Like a Watered Garden
Today was a bad chador day. Riding in the elevator to our class room at the Institute, I checked the small mirror on the wall. “Look,” I said triumphantly to David, “ my scarf is on really well. Hardly any hair is showing in the front.” “Yeah,” he said, “but you have another problem. Your whole chador is on the floor around your ankles.” Dang! I bent down to pick it up just as the elevator stopped and a man entered. What timing!! “Linda, what’s wrong?” said the concerned voice of a friend as he got on and viewed my puckered face. “Ah, nothing, just the usual hejab troubles.”
We attended two classes and prepared to go home to study for Farsi. Packing up my book bag I again turned to David and asked, “Is my chador long enough in the back?”
“I believe so,” he said, “you’re walking on it.” I came home and pitched my unfortunate chador in the washing machine. Tomorrow will probably be better.
Spring has come to Iran. The doves are singing early each morning and pollen is bursting forth. Soon it will be the Persian New Year (beginning on March 19), a two week celebration that all of Iran loves. Beautiful gold fish in small bowls, pots of fresh greens and decorative mirrors are for sale on the streets, symbols of renewal and new life.
Long ago Second Isaiah wrote: “The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail (58:11, NRSV). Second Isaiah was writing toward the end of the Babylonian exile (597-539 BC) for Israel. He had his eye on the Persian ruler Cyrus (see chapters 44:28 and 45:1) who would be God’s instrument of liberation and home-going for some of the Jews. Of course only a remnant returned to rebuild the Temple under Ezra and Nehemiah. A great many Jews stayed in Babylon and further east, in the beautiful cities of Persia (Iran).
The desert here is once again beginning its brief and beautiful spring blooming. Farmers’ fields (cotton, oats, barley) are green. Roses are being fed and nurtured for their heavenly May perfume. But the desert will define the growing season in no uncertain terms.
On Valentine’s Day last month, David and I treated ourselves to another magnificent desert city: Yazd, city of Zoroastrians. We rode the night train, boarding at midnight in Qom and disembarking at 7am. Six of us shared a sleeping car, first sitting knee to knee chatting, and later, when we unfolded our modest berths, laying like loaves of bread on shelves. Above us were two Zoroastrian gentlemen. David and I were in the middle. A friendly young Muslim couple wanted to be on the bottom, where an exit for tea or restroom was significantly easier.
The heater was on full blast; windows didn’t open; my hejab was nice and toasty as I lay on my “shelf.” Gradually I slept, until a 6 am voice called out “Namaz, namaz” and the train came to a stop. Another town, I thought sleepily. A mass exodus ensued and we were quickly left alone in our sleeper with the Zoroastrians. Everybody else was getting out—not at a town, but to pray. A roadside prayer room was ready to receive people of both genders and all ages as they streamed from the train. (I tried to imagine a group of Christians getting up at 6am without complaint to pray by the roadside… ). Desert was all around us. Brown hills, brown buildings, little sign of vegetation.
Our week-end was a delight – walking through the Old City with its mud hardened walls and lovely inner courtyards. We were invited to attend a Zoroastrian ritual, their annual memorial for their beloved dead. Incense was burning alongside graves, sometimes a fragrant burning stick simply stuck in a pomegranate. Huge cauldrons of Ash (“osh” i.e. lamb stew) were cooking. Seven mobeds (priests) stood before hundreds of people and lead them through the ritual—raising hands in greeting to the sun, emphasizing the Zoroastrian affirmation of good thoughts, good deeds, good actions. We were warmly invited to the “potluck” dinner afterwards, eating succulent bowls of Ash. Zoroastrians had come from Canada and India for this special time. “Have you been to India yet,” a lovely woman asked me. “If you haven’t, you’ve missed everything!” The women were dressed in beautiful colors—greens, blues, oranges. We were invited to homes, to visit fire temples and schools and charities. Water, I thought, looking at the brown hills all around us, is one of the things that makes gardens bloom, and the other is hospitality.
