Diary"

14-year-old hostage Agunda Vataeva decided to tell everything after 8 years

for students of grade 8b KRO

Author: Bannikova Ekaterina Petrovna

2014

p. Lermontovsky

Goal: to introduce children to the tragedy of September 1, 2004. at school No. 1 in Beslan

Tasks:

— cultivate respect for the memory of the dead;

— to cause condemnation of the actions of terrorists;

- draw appropriate conclusions about immoral and moral

actions.

Form: conversation.

Equipment: presentation for class, bottles of water, flowers, candle, “Beslan” sign (creating the effect of a monument), leaves on students’ desks, words written on the board “terror”, “terrorism”, “terrorist”.

Class progress

— Guys, please tell me what you know about the tragedy in Beslan[1]?

Who are terrorists? Do you know how they treated those who fell into their hands?

- Guys, why should we know about this and not forget about these events?

— What conclusions should we draw for ourselves? What lessons should be learned from these events?

Are you ready to answer these questions? (No). Then a problem arose before us and we will solve it. And at the end of the class hour we will return to the questions that we could not answer now.

September 1, 2004 entered the lives of our people with the tragedy in Beslan. (Slide 1). September 3 of this year marks 10 years since the terrible tragedy in Beslan, when terrorists [2] seized a school, and with it 1,200 hostages. The victims of the terrorist attack and the subsequent assault were 334 people.

According to official data, 334 people died in the gym of the Beslan school, 186 of them were children. (Slide 2)

Victims

Much has been said over the years.

But much has been forgotten...

To the residents of Beslan, whose names will forever remain in the memory of mankind. We dedicate a class hour to those who perished in the dark heat of the burning hell and those who survived those terrible September days of 2004. (Slide 3)

Let's remember how it was and look at what was happening at that fateful time through the eyes of 14-year-old schoolgirl Agunda Vataeva, who on September 1, 2004 was among the 1,200 hostages of the Beslan school... (Slide 4). We will call our class hour “The School Diary of Beslan by Agunda Vataeva”

As a result of that terrorist attack, Agunda’s mother, primary school teacher Galina Vataeva, died. The girl herself received dangerous injuries. But she survived. When she regained consciousness, she took up her pen to write down in her girl’s diary the memories of three days spent at gunpoint. The girl was in a hurry because she was afraid to forget some details, she thought that over time her memory would fail her. Agunda was wrong. The memories have not been erased. Moreover, they are still pursuing her to this day.

So, 8 years later, the former hostage decided to publish her diary in the Moskovsky Komsomolets newspaper.

Everything happened in North Ossetian Beslan (Slide 5). - a very green and cozy city that gained all-Russian fame on September 1, 2004, when more than a thousand people were captured in the gym of Beslan school No. 1 by Ruslan Khuchbarov’s militants.

There were no signs of trouble. The assembly line at school No. 1 in Beslan began an hour earlier than expected: all students were called by their class teachers in advance with a request to come to the assembly line at 9 o’clock in the morning (it was postponed due to the heat from the traditional 10 o’clock).

Children, accompanied by their parents, went to school. Many schoolchildren came with their younger brothers and sisters: by a strange coincidence, that morning all kindergartens and nurseries in Beslan were closed, and their mothers were forced to take them to school with them. As eyewitnesses note, the festive lineup that year was the most crowded in history.

So, guys, meet Agunda Vataeva. She is now 16 years old. Let's look at what is happening through her eyes.

The first day

Morning. Warm. Sunny. September 1. Favorite holiday after birthday. I'm getting dressed. New white blouse, black skirt, favorite shoes. Mom put on her favorite beige suit. We had breakfast, got ready, ten minutes past eight - we left. What good weather! We walk along the sun-drenched Nadterechnaya, it’s so sunny - our eyes hurt! There's no one there - it's still early. We left early to finish decorating my mother's office. We go into her class. The whole school smells of paint: before they had time to finish everything, the ceilings collapsed in the corridor in front of the cafeteria and somewhere on the second floor.

(Slide 6). Mom writes on the board: “Welcome to school!” I went outside - none of my classmates were there. Of course, we are already in ninth grade, it’s a sin not to be late.

