Category Archives: Peace

Gaza: The Arrow Cannot Be Taken Back

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“When an arrow leaves the hand of a warrior he cannot take it back.” (Mechilta of Rabbi Ishmael, Beshallach, Shirah)

From this classic Jewish teaching we learn that violence unleashes a myriad of consequences that we can neither control nor reverse. Apropos of recent events, I take this to mean many things:

…when you loose tons and tons of bombs on a small patch of land inhabited by 1.5 million people, you will invariably kill a myriad civilians.

…we cannot begin to fathom the depths of grief and loss that Israel’s actions have brought upon scores of Gazans, their families and loved ones. Indeed, even in the wake of a fragile ceasefire the death toll continues to rise. (Read this article from today’s NY Times, which documents heartbreaking scenes of victims continuing to be pulled from the rubble weeks after they were killed).

…we cannot comprehend the anger and fury Israel’s actions have inspired in Gazans, Palestinians, and the Arab world at large. Yesterday I spoke with a Palestinian American friend who told me he had never seen the Arab streets so inflamed against Israel – and in many cases, against their own governments. (The anger of Egyptian citizens toward their goverment is frightening to behold).

…it is impossible to underestimate the damage this war has done to the already tenous prospects for peace between Israel and Palestine. Most analysts seem to agree that no matter whoever might be considered the military “victor” in this war, the moderate Fatah (at present Israel’s only Palestinian peace partner) is the heaviest political casualty. Moderate Arab countries are all the queasier about supporting the peace process and the Saudis are now under fire to pull their plan from the table.

This quote from the NY Times article above sums up the tragic new reality on the ground:

In the upper middle-class neighborhood of Tal al-Hawa, Ziad Dardasawi, 40, a wood importer, was trying to process what had happened. As a supporter of Fatah, a political rival of Hamas, Mr. Dardasawi said that he despised Hamas, but that its rocket fire was no justification for Israel’s military response.

“Let’s say someone from Hamas fired a rocket — is it necessary to punish the whole neighborhood for that?” he said, standing in a stairway of his uncle’s house, where furniture had been smashed, and all the windows broken.

He drew on an analogy he thought would strike a chord: “In the U.S., when someone shoots someone, is his entire family punished?”

The Israeli actions made the situation more intractable, he said. “How can I convince my neighbors now for the option of peace? I can’t.”

He added: “Israel is breeding extremists. The feeling you get is that they just want you to leave Gaza.”

(Photo: Tyler Hicks/NY Times)

Who Am I to Criticize?

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You have no idea what it is like to live here. You don’t understand what we live with every day. We are the ones who have to live with the consequences of this war. Who are you to criticize us?

In a very real way, of course, they’re are absolutely right. Though I visit Israel frequently and have spent a significant amount of time there, I have no idea what it is like to live and work and raise a family and makes one’s home in a country that is in a constant state of war against enemies within and without.

And I certainly cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to live  in Southern Israel during this most current crisis: to try and live a life with some sense of normalcy knowing that at any moment an air-raid siren could go off and afford you and your family mere moments to await the possibility of an incoming missile.

It is true and I must acknowledge it. American Jews do not live with the traumatic reality of this conflict. It is very different to relate to the war in Gaza from the comfort of our homes a world away rather than mere kilometers from the border. At the end of the day, I do admit to my Israeli friends that I cannot and will never understand what it must be like to live there.

But as someone who has identified deeply with Israel for his entire life, someone who has dear friends and family there, I write this with utmost honesty and respect: I reject the suggestion that I have no place speaking out against Israel’s actions simply because I don’t actually live there.

Who am I to criticize? I am a Jew – one of the many millions of diaspora Jews for whom the Jewish state was created. According to the official Zionist narrative, Israel is my Jewish inheritance, my Jewish national home. As a Jew living outside of Israel, I have been given the right to receive instant citizenship if I ever decide to actually move there (something, by the way, that scores of Palestinians whose families have lived in that land for generations cannot do). If Israel purports to relate to me thus, do I not have a voice in the discussion over the actions the Jewish state takes in the name of my people?

