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AS CLOSE TO IRAN AS I WILL EVER BE
Payvand
Oct 17 2012
Iran
By Samuel Thrope
Yerevan, Armenia - This is the closest I will ever be. Standing near
the fence that separates Armenia from Iran, just south of the city of
Meghri. On the other side of the border I can see brown hills, and,
in the distance, the Iranian village of Nordooz with its green fields
and blue mosque. I have wanted to visit Iran since I started learning
Persian as a graduate student seven years ago. First interested in
the history of Jews in ancient Iran, I became attracted to modern
Persian and the literature and culture of contemporary Iranian society.
However, close as I am, as an Israeli I am forbidden to enter the
country. After a few minutes of looking longingly across the border,
I turn around and head back to town.
I spent this summer travelling in Armenia and Georgia, its neighbour
to the north, not just to be close to Iran but to become close to
Iranians. Both Caucasian countries have deep historical, cultural
and economic ties with Iran, and are regular destinations for Iranian
tourists, students and businesspeople. In the face of the increasingly
bellicose rhetoric between Israel and Iran, I wanted to take the
pulse-unofficially and unscientifically-of Iranians' feelings about
Israel. What do they think of Israeli threats to attack Iran's nuclear
facilities? How much do they know about Israel at all? How would they
respond to meeting me?
I had prepared myself for harsh questioning about Israel's eagerness
for war, but the opposite was the case. The Iranians I spoke to
were, above all, curious about me, Israel and Judaism. They also
seemed driven by a need to explain how different Iran is from its
portrayal in the media and in politicians' speeches. For some that
meant getting me to see the underlying unity of Judaism and Islam,
for others the diversity of political opinion in Iranian society,
and others simply the contours of daily life in Tehran.
While I cannot claim that the people I spoke to are representative of
the Iranian population as a whole, I was struck by their shared sense
of urgency to paint a picture of their country beyond the headlines.
One of the encounters that affected me most began in my hostel in
Yerevan. Just a few minutes after I had arrived in the shared dormitory
room, a young man entered. He introduced himself as a student from
Tehran, visiting Armenia to get an American visa-a necessity as the
United States does not have an embassy in Iran.
Hossein, as I will call him, asked me where I was from, and when I
told him, his eyes widened. "You're from Israel and you're not afraid
of me?" he asked.
In the time we spent together in Yerevan, Hossein told me about his
university, the devastating effect of the international sanctions on
the economy, his irreligion, and his drive to leave Iran and study
abroad. While his knowledge of Israel was limited, what he did know
surprised me. When another guest at the hostel asked to hear what
Hebrew sounded like, and I obliged, Hossein responded: "Hebrew usually
sounds harsher than that." I said, "How do you know?" He replied,
"I watch-how do you say it, the Knesset [the Israeli parliament]?-on
satellite TV."
On our last day together we visited Yerevan's famous Ararat brandy
factory. As we walked among the oak barrels of aging spirit, I talked
about my fears and frustrations with Israeli politics, especially
the demagoguery that is pushing the country towards war. Hossein
responded with a statement that still rattles me. "In Iran", he said,
"we never appreciated how good things used to be. We protested and
things only got worse. You have to be thankful for what you have."
After we had said our goodbyes, I realised that to be thankful in the
way Hossein described leaves no room for the feeling that inspired
me to take my journey: refusing to be satisfied with the portrayal in
Israeli media of Iran and Iranians. Why challenge your own beliefs and
explore when you have resigned yourself to what you know? However,
even in his dismissal of pushing for change, in a way this exchange
with Hossein satisfied my questions.
For an Iranian to express such thoughts to an Israeli implies a level
of trust that would seem impossible if you believe what the newspapers
say. His words convey that there are things we can learn from and
teach each other. It is the beginning of a conversation, not the end.
###
* Samuel Thrope is a Golda Meir Postdoctoral Fellow at the Hebrew
University. His essays and translations have appeared in the Jerusalem
Report, Haaretz, Zeek and other publications. This article was written
for the Common Ground News Service (CGNews).
