And yet, over the past decade, this tomb has returned to my life through photographs and stories. All of them were brought to me by a friend, who prays with me in the same synagogue, and whose job in public service brings him again and again to Iran, including in the past year. For security reasons I cannot mention his name, and I call him here “Charvonah,” after the spy courtier in the Megillah who gathered confidential information and revealed it to the king, thereby changing the course of the story.
In the first photograph he showed me years ago, a narrow brick tower rises above the city Shush (Shushan), a low, pale building. The light is thin and wintry, the kind that refuses to warm stone. At the foot of the wall stands a small metal gate. No flags. No crowd. Just a place that seems to be waiting.