Who am I to criticize? I am American. I am a citizen whose country, the world’s largest superpower, supports Israel with significant economic and military aid. My tax dollars thus implicate me in a very real way with Israel’s national decisions – not least of which are its military actions.  I am also the citizen of a nation whose government has essentially given Israel a blank check to take numerous measures that I believe are counter to the cause of peace, including the expropriation of Palestinian lands, destruction of homes, injustice in military courts and widespread building of settlements in occupied Palestinian territory, to name but a few.

As I have written in earlier posts, I believe Israel’s response to Hamas’ missile attacks have been disproportionate and outrageous. I believe their actions only further endanger the security of  Israelis while inflicting collective punishment and a severe humanitarian crisis upon Gazans. Indeed, just as I cannot understand what it must be like to be a citizen of Sderot, I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to be a Gazan citizen at the moment, living under constant air attack, with no running water or electricity and dwindling food, as hospitals fill up with wounded and corpses lie rotting in the streets because relief workers are unable to reach them.

Do I believe that Palestinians bear their share of the blame in this crisis? Absolutely. As the cliche goes, there is certainly enough blame to go around. But as a Jew and an American, I am uniquely implicated in the actions Israel takes.  We Jews and Americans must bear our share of responsibility for this crisis. How far are we willing to go to contribute to a solution?

Israel and Gaza: One Geographer’s Prediction

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I am enormously grateful to those who’ve commented on my last two posts, which inspired the longest and liveliest conversation I’ve ever seen on this blog.  I know my that my words struck a nerve but I’m grateful to have facilitated a least a small measure of open discussion.

Speaking personally, my own anguish over this tragedy has only deepened during the past week – particularly as Israel’s ground invasion begins, the civilian death/casualty toll increases and headlines scream things at us like “Ceasefire Rejected” and “No End in Sight.”  Still and all, I seem to have retained a uniquely masochistic impulse to devour every news report and analysis that comes my way.

Amidst the myriad of articles, news reports and blog posts I have read this past week, the one that has stuck with me the longest is a five year old Jerusalem Post interview with Israeli geographer Arnon Soffer.  Soffer is widely regarded as the architect of Sharon’s disengagement plan and his insights (as morally repugnant as they are) are critical for our understanding of the actual intentions behind Israel’s pullout from Gaza.  In their tragically ironic way, I believe Soffer’s words are are profoundly important in helping us understand why it shouldn’t be such a surprise that things have now come to this.

A brief excerpt:

How will the region look the day after unilateral separation?

The Palestinians will bombard us with artillery fire – and we will have to retaliate. But at least the war will be at the fence – not in kindergartens in Tel Aviv and Haifa.

Will Israel be prepared to fight this war?

First of all, the fence is not built like the Berlin Wall. It’s a fence that we will be guarding on either side. Instead of entering Gaza, the way we did last week, we will tell the Palestinians that if a single missile is fired over the fence, we will fire 10 in response. And women and children will be killed, and houses will be destroyed. After the fifth such incident, Palestinian mothers won’t allow their husbands to shoot Kassams, because they will know what’s waiting for them.

Second of all, when 2.5 million people live in a closed-off Gaza, it’s going to be a human catastrophe. Those people will become even bigger animals than they are today, with the aid of an insane fundamentalist Islam. The pressure at the border will be awful. It’s going to be a terrible war. So, if we want to remain alive, we will have to kill and kill and kill. All day, every day.

While CNN has its cameras at the wall?

If we don’t kill, we will cease to exist. The only thing that concerns me is how to ensure that the boys and men who are going to have to do the killing will be able to return home to their families and be normal human beings.

Click below to read the entire article.

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Israel and Gaza: In Search of a New Moral Calculus

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I knew my last post would generate passionate comments – and I confess that I did hesitate before posting something so patently emotional. I went ahead though, because as I read the increasingly tragic news about the Israel-Gaza conflict, I’m consciously resisting the knee-jerk impulse to paper over my emotions with dispassionate analysis. It’s becoming clear to me that our attempts to be “rational” keep us from facing the inherent irrationality of this conflict.

