The Torn Iranian American Jew

My father served the ‪‎Iranian‬ government for over thirty years.

With the majority of his friends and colleagues ‪Muslim‬, few ‪‎Persian‬ Jews know of him now.

He pulled himself out of poverty, away from the misery of losing his own father at a young age. He reached one of the highest positions a ‪‎Jew‬ had achieved in 1979.

All his savings went to buy a beautiful apartment complex in ‪Tehran‬. We lived on the first floor, with a large backyard, a garden and an empty pool. The other four floors above were rented out, as he waited for his four sons to grow up, get married and take one floor each, keeping the ‪‎family‬ nucleus intact, so that he could finally enjoy what he did not have as a child.

As happens in life, we plan and ‪God‬ laughs- but I think God has a full on belly laugh with Jews.

His adult life was dedicated to strengthening Iran, advancing its mining, engineering, infrastructure. I still hear the sounds of the water canal running next to our home, how we left the door wide open so that the breeze would usher in the smell of the air mixed with the droplets of the roaring water, music to his ears.

He lost it all with the ‪‎revolution‬.

We, Jews of Iran, are ‪‎torn‬ on so many levels, it is hard to explain. We love the people of Iran. We love Israel. We are Jews before we belong to any country. We are American. We hate oppressive regimes. We detest those who wish our destruction. Still every generation rises up to destroy us. We are diverse.

So when an ‪‎American‬ president (for whom the majority of Jews voted twice) pushes a deal that can potentially harm the people of Iran and the people of Israel and the people of ‪America‬- ‪‎wounds‬ open, bleed, sizzle and make ours eyes tear.

I now realize why that pool was left empty.

Shabbat Shalom.