Frieda Schweky
Regular readers of my columns here know that I normally cover light community topics. This month, however, I decided to share the thrilling story of my uncle’s escape from Iran.
Allow me to begin with some family background.
A Peaceful Country Devolves Into Chaos
My father, Amin – known in the community as Danny – grew up in Iran, and has fond memories of his childhood. Prior to the 1979 Iranian Revolution, Iran was a modern country, and my father loved it there. I grew up hearing amazing stories about his upbringing. Unfortunately, he never got to give it the proper goodbye.
It was common back then for Iranian youths to go abroad for high school, and so my father was in Brookyln when the radical Islamists took over Iran in 1979. (My Uncle Benny was also studying abroad, in France.) He was thus spared the turmoil that ensued with the Mullahs’ takeover. Needless to say, he has been unable to return ever since.
Stuck in Brooklyn, he was brought up in the Syrian community. To this day, my father is the only member of his family without a Persian accent, although of course he still speaks Farsi fluently. It was here in Brookyln that he met my mother, an immigrant from Egypt (her family was ousted from their home country, as well, but that’s a story for another time…). They got married before my grandparents were able to escape Iran, and so, unfortunately, my grandparents could not meet my mom or attend the wedding.
But the story I wish to tell is that of my uncle, Sean Sabz. Born in Tehran, Iran’s capital city, in 1969, Sean led a normal life during his early years. He attended Hebrew school, spent a great
deal of time playing outside, and would do mischief with his three older brothers whenever he pleased. When he was nine years old, however, everything quickly changed.
A Muslim extremist group began overtaking what was a peaceful country. Their unambiguously-stated goal was to oust Iran’s leader, Shah Pahlavi, and replace him with the rule of the Islamist figure Ayatollah Khomeini. Chaos erupted. Sean recalls hearing gunshots and extremists screaming, “Allahu Akbar” (“Gd is the greatest,” the cry sounded by jihadists as they set out to kill in the name of their religion) outside his house for many nights. The rebels were determined in pursing their cause, and were violent. Iran’s Jewish population knew they faced grave danger, and many fled, leaving behind everything they had built over the course of their lives.
The Shah, meanwhile, announced he had fallen sick with cancer, and went to Egypt for treatment, allowing Iran to fall into the hands of the violent, fanatical rebels while he escaped.
Escape Through the Mountains
After the revolution, life drastically changed. All schools in Iran – including the Jewish schools – were temporary closed, as the new government replaced educators with radical Islamists. Schools were no longer permitted to serve both boys and girls. Jewish subjects were no longer allowed to be taught. Women and girls were required to wear hijabs in public, no matter which religion they practiced. All these new laws were enforced at the threat of death.
Sean’s parents had a lot to sort out before trying to escape, but their son, Afsheen – now known as Alfred – turned 17, which meant that if he did not flee immediately, he would be drafted into the new governing authority’s army.
Sean’s parents devised a plan, hiring drug smugglers to secretly bring Sean and Alfred out of the country, for $1,000 each. The boys were joined by two other Jewish teens, a boy and a girl.
This trip was very dangerous, and Sean personally knew of someone who died while trying to escape along this route. The plan was to travel by foot through the mountains of northern Iran to Turkey, sleeping by day in caves and journeying by night. The nights were so brutal and exhausting that by the time they were able to stop, they had no trouble at all sleeping in caves.
“One could even mistake a rock for a pillow,” Sean says.
Members of the Kurdish population, who opposed the Islamist rebels, were hiding in the mountains, and they happily fed and helped Sean and his fellow travelers for a small fee. Sean quickly learned about the Kurdish people’s unusual traditions. For example, as long as your cup was upright, that meant you wanted more tea, and when you flipped your cup upside down, that meant you’ve had enough. Sean recalls the mountain people feeding him shakshuka with a thick layer of fat on top.
“Hiking up and around mountains took a lot of energy, and for that we needed to load up on calories,” Sean says of his exhausting experience.
The smugglers were surprised by Sean and his brother’s demeanor. They had grown accustomed to smuggling scared and crying children, but the Sabz’s were just the opposite, making jokes and playing around at times along the way, despite the grueling ordeal they were going through.
“We would have to run at night,” Sean tells. “At some points, we were even riding on horses with people chasing after us and bullets flying, like in an action movie.”
When they finally made it to the Iranian Turkish border, Sean and his group were interrogated separately by the Iranian border patrol. The smugglers prepared them for this, and all their stories matched up perfectly. The story was that they were going on vacation to Turkey and fully intended to return to Iran. The group was granted passage and accepted into Turkey as refugees, because at that time, the United Nations was paying the Turkish government $1,000 for each Iranian they helped.
A Family Reunited at Last
Sean and Alfred spent two months in Turkey with limited contact with their parents, awaiting paperwork for their transfer to Israel. They eventually entered Israel on tourist visas and spent the next four years at Hadasim, a Yeshiva with dormitory facilities. Their next destination would be New York.
When the brothers arrived in Brooklyn, they met their newborn nephew, Joey – also known as Poe – my oldest brother, who had been born just 18 days before their arrival. By this time, their mother Turan (who later chose the name Rachel), my late grandmother, had already established herself in Brooklyn. However, their father – my grandfather Yoseph (who B”H celebrated his 90th birthday this past December) – remained trapped in Iran, due to false accusations. His Muslim business partner had betrayed him, reporting him to authorities as a dishonest Jewish businessman.
During the lengthy court proceedings, officials offered him freedom on one condition – that he sign a document declaring his conversion to Islam. Though not particularly religious, my grandfather responded with remarkable courage: “You can call me whatever you want, but I am a Jew, I have Jewish blood.” Over time, the court officials came to recognize his integrity and eventually granted his release. This story fills me with pride as his granddaughter (which is why I felt it important to mention, despite the deviation from my uncle’s story).
After his release, Yoseph managed to escape Iran and reunite with his family in America, though at great cost – leaving behind his home and business, and having endured years of separation from his loved ones.
Sean’s parents later relocated to Great Neck, Long Island, joining a growing community of Jewish Iranian (also known as Persian) immigrants. Sean has divided his time between Los Angeles and New York over the years. His recent travels included a business exploration trip to Cuba, and he currently works as a contractor in Los Angeles.
Today, Sean cherishes time spent with his family, including his great-nieces and nephews. He and his family make a conscious effort to exercise the freedoms and rights they nearly lost years ago – a powerful reminder of their journey and resilience.