Of course the Qassam attacks against Southern Israel have been intolerable. Of course Hamas bears its share of responsibility for this conflict. But beyond the rhetorical “well, he started it” arguments (which could stretch well back to 1948 and beyond) there remains the central question: what will bring safety, security and ultimately peace to this tortured region? I realize there are no easy answers, but I believe to my marrow that it will not come by sending in the war planes and reducing what’s left of Gaza to rubble.

Does anyone in their right mind truly think this abject destruction will ultimately bring safety and security to Southern Israel?  In the end, Every Gazan killed equals that many more family members and friends who will now be forever enraged and inflamed against the Jewish state. If peace depends largely on cultivating moderates on the other side, what does blowing them to smithereens accomplish? Believe me, if Israel ultimately thinks their attacks will turn Gazans against Hamas, they will be sorely disappointed. If forced to choose between Israel and Hamas, who do we really think they will choose now?

But even more than the strategic considerations, I am infinitely more troubled by the deeper moral implications of Israel’s military actions. Yes, it is true that Hamas chose to end the ceasefire and yes, Israel has few good options. But it was ultimately Israel who made the decision to bombard Gaza with a massive air attack, loosing many several hundreds of bombs into densely populated city center, virtually guaranteeing widespread civilian carnage and death.

As I write these words, I can already predict the standard moral calculus: “Yes, but Hamas purposely launches Qassams into civilian areas while Israel tries to minimize civilian casualties whenever possible.”  I’m coming to realize that pat rhetorical equations like these might serve to help us sleep better at night, but they don’t change some basic unavoidable truths: that in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the military power dynamic is heavily weighted in Israel’s favor, that Hamas’ Qassams are but peashooters against Israel’s armed might and ultimately, as traumatic as it undoubtedly is to live in Sderot, Palestinian civilian casualties vastly outnumber Israel’s. And in the end, it matters little to the loved one of a dead civilian whether or not his/her death was caused intentionally or by “collateral damage.”

From what I can tell, Israel’s response to this latest bloody go-round amounts to: “We regret if civilians are killed, but they started it and anyhow that’s what happens in war.”  I certainly understand how Israel, a nation that has been in a constant state of war and conflict since its inception might develop such a moral trope. But whatever comfort it might afford us in the short term, it will not ultimately provide us with a path to peace – only a rationalization for prolonging the bloody status quo.

That’s all for now. Thank you for your comments and please keep them coming. And let’s pray for better news tomorrow.

Home From Iran, Final Thoughts

brant-ayatollah1During our final night in Iran, I was interviewed at length by two reporters from a Tehran newspaper. I mentioned to them that during my High Holiday sermon to my congregation, I noted that Americans (and especially American Jews) chronically misunderstand Iran. I told the reporters that ironically enough, I learned on this trip that I really hadn’t understood Iran nearly as well as I had thought myself.

The most essential thing I’ve learned is in some ways the most basic: Iran is a beautiful country with a venerable history and wonderful, gracious people. It is also a powerfully complicated country, marked by a myriad of cultural/political/religious/historical layers.  I am now more convinced than ever that we in the West harbor egregiously stereotypical assumptions about this country – and that we harbor them at our mutual peril.

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We spoke to many Iranian citizens during this trip and probably the most common comment we heard was that they had no problems with Americans – and that the real problem lay with our respective governments. (On more than one occasion, I heard this said in regard to Israel as well.)  While I realize that statements like these probably reflect characteristically Iranian t’aarof, (“graciousness”), I don’t underestimate their abiding truth. I do believe that we ultimately have more in common than not. I do believe that our respective governments continually misunderstand and misuse one another.  And I do believe that true communication and reconciliation between our two nations is not only possible, but utterly essential.

The challenge of communication was driven home to us over and over during the course of our formal meetings and dialogues. It became fairly clear to us fairly soon that even with direct face to face conversation, even with decent interpreters, miscommunication was virtually inevitable. And though these kinds of miscues might have seemed to us to be fairly benign at the time, we came to appreciate that even subtle misunderstandings had important implications.

More often than not, these barriers were due to cultural differences where words/idioms could not be simply translated literally in a single rendering.  And I can’t help but believe that many of the more ominous assumptions we hold about Iran and Iranians are due less to substance than to cultural misunderstanding. While I prefer not to weigh in on the rhetorical hairsplitting debate on Ahmadinejad’s notorious 2005 “threat” to “wipe Israel off the map,” I’ll only suggest that our attitudes (not to mention our foreign policy) must be based on real intelligence and understanding, and not fear-based, knee-jerk assumptions.