Back in Qom, we have received wonderful guests from Holland, S. Africa, the US and Canada. We attended a two day conference in Iran entitled "Women, Peace and Divine Religions." Daily we learn and grow and are transformed.
We attended two classes and prepared to go home to study for Farsi. Packing up my book bag I again turned to David and asked, “Is my chador long enough in the back?”
“I believe so,” he said, “you’re walking on it.” I came home and pitched my unfortunate chador in the washing machine. Tomorrow will probably be better.
Spring has come to Iran. The doves are singing early each morning and pollen is bursting forth. Soon it will be the Persian New Year (beginning on March 19), a two week celebration that all of Iran loves. Beautiful gold fish in small bowls, pots of fresh greens and decorative mirrors are for sale on the streets, symbols of renewal and new life.
Long ago Second Isaiah wrote: “The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail (58:11, NRSV). Second Isaiah was writing toward the end of the Babylonian exile (597-539 BC) for Israel. He had his eye on the Persian ruler Cyrus (see chapters 44:28 and 45:1) who would be God’s instrument of liberation and home-going for some of the Jews. Of course only a remnant returned to rebuild the Temple under Ezra and Nehemiah. A great many Jews stayed in Babylon and further east, in the beautiful cities of Persia (Iran).
The desert here is once again beginning its brief and beautiful spring blooming. Farmers’ fields (cotton, oats, barley) are green. Roses are being fed and nurtured for their heavenly May perfume. But the desert will define the growing season in no uncertain terms.
On Valentine’s Day last month, David and I treated ourselves to another magnificent desert city: Yazd, city of Zoroastrians. We rode the night train, boarding at midnight in Qom and disembarking at 7am. Six of us shared a sleeping car, first sitting knee to knee chatting, and later, when we unfolded our modest berths, laying like loaves of bread on shelves. Above us were two Zoroastrian gentlemen. David and I were in the middle. A friendly young Muslim couple wanted to be on the bottom, where an exit for tea or restroom was significantly easier.
The heater was on full blast; windows didn’t open; my hejab was nice and toasty as I lay on my “shelf.” Gradually I slept, until a 6 am voice called out “Namaz, namaz” and the train came to a stop. Another town, I thought sleepily. A mass exodus ensued and we were quickly left alone in our sleeper with the Zoroastrians. Everybody else was getting out—not at a town, but to pray. A roadside prayer room was ready to receive people of both genders and all ages as they streamed from the train. (I tried to imagine a group of Christians getting up at 6am without complaint to pray by the roadside… ). Desert was all around us. Brown hills, brown buildings, little sign of vegetation.
Our week-end was a delight – walking through the Old City with its mud hardened walls and lovely inner courtyards. We were invited to attend a Zoroastrian ritual, their annual memorial for their beloved dead. Incense was burning alongside graves, sometimes a fragrant burning stick simply stuck in a pomegranate. Huge cauldrons of Ash (“osh” i.e. lamb stew) were cooking. Seven mobeds (priests) stood before hundreds of people and lead them through the ritual—raising hands in greeting to the sun, emphasizing the Zoroastrian affirmation of good thoughts, good deeds, good actions. We were warmly invited to the “potluck” dinner afterwards, eating succulent bowls of Ash. Zoroastrians had come from Canada and India for this special time. “Have you been to India yet,” a lovely woman asked me. “If you haven’t, you’ve missed everything!” The women were dressed in beautiful colors—greens, blues, oranges. We were invited to homes, to visit fire temples and schools and charities. Water, I thought, looking at the brown hills all around us, is one of the things that makes gardens bloom, and the other is hospitality.
Back in Qom, we have received wonderful guests from Holland, S. Africa, the US and Canada. We attended a two day conference in Iran entitled "Women, Peace and Divine Religions." Daily we learn and grow and are transformed.
posted by Quakers in Qom at 2:11 PM
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