The Muslim villager was very grateful. “Shukran lakam,” he told Yitzchok. “If you ever need a favor in return, please don’t hesitate to call me.” So saying, he told my brother his name and the name of the village that he lived in.

Yitzchok filed the information away in his head for future use. But eventually he forgot all about it.

Three years passed.

The Iranian Revolution broke out, and my brother Yosef left the country. It was clear to him, as it was clear to most people, that Iran wouldn’t be a safe place for Jews for much longer.

He was determined to scour the world and see which country would be the safest and most welcoming to our family. He traveled to Europe, toured the continent a bit, and finally decided upon England as the country of choice for our family.

“You’re going to like it here,” he told my mother on the phone during a lightning-fast conversation. “Everyone is very proper and well-mannered here. It’ll be a good home for our family.”

The trouble was that by the time that Yosef had decided upon England as a destination, war had broken out. Airports in our country were sealed. Leaving Iran for England by airplane was out of the question.

Remaining in Iran, however, was just as impossible.

The social climate outdoors had become extremely radical. Women were forced to wear a hijab outdoors, Israel was condemned, and the war only made an already difficult situation even worse.

Weeow! Weeow! Weeow!

The air raid siren would sound at all times of the day and night to warn us of an impending explosion.

We needed to tape the windows of our apartment to protect ourselves from shattered glass in case a bomb fell near our house. Fortunately, no bombs fell in our neighborhood, but the fear was still there.

My family had moved into a new apartment right at the beginning of the war. The apartment was the attic of an older woman’s house, and our landlord had a bathroom and shower in her house.

At long last, we did not need to make a long outdoor trek at night if we needed the outhouse.

At long last I did not have to stand in line with the women and girls in the neighborhood to use the local bathhouse.

With the war raging, these were major gains. There was a government curfew in place, so no one was allowed outside after dark. Thanks to the kindness extended to us by our landlady, we no longer needed to go outside at night.

But we still desperately wanted to leave the country.

Yosef was waiting for us in England.

But there was no way to leave Iran. The airports were shut. The borders were closed. An entire year of war passed. After 12 months in our war-torn country with no clear escape plan in mind, Yitzchok finally remembered the villager who had come into his shop years earlier.

He had promised to help him.

Yitzchok decided to pay the man a visit.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 906)