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None of this is to sugar-coat the more disturbing aspects of the Islamic Republic. If our delegation was ever tempted to do so, we received a hard dose of reality when we read in the Tehran Times about a public hanging of two men convicted of bombing a mosque that was scheduled to take place in Shiraz shortly after we were there. Yes, we are justified in recoiling from reports such as these – and we’d be foolish to deny that there are troubling human rights issues that Iran would do well to address. But at the end of the day, the solutions to these problems are certainly not ours to impose.

As a matter of fact, the Iranian human rights community has been confronting these issues for some time. And it is worth noting that their fight for peace and justice serves as a challenge to us as well. On the final night of our stay in Iran several women from our delegation met with members of Iranian Mothers for Peace, an anti-war NGO founded by courageous women, many of whom  have done time in Iranian prisons for speaking out against the injustices of the  Islamic Republic. But they have also gone on record against the US war in Iraq and in particular against a potential US attack on Iran.

From one of their public letters:

To all peace-loving mothers of America,

We are addressing you from the Middle East. Our motherly instincts compel us to share a common pain with those of you whose children are fighting in the Iraq war. Iranian Mothers for Peace is an independent organization that was established in October 2007 to object the war and warmongers both in Iran and the United States of America. We are diverse in terms of ethnicity, religion, and ideology. Iranian Mothers for Peace opposes war, human rights abuses, injustice, and poverty…

The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are costing each American family $25,000 a year during a time in which the United States is in an economic crisis, with many citizens still lacking health care and economic stability.  Once again American Government officials are singing the ominous song of war – this time against Iran. It is unjust for our children to be killed and murdered while the weapons manufacturers and oil monopolies collect blood money.

Therefore, we are asking all of you peace-loving American mothers to oppose the war and those who are inciting the war in order to prevent this mistake from happening again. Please do not let our children draw weapons against each other. Please do not allow the decision makers to force Iranian, American, Iraqi, and Afghani mothers to suffer from pain and heartbreak for their children forced into fighting unjust wars.

As I read these words, I’m reminded of the many remarkable, inspired individuals we met on our journey:  Dr. Raffi, committed to serving a Jewish community that makes its home in an Islamic Republic; Habib, who seeks peace by bearing witness through his art; Dr. Rasoulipour, who devotes his life to religious understanding and tolerance, but to name a few.

So in the end I find myself returning to the subject of understanding – a concept that seems to be in such painfully short supply these days. If anything, I believe our trip highlighted for us the critical need for mutual understanding. Such a simple thing, yet somehow still so tragically elusive in our world.

There’s so much more to say, and perhaps I’ll have the opportunity to say it somehow down the line. For now, these are the impressions that will live with me forever: a beautiful country with an exquisite heritage. A gracious, poetic people who showed us the true meaning of honor and hospitality. And perhaps the most important: a reminder, despite all reports to the contrary, of our common humanity.

I can only hope that our experience can, in its small way, help bring this blessing to a world that needs it now more than ever. Inshallah…p1000128

Pickup at Hafez’s Tomb

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We’ve spent the last two days in Shiraz – and among other things our experience in this beautiful city gave us a still deeper into to Persia’s soul.

We’ve been told that while Esfahan is generally considered to represent Iran’s historical spirit, Shiraz reflects Iran’s cultural spirit. Indeed, while Iran is an Islamic Republic, Islam is not the only defining aspect of Iranian identity.

Among our many visits in Shiraz was a visit to Zoastrian Fire Temple. Zoastrianism was the religion of the ancient Persian empire and remained so until the Arab conquest converted Persia to Islam in the 7th century. Today, although the active Zoastrian community of Iran is extremely small (there are approximately 1,000 in the country) it continues to occupy an important place in Persian culture. All Iranians regardless of their religion identify with the traditions of Zoastrianism, which is in a sense regarded to be their “native religious culture.” The festival of Yalda, which occurs during the Winter Solstice and Noruz, the two week spring celebration of the Zoastrian New Year, are universally popular national holidays.