Well, we began to slowly gather. And here is my friend! She is in a panic: her shoes are rubbed, she needs cotton wool. We ran to mom. There, the first-graders are already sitting at their desks, everyone has bows and flowers. Everyone is smart. Someone divides the balloons between the children - according to established tradition, today they should fly into the sky. I tell my friend Madina that I envy them: “They are so small and happy.” Then we went out into the courtyard, all of our people were already lined up there. The girls and I are discussing new things...

...Our conversation ends. Shots were heard somewhere very close. I turned my head and saw three boys running towards the exit, followed by a man in camouflage and with a thick black beard. He ran after the boys and fired into the air. I thought: “Someone is making a bad joke, probably a prank or some kind of test again.” These thoughts immediately disappeared when shooting started from all sides and we were driven towards the boiler room. (Slides 7-8).

We huddled together. Trampled bouquets, shoes, and bags lay on the asphalt. We sat near the wall of the boiler room. People in masks and with machine guns ordered us to be silent and approach the gym. We rushed to the gym doors. The rule that teachers told us was spinning in our heads: “In an emergency, the main thing is not to panic.” It was impossible not to panic. This feeling covered the whole body, the whole mind, the whole consciousness. I wanted to run somewhere into the crowd, further away, somewhere to hide, to hide...

In this crowd, I spotted Zarina, my classmate. I took her hand. She squeezed my hand tightly and asked me not to let go. It’s strange, I couldn’t help her, but I really needed that hand in my palm.

Then we were driven to the gym. When we entered it, I noticed my close friend Madina. Zarina and I moved closer to her. There are already three of us. We squatted and held our hands in a bunny shape, as we were ordered. (Slide 9).

People panicked and became hysterical. The militants picked up the man and threatened to kill him if we did not shut up. We tried, but fear and panic did not let us go. A shot rang out. The man was killed...

There was dead silence. Only the crying and screaming of children disturbed it. (Slide 10-13).We were ordered to throw away all our phones and bags. They said they would shoot twenty people if they heard a phone call. After that, about a dozen more cell phones flew into the hall. They once again threatened to shoot twenty children. The teachers persuaded the children to give up all their mobile phones. Several more phones flew out of the crowd. Then some of the people were lifted and driven to the opposite side of the gym. We were among them. By this time, the militants had already detonated the explosives.

...I thought about my mother all the time. I didn’t see her in the hall, I looked for her with my eyes, but to no avail. Soon I heard a voice. She asked one of the militants to allow her to sit with me. Strangely, they allowed relatives to get up and move around to sit next to them. Mom came up to us and sat down. She looked calm and said that everything would be fine, that they would save us.

…There were two female suicide bombers standing next to us[3]. They were wearing burqas[4], and their faces were not visible. Only eyes and legs. They were wearing sweatpants and sneakers. In one hand they had pistols, and in the other they held the buttons from their belts. And they also have an icy, lifeless look... It was the women who inspired inexplicable fear and horror.

At some point, both suicide bombers went out somewhere. And then the militants picked up ten large men and took them out. We were told they would be fine. Suddenly, one of the militants looked at Madina and shouted angrily: “Shut up your shame!” - He threw her a jacket. My friend had bare knees and she immediately covered them. After that I felt a little better. “At least they won’t rape me,” I thought.

The face of that militant seemed very familiar to me. As if I had already seen him in Beslan. I told Madinka this, and she agreed that she had also seen him somewhere. He was about 35–38 years old and had a huge scar on his neck.

...On the first day, the militants threw sheets of paper to the hostages so that we could fan ourselves, let us go to the toilet, and handed out water. Time passed slowly. It was terribly hot. We took off everything that we could take off and remain in decent shape. There was not enough space. We were sitting on a bench. Somehow I was able to rip my tights. The elementary school girls suffered in their synthetic forms.

Madinka and I sat and talked. Be that as it may, we held on, had optimistic conversations, and even joked.

...At about five o'clock the first explosion was heard. A few minutes later, the militants brought one wounded man from those who had been taken out earlier into the main entrance. Sitting next to us was nurse Fatima, who asked to be allowed to take medications from the office. She wasn't allowed. Then she found some kind of shirt and began to bandage the wounded man’s head and shoulder. Katsanova Alana also began to help the man. She constantly wiped him with a rag, gave him water, and fanned him with pieces of paper. The wounded man lay next to us for a long time, and then I don’t know what happened, but he was no longer there.

