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FAR FROM HOME; CLOSE TO THE HEART IN IRAN
By Howard Levine
Cleveland Jewish News
http://www.clevelandjewishnews.com/articles/2 010/02/26/news/local/doc4b86ea96bdbcf822969556.txt
Feb 26 2010
I recently had the opportunity to visit Tehran, Iran, as the guest
of honor at a sinus surgery meeting. My itinerary allowed me a short
but very memorable visit to Isfahan, an Iranian city of about 1.6
million people, all Muslim except for 6,000 Christians and 1,200 Jews.
In the past, the Jewish population of the region was quite large,
making it a center for Jewish life. Notably, Isfahan is near the
burial of Queen Esther and her uncle Mordecai of Purim fame.
My travel was filled with some anxiety since my stay coincided with
"Student Day," the anniversary of the Dec. 6, 1953, killing of three
of University of Tehran students by the former Shah's Iranian police.
At that time, the students were protesting the visit of U.S. Vice
President Richard Nixon. The observance while I was there sparked
countrywide student demonstrations protesting the current government,
largely in Isfahan.
On the way to Isfahan, my host asked if I would like to visit the
"knesset." When I gave a questioning look, he explained that, in Iran,
that term meant "synagogue," and then I remembered that while we think
of Knesset as the Israeli Parliament, its literal Hebrew translation is
"gathering place."
We began the day by "registering" my day's activities at the police
department, where I had to show my passport and visa. This, my guide
explained, was so "the police would know where you are each minute
of the day."
My introduction to old Isfahan began in the Armenian quarter in an
Armenian church filled with frescoes depicting familiar stories from
the Old and New Testament. The church was beautiful, yet the visit
felt empty and foreign to me.
Immediately after, we drove into what was the former Jewish quarter.
There, in the midst of modern Isfanhan's hustle and bustle, we came
upon a high stone wall abutting the sidewalk topped by a wire fence,
with a single large steel entry door. As I passed through into the
small courtyard, noisy Isfahan receeded into the distance, and I was
in a familiar old world. There, at the end of the courtyard, a glass
door delicately decorated in Hebrew with Stars of David welcomed me
into the old and sacred knesset.
An elderly man and woman who spoke no English greeted me. They showed
me around the typical Sephardic synagogue with a bimah in the center
and upstairs, the women's gallery.
The synagogue walls were bare, drab, and in need of painting. Instead
of the sand often seen on Sephardic synagogue floors, the ground was
covered everywhere with astoundingly beautiful Persian rugs.
As awkward and uncomfortable as I had been feeling from my visit to
the police station and as alien as I felt in the Armenian church, I
immediately felt comforted and at home surrounded by the presence of
so many familiar Jewish artifacts and symbols. As the couple proudly
showed me their Shabbos candlesticks and tattered prayer books written
in Hebrew and Farsi, they proudly explained through my guide that
there is still a daily minyan.
After a quick look inside the aron kodesh (holy ark) to see their
single Torah, I noted my Hebrew name was Chayim, which brought a grin
to the tired face of my new knesset friend. He took both of his hands
and caressed my cheeks, kissed his fingertips, and placed them upon
his heart, repeating this gesture at least a dozen times.
Being thousands of miles from home in a politically unfriendly
land and being able to connect to these lovely, sweet people in a
surrounding that at the same time was both familiar and foreign,
I understood the testament to the power of the our heritage and the
commonality of all Jewish people.
Howard Levine is a physician practicing sinus surgery. He lives in
Lyndhurst with his wife Susan and is a member of The Temple-Tifereth
Israel.
By Howard Levine
Cleveland Jewish News
http://www.clevelandjewishnews.com/articles/2 010/02/26/news/local/doc4b86ea96bdbcf822969556.txt
Feb 26 2010
I recently had the opportunity to visit Tehran, Iran, as the guest
of honor at a sinus surgery meeting. My itinerary allowed me a short
but very memorable visit to Isfahan, an Iranian city of about 1.6
million people, all Muslim except for 6,000 Christians and 1,200 Jews.
In the past, the Jewish population of the region was quite large,
making it a center for Jewish life. Notably, Isfahan is near the
burial of Queen Esther and her uncle Mordecai of Purim fame.
My travel was filled with some anxiety since my stay coincided with
"Student Day," the anniversary of the Dec. 6, 1953, killing of three
of University of Tehran students by the former Shah's Iranian police.
At that time, the students were protesting the visit of U.S. Vice
President Richard Nixon. The observance while I was there sparked
countrywide student demonstrations protesting the current government,
largely in Isfahan.
On the way to Isfahan, my host asked if I would like to visit the
"knesset." When I gave a questioning look, he explained that, in Iran,
that term meant "synagogue," and then I remembered that while we think
of Knesset as the Israeli Parliament, its literal Hebrew translation is
"gathering place."
We began the day by "registering" my day's activities at the police
department, where I had to show my passport and visa. This, my guide
explained, was so "the police would know where you are each minute
of the day."
My introduction to old Isfahan began in the Armenian quarter in an
Armenian church filled with frescoes depicting familiar stories from
the Old and New Testament. The church was beautiful, yet the visit
felt empty and foreign to me.
Immediately after, we drove into what was the former Jewish quarter.
There, in the midst of modern Isfanhan's hustle and bustle, we came
upon a high stone wall abutting the sidewalk topped by a wire fence,
with a single large steel entry door. As I passed through into the
small courtyard, noisy Isfahan receeded into the distance, and I was
in a familiar old world. There, at the end of the courtyard, a glass
door delicately decorated in Hebrew with Stars of David welcomed me
into the old and sacred knesset.
An elderly man and woman who spoke no English greeted me. They showed
me around the typical Sephardic synagogue with a bimah in the center
and upstairs, the women's gallery.
The synagogue walls were bare, drab, and in need of painting. Instead
of the sand often seen on Sephardic synagogue floors, the ground was
covered everywhere with astoundingly beautiful Persian rugs.
As awkward and uncomfortable as I had been feeling from my visit to
the police station and as alien as I felt in the Armenian church, I
immediately felt comforted and at home surrounded by the presence of
so many familiar Jewish artifacts and symbols. As the couple proudly
showed me their Shabbos candlesticks and tattered prayer books written
in Hebrew and Farsi, they proudly explained through my guide that
there is still a daily minyan.
After a quick look inside the aron kodesh (holy ark) to see their
single Torah, I noted my Hebrew name was Chayim, which brought a grin
to the tired face of my new knesset friend. He took both of his hands
and caressed my cheeks, kissed his fingertips, and placed them upon
his heart, repeating this gesture at least a dozen times.
Being thousands of miles from home in a politically unfriendly
land and being able to connect to these lovely, sweet people in a
surrounding that at the same time was both familiar and foreign,
I understood the testament to the power of the our heritage and the
commonality of all Jewish people.
Howard Levine is a physician practicing sinus surgery. He lives in
Lyndhurst with his wife Susan and is a member of The Temple-Tifereth
Israel.