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It would have been extremely interesting to dialogue with members of the Zoastrian community, but alas, we learned at the last minute that they were not available to meet us at the Temple. Still, it has been impossible for us to ignore the impact of this ancient religion upon present day Iran. The image of Ahura Mazda, the Zoastrian God, is ubiquitous throughout the country, not only at the ancient ruins of Persepolis (above), but on travel signs, office buildings and souvenir stands.

An interesting anecdote in this regard: when we were at Mofid University in Qom, one young student of Islam proudly showed me his Ahura Mazda necklace, and told me this image was an important part of his history. When I asked if any of his clerical teachers objected, he emphatically shook his head. “It is an important part of our history,” he said. To be sure, more than one person has told us that the Islamic regime is lenient about such things because it understands the importance role Zoastrianism plays in the cultural life of Persia

Another central aspect of the Iranian collective soul, of course, is their poetry. Iranians are justifiably proud of their literary tradition; every Iranian child is read Ferdowsi’s epic “Shahnameh” as well as national poets such as Hafez, Saadi and Rumi.  The more time we spend here, the more I realize we can never underestimate the depth of pride that Iranians have in their national/cultural traditions. It is a modern-day nation can literally experience its own history back across thousands and thousands of years. And though they have been dominated by countless empires over the centuries, they have never surrendered their unique connection their culture, their heritage, their history, their language.

This is something that is very difficult for Americans in particular to grasp – our national history goes back little more than 200 years and most of us ultimately originate from somewhere else. While we study American history, our connection to it is nowhere near as profound at that of Iranians to theirs’.  At the same time, for most Americans, Iran is just another Islamic nation in the Middle East. However, you have only to spend a small amount of time here to understand that this country is much, much more.

I’m sure this sounds like a cliché, but it’s true: in order to understand Iranians, you must understand their poetry. Or at the very least, to their deep connection to their poetry that truly sings in their soul. For example, among the most important cultural landmarks in Iran are the tombs of their poets, which serve as almost quasi-sacred sites. Last night we went to two of the most important in Shiraz: the Tomb of Saadi and of Hafez. I’m still at bit mind-blown by our experience at Hafez’s tomb in particular (top pic), which was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s an immensely popular site for Iranians, particularly young Iranian young people, whose idea of a great evening is to visit Hafez’s tomb and read his spiritually passionate poems of wine, longing and romance (see below). It’s also something of a romantic hot spot, where young people can mingle, meet and (I imagine) maybe even get lucky…

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We’ve heard that the social atmosphere in Shiraz is a bit looser than in other Iranian cities, and that the regime’s “Morality Police” tend to let things go there a bit more easily. And apparently the Tomb of Hafez is one of the few places in Iran where young people of the opposite sex can mingle together publically without few of official harassment.

This certainly seemed to be the case last night. Throngs gathered near and around the crypt, reading poems, laughing and chatting. We spent a fair amount of time meeting and talking to folks and wouldn’t you know it, inevitably someone from our group got hit upon. Sarah Bassin reported later that a young man approached her, asked her where she was from, told her about how bad his marriage was, then proclaimed to her: “Your face is delicious.”

After teasing Sarah mercilessly about her quintessentially Persian encounter, we all agreed that our brief sojourn at Hafez’s tomb was unexpectedly and deeply moving. I’d say there is much we Americans can learn from a culture as profound as this one.

Farewell to Esfahan

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We’ve spent the last two days in Esfahan and we’re leaving for Shiraz early tomrrow morning. There is much to say about our stay in this gorgeous historic city – most of our time has been spent touring exquite 17th century mosques, hiking about massive, majestic Imam Square which stretches out for more than 80,000 square meters and is one of the largest city squares in the world. Have also been speaking extensively with the locals. All of the above has been richly and profoundly rewarding.

For this one, I’ll just let the pictures do the talking…

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Dialogue in Qom

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We’re in Esfahan now (unquestionably one of the most stunning cities I’ve ever visited) but I want to tell you first about our day yesterday, which we spent at Mofid University in the city of Qom.