...By the end of the day there was almost no feeling of hunger - or rather, thirst and heat overwhelmed him. Around eight o'clock in the evening it started to rain. We sat under the broken windows and gulped rain - we were so thirsty. Mom covered me and the girls with her jacket, and I kept crawling out from under it - in the rain. I felt so good! In my opinion, the best memory from this hell. People laid out rags and things on windowsills to get them wet. Then we dried ourselves with them. Naturally, after the rain it became a little cooler.

...Night was approaching. No news. I wanted to sleep, I wanted to drink, I didn’t want to eat at all. Someone else found chocolates during the day and gave them away. They gave it to me too, although I didn’t eat. Why eat if you want it even more?

The school principal was sitting next to us - we thought it would be safer with her. And she... No, I, of course, do not think that she was in connection with terrorists, but we were simply disappointed in her. She had no right to put a pill in her mouth when children around her were fainting. The children’s mothers asked her for medicine, and the director answered: “Not anymore,” and swallowed another Validol tablet.

...By the end of the first day we learned about the demands that the terrorists were putting forward.

One of the adults said: “We won’t get out of here alive.”

...All night we dozed in pairs for an hour at a time. While Madina and I were sitting on the bench, mom and Zarina were sleeping on the floor. An hour later we changed. Someone slept on someone else's lap, on someone else's shoulders. Everyone was exhausted, it was no longer hot - it was stuffy, and half-asleep children were crying in the women’s arms.

Second day. The longest (Slide 14).

We woke up early, at seven o'clock. It's still stuffy. I don't want to eat, I just want to drink. Terrible thirst. I want to sleep... They start shooting. After each shot, the children begin to cry. Mothers are hysterical. They don’t yet know that today good Uncle Aushev[5] will come and take them (mothers with infants). And we will remain waiting. After Aushev leaves, we will have hope. But this will all happen in the evening.

...Yesterday terrorists ran around the hall and shouted: “No one is getting in touch! Nobody needs you, we will all die together!” And indeed, neither Dzasokhov[6], nor Zyazikov[7] - no one got in touch. After their words, the school director Lidiya Aleksandrovna said: “There are Mamsurov’s children [8] here—maybe they should go see him?” - "Who?" And then Zamka and her brother stood up. They were taken somewhere, apparently to the teachers' room. They were handed over by Lidia Alexandrovna. Even we children understood: this is a betrayal.

...We were no longer allowed to drink the water, citing that it was poisoned. They let us out to the toilet selectively. A huge queue formed near the exit to the toilet, which from time to time the militants dispersed with shouts and threats.

The second day dragged on for a long time... Very long! There was nothing to do, my legs were numb, I just wanted water, and sometimes to go to the toilet. Sometimes a mobile phone would ring - a small red flip phone (it’s funny to watch an action movie with such a miniature female mobile phone) ... The melody “Nokia Tune”. The terrorists spoke in raised voices, sometimes even shouted into the phone, and sometimes joked.

I sat very close to the place where the shells were deployed, so I could clearly hear the militants when they were negotiating on the phone or turning to us: “No one will save you, we will all die.” They called on us to maintain discipline with the words: “Hands like a bunny!” In this position my hands became very numb.

And the day dragged on... No movement, no news. They stopped letting people go to the toilet altogether, and they no longer served water. Suddenly the militants became inspired and began to behave more actively. They got the director up and went with her somewhere...

After some time, she returned with one man in a camouflage overcoat. He began to say something to the audience. I didn’t hear him speak, but when he fell silent, the hostages began to smile and clap, and someone was crying. Then some mothers and children were lifted up and taken out of the hall. (Slide 15). And then I remembered that on the first day of the capture, the militants wrote down the names of the women, wrote down how many children were in the school and how old each one was.

After the group of children were brought out, the atmosphere in the hall became lighter.

...Throughout all the days we often heard: “In an hour (two hours, in the evening, tomorrow at 11) they will start letting the children out, leaving the adults behind”...

