September 25, 2007
Yom Kippur, Ahmadinejad and Dalia Sofer
I didn’t plan it this way but the posting of this review coincides with Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s visit to New York. It’s also two days after Yom Kippur.
So, it turns out to be an ideal time to talk about Dalia Sofer’s, “The Septembers of Shiraz
On Yom Kippur, we talk a lot about suffering. The rabbi at my synagogue spoke about it at length during his Saturday sermon, saying in essence that suffering can force us to become more resilient and can teach us lessons about ourselves. As Nietzsche once wrote, “What does not kill me, makes me stronger.”
During the sermon, I couldn’t help thinking about Sofer’s novel. It tracks the plight of Isaac Amin, a wealthy Jewish businessman and father living in Tehran shortly after the Iranian Revolution. One morning, two men with rifles arrive at his office and whisk him off to prison. During his initial interrogation, he learns that the authorities suspect he may be a Zionist spy because of his previous trips to Israel. Being Jewish doesn’t help, either.
He denies the accusations but it is of no use. Isaac languishes in the prison for several months. The guards place him in solitary confinement and torture him by whipping his feet.
Isaac first tries to ingratiate himself to the guards by showing an interest in Islam and by reading the Koran in his cell. But, when that approach fails, he openly bribes his interrogator. With a pledge to give the Revolutionary Guards his entire life savings, Isaac is freed.
Almost as soon as he leaves the prison, Isaac arranges for his family to escape Iran. A pair of smugglers takes Isaac, his wife and his daughter out through Turkey. The family will go from there to Europe and then on to New York where Isaac’s son is already studying to become an architect.
Sofer’s writing can best be described as supple. She does not bombard the reader with details but she doesn’t skimp either. Also, she makes brilliant use of dialogue to convey the sense of mistrust and class jealousy that pervaded post-Revolutionary Iran. In the following snippet, Isaac’s wife, Farnaz, and the housekeeper, Habibeh, talk about Habibeh’s son joining the Revolutionary Guards:
Farnaz: “What? Morteza has become a revolutionary now?”
Habibeh: “Well, yes. He has joined the Guards. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you might get upset with me. But when I listen to him, I realize he makes a lot of sense.”
Farnaz: “What does he say that makes so much sense?”
Habibeh: “I can’t say, khanoum. You won’t like hearing it.”
Farnaz: “It’s all right. Tell me.”
Habibeh: “If I tell you, promise you won’t get mad.”
Farnaz: “I won’t.”
Habibeh: “He says, why should some people live like kings and the rest like rats? And why should the wealthy, enamored with Europe and the West, dictate how the whole country should dress, talk, live? What if we like our chadors and our Koran? What if we want our own mullahs to rule us, not that saint—what’s his name? … Morteza told me he is worshipped in Europe. … I know! Saint Laurent, or something like that …”
Farnaz: “Yves Saint Laurent?” (laughs) “He’s not a saint, Habibeh. He’s a designer. That’s just his name.”
Habibeh (blushes): “You see, Farnaz-khnaoum, you belittle me every chance you get.”
After reading a few online interviews with Sofer, I think it is safe to assume that she is no fan of the Iranian government.
Sofer fled Iran with her family when she was 10 and came to the United States. She majored in French Literature at N.Y.U. and later received her M.F.A. in fiction from Sarah Lawrence College.
She clearly longs for a way of life in Iran that was lost in the Revolution.
“In my heart, I do wish I could go back,” she told the New York Times. “I don’t feel rooted here [in New York]. But New York is so welcoming and homey. I enjoy New York. It’s not like I am ungrateful. I enjoy New York like a guest would enjoy a lovely hotel.”
She has said that Isaac is a combination of several Iranian political prisoners she interviewed, including her father. She told the Times: “When I was 8, my father was arrested for being a Zionist spy. We didn’t know where he was. My mom would go out looking for him. And then he just reappeared one day, about a month later.”
In the book, Isaac learns at least one simple lesson from his time in prison: how to appreciate the things he used to take for granted.
At the beginning of the novel, Isaac and Farnaz barely communicate. They’ve been married for a long time but they’ve grown farther apart instead of closer together.
In prison, however, Isaac savors his memories of family life. He recalls trips, meals with Farnaz. And when he’s released, he begins anew with his wife. He will leave his old life behind. He must, lest he risk another imprisonment. The family will go to another country and start over.
And it’s this opportunity to begin anew that keeps Isaac going, this chance to reconvene with his family and appreciate what was almost lost.
We are given the same opportunity on Yom Kippur. We can learn from whatever suffering we endured in the past and then put it behind us and move forward into the new year. Like Isaac, it’s the only real choice we have. With any luck, we too learn to appreciate the things we took for granted.
Sometimes, a simple lesson is all you can glean from suffering. But, for those like Isaac — like Sofer’s father — there must be some small comfort in knowing that ultimately God will judge everyone. Even the people in power in Tehran.