Throughout my service I remained in touch with my household and asked after them. I knew that conditions were hard: Jews and other minorities could not move about as freely as the rest of the population. In one sense I was glad not to be in the large city; in another I regretted being away, for perhaps I could have helped.
At times I was filled with anger and grief that my religion was regarded as inferior and worthless. It was beyond my power to change this. Everywhere we were insulted and driven out, until genocide was committed against us. We were a people schooled in suffering, and waiting for these troubles to end sometimes stirred bitterness in me even at belonging to such a people.
I reflected on this often. I feared the suffering would never end, because the Jews had no master, leader, or other nation to defend them. Other peoples stood upright and confident, acting in the knowledge that there was not always anyone to make them answer for what they did.
The same was visible in the street. If ten gentiles attacked one Jew, another Jew hesitated to come to his aid, knowing that he too would be beaten. If this was true among individuals, how much more among nations: who would come to save us? An attacker did not come alone; he gathered companions. Our enemies as peoples also knew that we possessed courage, and so joined together to keep us few and weak.
People say that the Jewish mind is clever. I believe all human beings were created equal. Our intelligence was not a mysterious gift but the fruit of necessity: we bowed our heads in order to survive and strained our minds in order to defend ourselves. Others called us clever or cunning, yet were unwilling to acknowledge the courage they saw. Even the word “clever” warned those who meant to attack us that they must prepare carefully.
With no other power in the world on which to lean, we gave our lives and energy to trade and survived by it. We were sometimes called “the cowardly Jew,” but I knew enough stories to prove the opposite.
Two brothers I knew, Tela and Moses, had no work and joined the Iranian gendarmerie.1 They distinguished themselves and received decorations for bravery. Wherever they served, banditry ceased; before planning a raid, outlaws first asked whether the brothers were stationed in the area and changed their plans if they were. Their reputation grew until people said their strength equalled an entire division. Even senior officers would not venture on inspection without them. Yet after thirty years in the gendarmerie, neither received even the lowest rank—because they were Jews.
I also remembered Shala, son of Dava Baba, of whom I wrote earlier. When the Iranian army fled from the Kuhna Shahr quarter, he fought the Armenians and shouted after the soldiers not to run. They ignored him, and he held the front alone. According to the story, he killed twelve fighters, took their weapons, and left. He later lived with his children in Rishon LeZion and died there. I tried three times to visit him but never managed to meet him, though I knew other stories about him.
When I remembered such men, I knew that no one could say our people lacked courage. It was circumstance that forced them to bend and diminish through the generations.
A friend from Başkale told me another story from the First World War. The town stood on a mountainside facing a broad plain. It changed hands several times and was for a period occupied by Russian forces. They entered the houses and stationed two brigades in the military camp.
One morning Navruz and forty Kurdish soldiers descended from the mountains shouting, “Allah! Allah!” Hearing the uproar, the Russians believed a large force was upon them and fled towards the plain. Their stores fell into the attackers’ hands. On the plain they entered an ambush, and according to the story none survived. The Russians later returned in strength, and the entire population was forced to flee.
Many refugees headed for Mosul. Arab bandits lay along the road, stripping the fugitives of everything, and many reached the city destitute. Among the refugee groups was a Jewish party led by Moses and Tela. They fought the bandits on several occasions, surrendered not a single possession, and reached Mosul with all their belongings. To me, this story too testified to their courage.