...During the day, one elderly man in the hall became ill. A very beautiful woman in a black dress with lace sat next to him all the time. She turned to one of the militants asking for help and medicine, to which she was told: “We won’t give you anything. Let him die." The woman began swearing and screaming, which infuriated the militants. One of them put the muzzle of a machine gun to this woman’s face. She continued: “Shoot!” The school principal ran up to the militants: “Boys, don’t, take pity on her, she’s already a widow.” After all this horror, she will still be in the CITO[9], in Moscow, with an injury to the skull and temporal bone.

At about 9 pm, something human woke up in the terrorists: they suggested that older people and teachers should get up and move to the gym at will. It was quite cool there. We sat down on the bare concrete floor...

There was a terrorist on duty in the gym, who was one of the few remaining wearing a mask by the second day. His eyes were clearly visible and did not seem so scary to us, although he had a huge bruise under his left eye. He began to let us into the showers one by one. This was very helpful, because we were running out of energy and really wanted to go to the toilet, but we endured it all day. I went into the shower room with Madina and her brother Dzambik. We noticed broken glass on the floor, so I decided to take the barefoot and undressed Dzambik in my arms. While Madi was “in the toilet”, I distracted Dzambik by talking about football - this is his passion. Then she went on her own and finally drank some water. I have never tasted anything tastier, more pleasant, more satisfying than this water in my life. And then I didn’t care at all whether she was poisoned or not.

We returned to the hall and went to bed. Mom put Dzambik next to her - he was one of her favorite students. My mother and I hugged the boy. He was completely naked, he had kidney problems, and in this way we tried to warm him up.

Day three. “I no longer dreamed of liberation, but of death”

...We woke up early. Somewhere around the beginning of six. It was not yet dawn when we were transferred back to the gym. Our seats under the windows on the benches were taken. We sat down almost in the center of the gym.

Time passed very slowly. Thirst was killing. I didn't even want to move. I saw some people have eggplants[10] with yellow liquid. I didn’t immediately realize that it was urine. All this time, Zarina was with her cousin, a first-grader. She was very afraid for him. On the third day he was very weak and kept asking for water. Then she took urine from somewhere in a broken box and gave it to him, wiping his and her face with it. I couldn't overcome my disgust or my thirst wasn't strong enough to drink it. Zarina just wiped my face and lips. It didn't seem disgusting at the time.

A boy from a parallel class was sitting next to him. By the third day he was clearly not himself. He asked us for our phone numbers, he definitely wanted to remember them and dial them when we left there. And when he saw a vessel with urine, he began to throw it and shout at us not to drink “this oil.”

I really wanted to sleep. I was already dreaming not so much about liberation as about death, because this seemed like a more likely outcome. On the third day, everyone wanted only one thing - the end. Any ending, as long as it all ends.

Powerless and wanting to sleep, I collapsed on the floor, but the militants said that they would shoot everyone who lost consciousness. Then mom said: “We have to get up.” Zarina and I leaned our backs against each other and sat there because we had no strength left.

Zarina asked me: “What time is it?” At that moment it was almost one o'clock in the afternoon, about ten minutes to go.

...The phone rang. “Troops are being withdrawn from Chechnya,” the militants reported. “If this information is confirmed, we will begin to release you.” And then for the first time in all these three days I wanted to cry, because there was hope that we would escape from there.

And then... I lost consciousness. When I woke up, the roof above me was on fire, everything was falling, people were lying all around. (Slide 16). And the first thing I saw when I got up was the burning and burned corpse of one of the terrorists on a chair, under an exploding shell that was pouring water on another militant. They began shouting for the living to get up and leave the gym into the corridor. Mom and I got up and went. I managed to notice a small wound on my left hand and calmed down that there were no other wounds. I tried to walk carefully, there were bodies everywhere, smoking wooden beams. Right at the door I saw the body of a little girl. Probably then the realization came to me that this was all real.

The militants took us out of the gym and into the dining room. There the hostages could drink water from barrels, and some children greedily ate cookies. Not far from me stood a man with a boy in his arms. The boy was wearing trousers and a white, bloody T-shirt. His breathing sounded like the wheezing of a strange animal. Mom asked me: “What is this, my Vovka?..” At that moment, one girl, about 8 years old, became attached to her mother: “Galina Khadzhievna, I know you. Will you take me to live with you? My mother and sister died. That's right, she was bleeding from her mouth. I want to live with you, I know how to dress and swim myself, okay?” Mom just nodded in response, calmed her down and kept her close.

