TEHRAN, Iran – At 6.30 a.m. on a Thursday, the 500-seat Abrishami synagogue, the heart of Tehran’s dwindled Jewish community, is packed for a special prayer service, two days before Yom Kippur.
Like all Jews, Tehran’s 10,000-strong community, tight-knit and largely closed to outsiders and protective of the few places it controls, celebrates the most holy day in the Jewish calendar: it’s a time when Jews fast for one day, while repenting their sins.
Throughout the service, women go back and forth to the kitchen, carrying trays of a typical Iranian breakfast: tomatoes, peppers, watermelon and dates. Platters of hard-boiled eggs, creamy feta cheese and honey are laid on the table. When the thick, doughy, sesame-topped flat bread hits the two separate tables, it’s a sign the service is nearly over and the eating is to begin.
Iranian Jews are a relaxed version of Orthodox, with varying degrees of observance. They’re neither Sephardic, nor Ashkenazic, but Mizrahi, or Eastern Jews.
Once, 200,000 Jews lived in Iran. Less than 10 percent remain, but it is still the largest and oldest Jewish community in the Middle East, outside of Israel. Theirs is a population whose identity is firmly rooted here, a woman named Farah says: “We consider ourselves Iranian-Jews, rather than Jewish-Iranians.”
For many in the West, the only impressions of Iran come through reports of hostages, uranium production and human rights abuses.
But, as Ramita Navai describes in her recently published book about Tehran, City of Lies, there are high-rise buildings, shopping malls, Western brands, modernity and legendary hospitality.
Tehran is also a divided city. One of the longest streets in the world, Vasr Ali, charts the personality of Tehran and its residents. It stretches from the conservative, mainly poor, religious south, through the commercial center, and north to the foothills of the Alborz Mountains, home of the city’s elite.
Here, women arrive for dinner at sophisticated restaurants wearing stilettos, painted nails and thick layers of makeup. Since a post-revolution edict forcing women to wear black has finally overturned, color, in all its forms, has been embraced.
Many in the West find it hard to imagine Jews living in Iran, never mind able to pray freely. But they do, despite a sometimes-precarious existence.
Muslims view local Jews as a group shrouded in mystery. “We don’t know anything about them,” one Muslim in the neighborhood says. “I went to school with a Jewish boy, but our families didn’t socialize. They kept to their own community.”
“It wasn’t always like that,” Maryam, one of the worshippers at the synagogue explains. “We used to mix with Muslims. But after the revolution, when Iran became an Islamic state, we stopped. We turned inwards. Jews who were secular became religious and the observant even more so. Our synagogues became our social life.”
A few Muslims share anecdotes of playground anti-Semitism, encouraged by teachers, but members of the Jewish community insist these are isolated incidents.
Sara, a recent émigré, says whatever discrimination occurs is at a much more subtle, nuanced level. “If you own your own business, or work in a small, private office, it’s okay. But if you work at the university or in a civil job, it can be much more difficult.”
On Yom Kippur, there is no need for guards outside, as there would be at American or European synagogues. There, women, men and children of all ages are inside.
The women are beautiful and elegant, with brown, smoky eyes, straightened noses (an everyday procedure for Iranians), and long, black hair swept under colorful headscarves. Their government-mandated robes covering from neck to knee, display their individual style, in silks of cobalt blue, hot pink, saffron, green and every color of the rainbow. Many wear heels, some swathed in chiffon, draped to the ankles.
They talk about the optimism of the new political regime, how the recently elected President Hassan Rouhani has distanced himself from his predecessor’s approach, one that contentiously denied the Holocaust, and which created a long-lasting sense of insecurity within the Jewish community.
Rohani’s office wished Jews around the world a Happy Rosh Hashanah via Twitter. But some who voted for and celebrated his election say they’re disappointed promises to relax strict religious laws have so far not been fulfilled. Yet, there is hope that a law, demanding Jewish schools remain open on the Sabbath, will be overturned, together with legislation awarding entire inheritances to family members who convert to Islam.
There are still Jewish populations in Shiraz and Isfahan, cities that attract tourists for their historical and architectural sites.
Thousands of Jews left the country when the revolution destroyed the economy, practically wiping out entire communities. The slightly sleepy city of Yazd, for instance, once home to 5,000 Jews, now has fewer than 50. The only active synagogue feels like a one-room schoolhouse.
Davood, a man in his late fifties says there used to be a dozen active synagogues in Yazd, with young, vibrant congregations. Now, there are only about a dozen members under the age of 40. “The Jews of Yazd will die out with this generation,” Davood says, “maybe sooner.” Most have left Yazd for financial reasons; some have left to pursue higher education, professions, and marriage.
But Davood explains, “Many can’t afford to move. They have properties to sell, but who’s going to buy a house here?”
The decision to emigrate isn’t an easy one. Those who stay, say it’s too difficult to abandon families, good jobs, and their language, to start all over again. There’s also the unique problem of having to keep up with the incredibly successful Iranian Diaspora.
In Los Angeles, home to an estimated half a million Iranians, the largest population outside Iran; they make up 20 percent of Beverly Hills’ residents. Life in Iran may be easier for Jews who run their own businesses, but leaving those profitable enterprises behind makes the move even harder.
“Most of those who stay are living well. They have beautiful houses and beautiful cars,” says Sara.
They admit the environment is not perfect, but say that with their synagogues, and their freedom to worship as they wish, life in Iran is okay.
