For Ahmet Atmaca, the imam of the historic Bebek Mosque, life is a rhythmic journey that oscillates between the spiritual heights of the Islamic call to prayer and the winding asphalt roads leading to the Belgrad Forest.
Atmaca, who has served as a religious official for 34 years, 25 of them at the iconic Bosporus-side mosque, is not a typical imam. He is a master of Turkish classical music, a student of the legendary professor Alaeddin Yavaşça, and a dedicated cyclist who finds God in both the "makam" of a melody and the silence of nature.
Atmaca’s journey into music began in his childhood in Gümüşhane, but it was in Istanbul where his talent was refined by the masters of a fading era. After studying under Amir Ateş and at the Üsküdar Music Society, he became a disciple of Alaeddin Yavaşça, a towering figure in Turkish classical music.
"He was my turning point," Atmaca said. "He changed and transformed me. I studied classical Turkish music with him for six years. Masters like Yavaşça, Bekir Sıtkı Sezgin and Kani Karaca carried an entire civilization on their shoulders during difficult times. Being their student was a great honor."
Atmaca eventually earned a master’s degree from the Haliç University Turkish Music Conservatory. His academic work focused on the "Selatin" mosques of Istanbul, researching the tradition of the Adhan and the Sala. According to Atmaca, the beauty of the call is as important as the message itself.
"The Prophet Muhammad chose Bilal, who had a beautiful voice, to recite the adhan," Atmaca explained. "If you do not present the truth with a beautiful style, the message can be lost. When a mosque official uses musical skill, it becomes an art form that can fascinate even non-Muslims."
While his afternoons are spent in the spiritual corridors of the mosque, Atmaca’s mornings belong to the road. For the past two decades, he has started his days by cycling from Bebek to Kilyos and through the Belgrad Forest.
"I love solitude," he said. "I don’t listen to music while riding. I sing the works myself. In the quiet of the forest, under a light drizzle, I find myself. It is about internalizing the experience. Once you find your balance on the bike, you can leave yourself to nature and listen to your inner world."
Even the stray dogs of the Kilyos road have become part of his morning ritual. "All beings are the work of Allah," Atmaca noted, recalling how he once dismounted his bike to "introduce" himself to a barking pack. "It’s about love. When you show them affection, they return it."
Atmaca’s dual passions reflect his concern for the modern world. He laments the increasing presence of smartphones during religious services, suggesting that technology is eroding human values and the ability to be truly "present" during prayer.
"The issue is not being in the moment," he said. "Prayer is a heart-to-heart relationship between Allah and man. Technology is useful, but not when it kills our human values. This is a matter of consciousness and education."
Atmaca also serves as a cultural steward for the Bebek neighborhood, a district he describes as a historical "memory center" for Istanbul. He noted that the mosque, originally built in 1725 during the reign of Ahmed III and later rebuilt by the renowned Architect Kemalettin in 1908, stands in a district named after "Bebek Mustafa," a handsome commander from the era of Mehmed the Conqueror.
Atmaca’s life work is currently being translated into a documentary project. Alongside professor Kenan Gürsoy and professor Levent Öztürk, he is working on a film that explores the relationship between music and the human spirit, featuring perspectives from imams, priests and rabbis alike.
He recalls a moment in 2018 after a concert at Boğaziçi University when a young foreign listener approached him. She told him he sang his musical pieces with the same reverence one would use for a holy book.
"That reminded me of something the composer Emin Ongan once said," Atmaca reflected. "'These pieces are recited like the Quran is recited, and listened to like the Quran is listened to.'"
