Hopefully, no one would realize that we were wearing our coats because we planned on leaving Tehran for good

Tehran, Iran 1978

M

y mother and I descended the steps of our attic apartment, nonchalant expressions on our faces. We had purposely chosen to make our escape when we knew that our landlady would be out of the house.

I pictured our landlady outside the grocery store, waiting on line for her food rations. Grocery shopping was a chore that normally took at least an hour and a half for her to complete, but my heart still pounded with worry. What if she came home early? What if she saw us leave and reported us to the authorities?

Dovid and Yitzchok dropped from the last step leading from the attic into Mrs. Cumin’s dining room a moment after Maman and me. Like my mother and me, they too wore medium-sized backpacks that had a single change of clothes inside.

All of us were wearing coats. Outside, only the slightest nip was in the air, but we knew that miles away, at the border, it could become frigid at night. Hopefully, no one would realize that we were wearing our coats because we planned on leaving Tehran for good.