Qom is considered a holy city for Shia Islam and is the largest center for Shia scholarship in the world. In addition to traditional Islam, most of the seminaries also offer courses in social sciences, Western thought and comparative religion. Mofid is considered one of the more liberal universities in Qom and is notable in particular for its interfaith research.

We spent the better part of the day at Mofid, visiting and dialoguing with professors and students. Any preconceptions we may have had about an Islamic university in Iran went out of the window almost immediately. We introduced ourselves to our host and the professors introduced themselves to us – they included scholars who were versed in a remarkable variety of subjects including Jewish law, contemporary feminism and Western philosophy. That’s me above with Dr. Masoud Adib, who among other things has translated a book by Dr. Jacob Neusner (a prominent American Jewish scholar) into Farsi. In the pic below Rabbi Lynn (left) poses with Fatima (center) a graduate student who is currently studying Rashi’s commentary on the Torah and has translated the Book of Mormon into Farsi. On the right is Haydeh Rostam Abadi, who works with the Center for Interreligious Dialogue and has been traveling with us for the past few days. Her research, among other things, focuses on a comparison of the Catholic and Islamic concepts of revelation.

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Our discussion took the better part of two hours. The professors discussed their study of the relationsip between Islam and the other religious traditions and their research in the fields of comparative religious philosophy and law. The theological validity and spiritual worth of all Abrahamic religions was a common and recurring theme . Members of our group also spoke about Jewish and Christian attitudes toward Islam. Our discussion was relatively brief in the scheme of things, but it was enough to give us all the sense that these Islamic scholars were deeply engaged in a wide spectrum of religious and philosophical ideas and that they had an abiding desire to meet and learn from others.

After our meeting we shared lunch with teachers and students and continued our conversation in a more informal manner. This was followed by a longer conversation with the thoughtful and enthusiastic students of Mofid. In the pic below, one of our younger delegation members, Ariel Vegosen (right) is chatting up a group of young students.

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What can I say? Another day for smashing assumptions and preconceived notions to smithereens. I’m off to sleep now, but I’ll come back soon and tell you about our first day in ravishing Esfahan…

Rainy Day in Tehran

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Our last day in Tehran was a rainy one, beginning with a visit to the headquarters of the Tehran Jewish Committee (roughly the equivalent of the Iranian Jewish Federation). We spoke at length with Committee President Rahmat ollah Raffi, who gave us a thorough tutorial on the Iranian Jewish community. In short: there are roughly 20 – 22,000 Jews in Iran. The majority live in Tehran, followed by Shiraz and Esfahan. Jews have had a long and noble presence in Persia – they have lived there for almost 3000 years, making them the oldest Diaspora Jewish community in the world.

Before 1979, there were over 100,000 Jews in Iran. As many were royalist supporters of the Shah, tens of thousands of Jews emigrated following the Islamic revolution. Most now live in the United States – there are approximately 40,000 Iranian Jews living in Los Angeles alone. The Jews who chose to remain in Iran, however, are fiercely proud of their Persian Jewish heritage and those with whom we spoke told us they feel very comfortable living as Jews in an Islamic nation. Judaism, along with Christianity and Zoastrianism, are officially recognized religions, which allows them to get significant subsidies from the government as well as Parliamentary representation. (It was pointed out to us that while the Iranian Constitution stipulates one member for every community of 500,000, the Jewish community has been granted a representative even though they only number 20,000).

The Tehran Jewish Committee (and other Jewish centers in smaller Jewish communities) supports a variety of community institutions, including synagogues, religious schools, kosher butchers and restaurants, and Jewish cemeteries. They also support major Jewish medical center in Tehran about which they spoke with particular pride. The Dr. Sapir Hospital was founded 60 years ago and was originally the only hospital serving the Jewish community in Iran. It now has 120 beds and only 5% or so of their patients are Jewish. Most of the physicians, however, are Jewish and many of them have received awards from the government. Remarkably, Sapir Hospital receives no money from outside Iran. (Pic below: Alan Gratch and FOR Executive Director Mark Johnson at the entrance to the Center office).iran4-001

The Center is also extremely active in Jewish cultural projects: they publish a Jewish magazine called “Bima,” and have begun publishing cultural/religious books in Farsi. All told, the activities of the Iranian Jewish Committee point to a strong Jewish community. One leader told us that they considered themselves to be Iranian Jews rather than Jewish Iranians – their strong connection to Persian heritage is in many ways the primary and driving aspect of their Jewish identities.