Then the militants forced the hostages to put children out the windows so that they would wave rags to the soldiers and shout that there were hostages here so that ours would not shoot. The women did not want to place their children and stood on the windowsills themselves. Everyone lay down on the floor again - I was almost run over then, my mother helped me get out from under the pile of bodies. Soon there was a new explosion, very strong in its power. I looked at the ceiling, and a hot, dense blast wave washed over me from head to toe. I thought: “This is the end. This time I definitely died."

But I woke up. My hand was already hanging, my favorite watch was covered in blood. I looked at my leg. Through the wound below the knee I saw something white, shiny, like bone. It didn’t hurt me at all, it was just hard to lift my arm and leg. Mom was lying nearby. “The leg,” she said. - Leave". I will never be able to forgive myself for listening to her, turning around and walking. What was it? Where does this betrayal come from? I crawled on all fours towards the broken window. There were some stoves nearby. I reached the windowsill. On one of these stoves lay two corpses of naked, emaciated boys. They looked like brothers. Apparently, these guys were placed on the window to wave rags.

I was one step away from the street when my foot fell through the gap. I couldn’t feel my leg anymore, I couldn’t find it, I kept pulling and pulling, and nothing worked. They were already waiting for me downstairs. Our military shouted to me: “Come on, honey, come on, honey!” But I couldn't. From this feeling of powerlessness and hopelessness, I began to cry. But then she pulled herself together and freed her leg. They picked me up, put me on a stretcher, carried me through some courtyards, threw me into a “groove[11]” and took me somewhere. My right foot swayed strangely the whole way. In the “groove” with me lay a woman who at first greedily drank water. But I didn't care. There is no strength left to rejoice anymore...

Epilogue (Slide 18).

Later, my relatives will find me and take me to the Vladikavkaz hospital, where I will lie in the same operating room as my mother.

Then I will read my sister’s SMS and accidentally read condolences about my mother. Then they will tell me that Dzerochka is no more, Arsen died, Alanka is gone, Sabina was buried in a closed coffin... The most noble and powerful died, burned, bled...

...I have the “hostage” stamp on every medical document. Over the years, I got used to my scars, I got used to not noticing them and not being embarrassed. They became a part of me. I can't imagine myself without them. But besides scars and scars, I also have other “interesting things.” For example, my metal! One in the head, one in the lung, many others scattered throughout the body. It’s not that I can’t get along with them, but the sensations are extremely uncomfortable, especially headaches and non-extension of the “wedding” finger on my right hand.

I'm also very closed. Sometimes it seems that it is easier to shoot yourself than to tell another person, even a very close one, about all this. Not because he won’t understand, but because it’s difficult. So I decided to write a diary. It’s kind of like the “fellow traveler effect” - she talked about everything into nowhere, spat it out.

So the diary of Agunda Vataeva ends...

Reflection. Active method "Tangle"

Dear guys! I will ask you all to come to the board and stand in a circle. I have a ball of thread in my hand, let’s imagine that these are our emotions and impressions received today at class. Please share your thoughts. Having expressed them, I ask that each of you wrap the thread 1-2 turns on your finger, and then, having finished speaking, pass or throw the ball to your classmate. (Children's statements, passing the ball).

Guys, look how the grief of Beslan united us in emotions, feelings, experiences... This is the moment “When someone else’s pain becomes your own.”

-And now can you give answers to the questions that were posed at the beginning of the class hour? Who are terrorists? Do you know how they treated those who fell into their hands?

- Guys, why should we know about this and not forget about these events?

Memo on anti-terrorism and personal safety of students

(In the diary for each student)

1. If you see a suspicious person, inform parents, teachers, and law enforcement officers.

2. Never pick up, open, or unwrap suspicious ownerless bags, packages, cases, suitcases, and briefcases. Don't hit them.

3. Do not attempt to neutralize a suspicious object yourself or deliver it to the police station.

4. Do not attempt to enter a detached, fenced, or guarded area.

5. Try to quickly leave the danger zone and get your peers out of it.

6. If you have information about an impending terrorist act, immediately notify parents, teachers, the police, and rescuers.

