For Jews in America, Purim recalls events that took place in a faraway country, in a city with a funny, almost fairy-tale name: Shushan. But what if Shushan were as close as New York is to Boston? What if Esther had grown up in Chicago, or you could visit her grave in Washington, D.C., like an ancient Lincoln Memorial?
That was the privilege of the Jews of Iran, a community of 80,000 before the revolution in 1979. Many made the pilgrimage to the city of Hamadan where, under a simple brick dome, two ancient wooden tombs still lie side by side. One, draped in shimmering cloths, is labeled "Ester" in English and Hebrew; the other, also swathed in vibrant color, reads "Mordekhay."
Parvaneh Sarraf remembers visiting at the age of 19, on a family vacation from her hometown of Shiraz. "People were standing and praying, giving tzedakah, lighting candles," recalls Sarraf, teacher, adult educator, and assistant principal at North Shore Hebrew Academy in Great Neck, N.Y. The tombs lay sandwiched between two rooms—an anteroom in which people removed their shoes, and another which held a Torah scroll and religious objects people had donated. On Purim, people brought and read their megillot at the tombs. "Since Purim happened in Iran we feel much closer to it," says Sarraf. "We had tangible places to go to, to remember."
The city of "Shush" still exists in Iran today. Hamadan, almost 120 miles north of Shush, was the summer residence of King Ahasuerus, according to “The Comprehensive History of the Jews in Iran,” by Dr. Habib Levi. When the king died, he writes, Esther did not feel safe in Shushan and fled to Ectabana—modern-day Hamadan—where she was sure the large Jewish population would shelter her. Scholars have not verified the burial site as that of Purim's heroes, but no matter—that is the tradition.
The Persian Jewish community, which is over 2,500 years old, has dispersed to Israel, California, and New York, but for the 25,000 Jews left in Iran, the mausoleum remains a sacred space. Neglected for centuries, it was renovated during the reign of Mongols in the 13th century, when a Jewish minister served in the court. In 1961, a major earthquake damaged the structure and the Jewish community association of Tehran, which oversaw Jewish organizations around the country, supervised its restoration.
"During the year I worked on the project, no matter what difficulties I had in business or with people, I would think about the restoration and it lifted the burdens off my shoulders," says Ruhollah Monasebian, who oversaw the project. Monasebian, 89, now of Great Neck, recalls that the arched doorway to the tomb was intentionally low. "No matter who the person—the highest dignitary to the common person—you have to bow in order to enter."
Purim was more than a one-day extravaganza in Iran. To commemorate the three-day fast Queen Esther proclaimed, people fasted for a day a week before Purim, recalls Dr. Jack Moallem, a pediatric immunologist from Tehran, now of Great Neck. In Sarraf's community, some fasted for three days. The Purim celebration itself continued for two days, beginning on the 14th of Adar, and extending into the next day, "Shushan Purim." According to the megillah, the Jews in Shushan made the 15th a "day of feasting and gladness," and that day is still observed in cities that are or were walled as Shushan was. By the early- to mid-20th century, the fast was moved to the day before Purim, when Ta'nait Esther is observed in all other communities, and the celebration was limited to one day, says Moallem.
"When Haman's name was heard in the synagogue, there was great noise," says Moallem. "Congregants stamped their feet; those who had their own megillot used the handles to knock on the bench or chair, and everyone uttered a loud ‘Ummmmm.’” Families and guests gathered at home, where the megillah was read again, followed by festivities with card-playing and gambling, in keeping with the theme of Purim as the feast of lots.
The women took pride in cooking and serving a special halvah, which was also sent as mishloah manot. Made of roasted rice or wheat flour and sugared water, it was cut into diamonds and decorated with slivered almonds or pistachios. Each city had its own recipe, using different spices—cilantro seed, cardamom, saffron, dates, rosewater. "Maybe it was our way of emulating the offerings in the Temple, which were made of flour and oil," Moallem speculates. Mourners also brought halvah to the synagogue; a blessing (she-hakol)was recited before eating it. "The aroma was thought to be good for the neshama, the soul of the deceased," says Moallem. "The neshama doesn't eat or drink, but good smells make it happy."
Though costume parties and carnivals only came into vogue in the 20th century, imported from Israel, "Purim was like an American Chanukah for us," says Sarraf. Adults and children gave and received gifts. "I got my first watch on Purim," says Sarraf, "and a leather knapsack in fourth grade."
Rabbi David Shofet of Nessah Israel Congregation and Education Center in Santa Monica, Calif., offers another custom from the community of Kashan: if a couple was engaged, the man was expected to go to his fiancée's house and read the megillah. "It was a test," says Shofet. "Not everyone could do it."
Children and their families made cloth effigies of Haman, hung them in the courtyards of their homes and burned them (a little kerosene and a match did the trick) with adult supervision. In Shiraz, says Sarraf, the effigy was crafted from a mustachioed and belted pillow; children hit it with a stick, pinata-style, until the feathers fell out, then burned it. "It was wishful thinking," says Shofet, who grew up in Tehran. "In the Islamic dynasties in Iran until 1925, when Reza Pahlevi came to power, there was much persecution and fanaticism. People may have been trying to express their inner rage at their suffering." The ideas of Haman never die, he adds. "The outside cover changes but inside the fanaticism is the same."
The history of the Jews of Mashad provides one example. In 1736, Nader Shah, the ruler of Iran, enticed 40 Jewish families to move to his new capital of Mashad with promises of privileges and financial incentives, says Moallem. But the Jews were confined to ghetto-like neighborhoods in the fervently Moslem city. In 1839, a pogrom incited by rumor resulted in a decree against the Jews: conversion or death. Over 200 families converted, but continued to practice Judaism secretly, marrying within the community in order to preserve their Judaism. Though they now can practice Judaism openly, they remain tightly knit communities wherever they live today.
"Purim tells the truth about what it has been like for Jews to live in many countries throughout the world. Too often we have been blamed for a country's problems," says Sarraf. "But Purim is about survival. By the wisdom of women we were saved. Esther was there in the moment we needed her."
Shahnaz Goldman, Monasebian's daughter, says Persian women are more connected to Esther in America then they were in Iran. "Every Purim there's a certain pride we take because Esther comes from our country," says Goldman, who married an American of Ashkenazic background. In Iran girls did not receive any formal Jewish education, says Goldman, 56. She became bat mitzvah 24 years ago, part of the first bat mitzvah class at Temple Israel of Great Neck, a Conservative synagogue. "The connection to Esther is from here," says Goldman. "When my father helped renovate the tomb, I was a little girl, but I didn't know the significance of it. I knew she was the queen in the story, but I didn't know the full history and content."
The Iranian community today blends American and Persian Purim customs. Not surprisingly, a special chapter of Hadassah in Great Neck, comprised of Persian women, is called Esther; one of California's two Persian chapters is Malka (Queen). Sarraf draws inspiration from Esther's story for the role of Iranian Jewish women today. "Esther, which means ‘star’ in Persian [Ashtar] was "beautiful, brave and smart enough to know how to live in two worlds," she says. "This is wisdom. The queen didn't forget where she came from. We keep our faith no matter what."
Rahel Musleah is an award-winning journalist and author of the forthcoming "Apples & Pomegranates: A Rosh Hashanah Seder" (Lerner/Kar-Ben). She presents programs on Purim and other Jewish holidays. Please visit her website, www.rahelsjewishindia.com.
