Uninvited Guests

The practice of forced hospitality continued even after the brothers’ conflict ended. Every day twenty or thirty horsemen entered the town and dispersed among the houses. Almost every Jewish home had soldiers staying in it; besides food and a bed, they demanded spending money for the market. We lived this way for roughly six months.

One day five Kurds lodged in our house. After four days they packed and left shortly before the Sabbath. We breathed with relief. At home were my father¹, then about sixty, my elder brother Avraham², and my younger brother, who could neither hear nor speak. We went to synagogue and returned to the table my mother had prepared.

Then came a pounding at the door. Night had fallen; before we could respond, the men outside tried to force it open. “Who is it?” we asked. “Mehman!” — guest — came the reply.³ Avraham sprang up and slammed the door. My father called out, “Five guests have only just left us. Go to another house!”

The men struck the door with their rifle butts. Frightened, my father moved to open it, but Avraham stopped him. One Kurd shouted at us, “Middinettego çühü der veke!”⁴ The door, built to resist robbers, held firm.

Most of the men went away, but one remained and searched for another entrance. He climbed onto the adjoining roofs, from which one could cross almost the entire quarter. Lost among them, he called to a Kurdish neighbour named Hajo and asked for the roof of David‘s house. One of Hajo’s children pointed out the way and fled.

It was late February. Snow on the roofs had frozen into slick ice, and moonlight made the whole scene visible. The man jumped from roof to roof, slipped, and fell flat on his face. Cursing that he had broken a tooth⁵, he recovered and managed to enter the house.

Still dazed from the fall, he aimed his rifle at Avraham. My brother seized the barrel, forced it upward, and drove the butt into the man’s face. My younger brother, unaware of the commotion because he could not hear it, suddenly saw the intruder, knocked off his cap, and hurled him to the floor. He kept striking even after the man lost consciousness, until my father had to bite his hand to make him stop.

The intruder’s cries brought his companions back. They fired at the door, and a crowd gathered outside. Russian soldiers also arrived; seeing the numbers, the Kurds withdrew. Members of the community went to the Iranian police station and returned with an officer and a constable. On the way, they slipped the officer a substantial sum to secure his goodwill.

The officer called for my father to open the door. The square was now full of people. The unconscious man was placed on a ladder and carried to hospital; his rifle was handed to the officer. My father remained afraid, knowing that the story would reach Simko.

It did. Simko asked which Jew had beaten his man. When told that it was someone unable to hear or speak, he remembered my brother. On two occasions my brother had made boots for him; Simko had been so pleased that he paid double and promised help in time of trouble. Now he kept that promise and harshly rebuked his men.

Neighbours came to ask after my brother and pray for him. Everyone said we were fortunate that Simko had remembered him. Soon afterwards Simko issued an order forbidding his men to lodge in Jewish homes. For the first time in months, the burden on the community grew a little lighter.