Phones:

Fire Service - 01

Police – 02

Ambulance – 03

Materials used:

1. Ellipsis - Beslan 2004 September 1 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cse5p_j3WKM

2. https://glavred.info/archive/2011/09/03/145403-9.html

3. https://glavred.info/archive/2011/09/01/084608-10.html

4. https://fishki.net/anti/127322-8-let-beslanskoj-tragedii-29-foto.html

5. https://pravober.ru/shkola-1 - Vataeva

6. https://beslan-2004.narod.ru/ -photos

7. https://ria.ru/society/20080901/150831336.html

8. https://pravober.ru/shkola-1

9. https://www.onlinedics.ru/slovar/inyaz/t/terrorist.html

10. School diary of Beslan

11. Reflection from the class hour “When someone else’s pain becomes your own...” https://easyen.ru/load....0-19059 author: Sorokina Tatyana Aleksandrovna.

https://www.mk.ru/incident/article/2012/09/03/743720-shkolnyiy-dnevnik-beslana.html

[1] Beslan, city, center of the Right Bank region of the North Ossetian Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic. Located on the right bank of the river. Terek. Railway station on the Armavir - Baku line (the line departs from B. to the city of Ordzhonikidze). 27 thousand inhabitants (1968). In Bulgaria there is a maize plant (the largest in Europe), which produces starch, molasses, glucose, oil, and dry food from corn. Hemp plant, factories for reinforced concrete structures, car repair, crushed stone and sleeper factories, dairy. Converted from a village to a city in 1950.

[2] TERRORIST - a, m., soul. 1. Participant or supporter of terrorism. The police arrested a well-known terrorist who committed several political murders. 2. A bandit who achieves his goals by taking hostages and threatening to use violence against them, including their physical destruction. Terrorists hijacked the plane along with its passengers. Terrorist - woman. Terrorist - relating to the activities of terrorists, terror, terrorism (terrorist group, terrorist action, terrorist tactics).

[3] Martyrs are Muslim women who are suicide bombers; they are ready to die for their faith, not for politics, economics and money, but only by fighting with infidels, proving their religious rightness. For this they draw closer to God. This is actively manipulated by other representatives of Islam.

[4] Burqa (synonymous with burka, less commonly veil) is women’s outerwear in Muslim countries, in particular Central Asia and the Middle East, which is a robe with long false sleeves and a hair net covering the face - chachwan.

[5] Ruslan Sultanovich Aushev (born October 29, 1954, Volodarskoye village, Kokchetav region, Kazakh SSR) - famous Russian political and public figure, first president of the Republic of Ingushetia, since 1991 - chairman of the Committee on Internationalist Soldiers under the Council of Heads of Government CIS. Hero of the Soviet Union (1982). Member of the Supreme Council of the International Union "Combat Brotherhood - Without Borders".

[6] Dzasokhov Gocha Georgievich (Ossetian Dzasokhty Georgiy firt Gocha, English Dzasokhov Gocha, born November 2, 1971, Kareli, Georgian SSR) - member of the Public Chamber of the Russian Federation (elected from All-Russian public organizations), President of the Assembly of the Peoples of Georgia (established in 2008), President of the FILA Senatorial Club. Married, has five children.

[7] Murat Magometovich Zyazikov (father Borov Murat Sultanovich, Zyazikov - maternal surname) [2] (born September 10, 1957, ) - Russian statesman. President of the Republic of Ingushetia (2002-2008). Lieutenant General.

[8] Taimuraz Dzambekovich Mamsurov (Ossetian: Mamsyrati Dzambedzhy firt Taimuraz; April 13, 1954, Beslan, SOASSR, RSFSR, USSR) - Soviet and Russian state and party leader. Doctor of Political Science (2002). Head of the Republic of North Ossetia-Alania (RSO-A) since June 7, 2005. Member of the Supreme Council of the United Russia party[2].

[9] CITO Central Institute of Traumatology and Orthopedics named after. N. N. Priorova (full name Federal State Institution “Central Institute of Traumatology and Orthopedics named after N. N. Priorov”) is a large orthopedic clinic in the Northern Administrative District of Moscow.

[10] Eggplant - see flask Dictionary of synonyms of the Russian language. Practical guide. M.: Russian language. Z. E. Alexandrova. 2011. eggplant noun, number of synonyms: 5

[11]