Salmas

I was born in 1909 in Nevāhi-ye Sharqiya, on the northwestern edge of Iran¹, near the Ottoman border. In our region lay the town of Kohna Shahr — “the old city”² — with roughly three thousand households, most of them Muslim and Armenian.

Our small Jewish community, numbering about seventy families, lived among these groups. The residents’ homes were spread across separate quarters according to religious and communal affiliation. The Muslims, Shi’a and Sunni, had a large mosque, as well as a mausoleum of particular importance. A covered bazaar stood at the town’s center, with a khan, shops, and lively commerce. In the Armenian quarter stood a church known as Mar Ya’qub³.

The mausoleum carried a special right of sanctuary⁴. Even fugitives who found refuge there were considered protected: anyone who entered — Muslim or a member of one of the minority communities — would not be handed over to the authorities. Only after prolonged negotiations would the person emerge, generally free. To the best of my recollection, this custom remained in force throughout all the years I lived in Iran.

The Jews likewise lived in a quarter of their own, where daily life was relatively comfortable. The seventy families had two synagogues, and the neighborhood covered a broad area. Beside each house was a garden of roughly two thousand square meters, planted with fruit trees. A school operated under the supervision of the community’s hakham, and nearly everyone in the community could read from the Torah.

Most Jews made their living through trade, and many owned clothing shops. They were not permitted to sell food because the local Shi’a regarded members of other religions as “unclean.” To earn a livelihood, some traveled as far as Tiflis and remained in the Russian Empire for three to five years.

Outside the Jewish quarter, however, law and order were largely absent, and the community lived in fear. Theft and robbery were common. Each evening, as darkness fell, armed guards took up positions on the neighborhood rooftops and remained on watch until daybreak. The guards were Kurdish or ‘Ajam⁵. During the day, plainclothes watchmen hired by the community patrolled the neighborhood. Even so, Jewish men tried not to leave their homes unless necessary, while women hardly ventured out at all for fear of the gangs operating in the streets.

When a member of one of the minority communities encountered such a gang in the street, one of its members would call out: “Come, come — congratulations! What have you bought that’s new?” Then, with feigned friendliness, he would ask, “How are you, neighbor?” while inspecting the victim and his belongings from head to toe. If the man wore a new jacket or a kalpak, the robber would try it on and ask, “Well, does it suit me?” Then he would take it and walk away. There was no one to appeal to and no real way to resist. They stole watches, hats, and anything else that caught their eye.

At times, out of fear, the victim would remove his own clothes and even help the robber put them on. The robber would then demand: “Now wish me good luck with it!” The victim was forced to congratulate him and even shake his hand. Anyone who refused was severely beaten — and in every case, the stolen belongings remained in the robber’s hands.