Source: Common Ground News Service (CGNews), 16 October
2012,www.commongroundnews.org
http://www.payvand.com/news/12/oct/1152.html
From: A. Papazian
Payvand
Oct 17 2012
Iran
By Samuel Thrope
Yerevan, Armenia - This is the closest I will ever be. Standing near
the fence that separates Armenia from Iran, just south of the city of
Meghri. On the other side of the border I can see brown hills, and,
in the distance, the Iranian village of Nordooz with its green fields
and blue mosque. I have wanted to visit Iran since I started learning
Persian as a graduate student seven years ago. First interested in
the history of Jews in ancient Iran, I became attracted to modern
Persian and the literature and culture of contemporary Iranian society.
However, close as I am, as an Israeli I am forbidden to enter the
country. After a few minutes of looking longingly across the border,
I turn around and head back to town.
I spent this summer travelling in Armenia and Georgia, its neighbour
to the north, not just to be close to Iran but to become close to
Iranians. Both Caucasian countries have deep historical, cultural
and economic ties with Iran, and are regular destinations for Iranian
tourists, students and businesspeople. In the face of the increasingly
bellicose rhetoric between Israel and Iran, I wanted to take the
pulse-unofficially and unscientifically-of Iranians' feelings about
Israel. What do they think of Israeli threats to attack Iran's nuclear
facilities? How much do they know about Israel at all? How would they
respond to meeting me?
I had prepared myself for harsh questioning about Israel's eagerness
for war, but the opposite was the case. The Iranians I spoke to
were, above all, curious about me, Israel and Judaism. They also
seemed driven by a need to explain how different Iran is from its
portrayal in the media and in politicians' speeches. For some that
meant getting me to see the underlying unity of Judaism and Islam,
for others the diversity of political opinion in Iranian society,
and others simply the contours of daily life in Tehran.
While I cannot claim that the people I spoke to are representative of
the Iranian population as a whole, I was struck by their shared sense
of urgency to paint a picture of their country beyond the headlines.
One of the encounters that affected me most began in my hostel in
Yerevan. Just a few minutes after I had arrived in the shared dormitory
room, a young man entered. He introduced himself as a student from
Tehran, visiting Armenia to get an American visa-a necessity as the
United States does not have an embassy in Iran.
Hossein, as I will call him, asked me where I was from, and when I
told him, his eyes widened. "You're from Israel and you're not afraid
of me?" he asked.
In the time we spent together in Yerevan, Hossein told me about his
university, the devastating effect of the international sanctions on
the economy, his irreligion, and his drive to leave Iran and study
abroad. While his knowledge of Israel was limited, what he did know
surprised me. When another guest at the hostel asked to hear what
Hebrew sounded like, and I obliged, Hossein responded: "Hebrew usually
sounds harsher than that." I said, "How do you know?" He replied,
"I watch-how do you say it, the Knesset [the Israeli parliament]?-on
satellite TV."
On our last day together we visited Yerevan's famous Ararat brandy
factory. As we walked among the oak barrels of aging spirit, I talked
about my fears and frustrations with Israeli politics, especially
the demagoguery that is pushing the country towards war. Hossein
responded with a statement that still rattles me. "In Iran", he said,
"we never appreciated how good things used to be. We protested and
things only got worse. You have to be thankful for what you have."
After we had said our goodbyes, I realised that to be thankful in the
way Hossein described leaves no room for the feeling that inspired
me to take my journey: refusing to be satisfied with the portrayal in
Israeli media of Iran and Iranians. Why challenge your own beliefs and
explore when you have resigned yourself to what you know? However,
even in his dismissal of pushing for change, in a way this exchange
with Hossein satisfied my questions.
For an Iranian to express such thoughts to an Israeli implies a level
of trust that would seem impossible if you believe what the newspapers
say. His words convey that there are things we can learn from and
teach each other. It is the beginning of a conversation, not the end.
###
* Samuel Thrope is a Golda Meir Postdoctoral Fellow at the Hebrew
University. His essays and translations have appeared in the Jerusalem
Report, Haaretz, Zeek and other publications. This article was written
for the Common Ground News Service (CGNews).
Source: Common Ground News Service (CGNews), 16 October
2012,www.commongroundnews.org
http://www.payvand.com/news/12/oct/1152.html
From: A. Papazian