The Jewish leaders with whom we met stressed repeatedly that they have good relations with the Islamic government and said that they strive to remain apolitical in all their dealings. In certain ways, however, it seemed to me that for them, “apolitical” meant toeing the Iranian political party line. Their attitude toward Israel is the most primary example – whenever they spoke of Israel, it was invariably in a disparaging manner characteristic of official Iranian government pronouncements. Although they insist they live well as Jews in Iran, it seemed clear to me that they’re extremely careful not to make waves.

Though it’s hard to imagine that Iranian Jews don’t feel their existence in the Islamic Republic isn’t precarious to some extent, we still came away from our meeting with the impression that this was a vital community with a strong sense of itself and its heritage. One man we spoke to said that religious Jews generally welcome the opportunity to live in a religious nation. He added with sadness that Iranian Jews who emigrate to America tend to assimilate into secular American culture. Here in Iran, he said, Muslim religiosity tends to dovetail with Jewish religiosity, especially with those customs that are similar to Islamic customs like head covering or regular daily prayer. (Check out the interesting pic at the top: our meeting room at the Jewish Committee’s office: note the wall with the Jewish Ten Commandments next to the pictures of Ayatollahs Khomeini and Khameini…)

Even with all the complexities involved, I can’t help but feel that we American Jews are missing out on a huge opportunity by failing to learn about and forge greater ties with Iranian Jewry. This is truly an exciting and vibrant community and we clearly have a lot to learn from each other. I’m excited with the prospect of building upon the relationships that we’re creating here.

The other highlight of our day was a visit with Habib Ahmadzadeh, an Iranian writer, filmmaker and peace activist. Habib, who we met through Leila, is a veteran of the Iran-Iraq war. He was sixteen years old and living in a West Iranian border town when the Iraqi army invaded and he spent the next eight years defending his home town. Most of Habib’s creative work deals with war – and with the Iran-Iraq war in particular. One of his novels was recently translated into English and he wrote the screenplay for the acclaimed Iranian feature film, “Night Bus,” based on one of his short stories. (That’s me and Habib in the pic below):iran4-003

We met Habib in his Tehran office, where he screened the film for us. It’s a powerful war drama about a teenage Iranian soldier who is given the job of escorting 38 Iraqi POWs on a bus to prison camp. In our conversation afterwards, we learned that the majority of the events in the movie were based on his own war experiences.

We in the West know very little about this eight year war, but it for Iranians it continues to be a traumatic and transformative event. Almost an entire generation of young Iraqis were decimated by the Iran-Iraq war, in which hundreds of thousands of young, ill-equipped Iranian men were sent in human wave attacks to almost certain death. Many, including Habib, are living with the terrible after affects of chemical weapons poisoning.

In addition to his creative work, Habib is a committed anti-war activist. His production company recently took “Night Bus” to the western border towns to screen for young people in the small western communities where the war was fought. He hopes to show the film to greater numbers of Iraqis as well, to help raise consciousness about war and its tragic after affects.

Habib has also worked considerably to raise awareness about the downing of an Iranian passenger plane by an American warship, the USS Vincennes, in 1988. 290 Iranian civilians died in this tragedy, which the US government originally covered up and for which it has never apologized. (Adding insult to tragedy, some officers of the Vincennes were actually awarded medals in the wake of the disaster). Again, most Americans barely remember this event, if they remember it at all. But as Habib and others have told us, Flight 655 is Iran’s 9/11 – and it remains as yet one more painful obstacle to Iranian-American reconciliation.

Habib has gained some fame for a public letter he wrote to the Captain of the Vincennes, Will Rogers III, who remains implacably unrepentant to this day. It’s a remarkable document, filled with pain, but also a powerful palpable desire for reconciliation. In its way, I think, it seems to speak for many in this country.

Tommorow we’re off to Qom to dialogue with Muslim scholars at Mofid University.