Shiraz was famous for its wine, the glories of which were sung by the poet Hafez. There is no more wine in Shiraz today, and this lack is like a eulogy to a great civilisation. In the surrounding countryside you can admire the beautiful vineyards and in the market places buy the delicious grapes. But there is no more wine. Part of the place is dead.

But we tasted the wine of Shiraz. We even tasted the eau de vie of Shiraz. We had the rare privilege of being able to walk back to our hotel at midnight totally drunk and breathe in the grace of Shiraz. And all in perfect legality.

It is not easy to enter into the synagogues in Iran. The Islamic regime forbids entry to non-Jews and in the main shul in Shiraz the head of the 'Jewish Committee' (sound familiar?) even demanded to see my letter of introduction from the Governor of Shiraz attesting that I was a Jew. "What's this nonsense?", I asked, "Since when does a Jew need a letter from a Moslem to pray in a synagogue?". By reciting the 'And thou shall love." in Hebrew I was able to convince him of my pedigree.

Even so, this synagogue does not allow women on Friday night for fear of attack by fundamentalist ruffians (the police, under the control of Kameini and not Khatami are not to be trusted for protection) and we were directed to another synagogue not far from there. On the way out a man walked up to me and said, "Come back tomorrow to pray here. The fink is never here on Shabath mornings".

And so a young man walked us to the other synagogue, there are sixteen of them in Shiraz, and he told us about the Shiraz 13, who are 13 Hebrew teachers, merchants and even one boy of 15, who at the time were standing trial in Shiraz for spying for Israel. The teachers were his teachers and the boy was his classmate. The idea that the Mossad would enrol such highly visible people as Iranian Jews to spy for them is ridiculous, and certainly not such high-profile Jews as Hebrew teachers or Circumsizers.

The message to the Jews of Iran is clear: get out! And yet they stay. Some are waiting for their sons to finish their military service to get out (can you imagine being a Jew in the Army of the Islamic Republic?), but most are waiting for the Messiah.

Friday night we were invited to dinner at B's house. B had lived in Israel and came back to Iran to help his ailing parents just before the Revolution and has been stuck here ever since. His wife cries every day because she wants to go to Israel. They have one daughter in J and their son is beaten up every day in school. B himself works as a t.. in h.. and his colleagues openly accuse him of espionage for the Zionist Entity.

B also makes one fine brew and we got gloriously drunk on his kidush wine. B spoke passable Hebrew and told us he was waiting for a sign from God before leaving. "Your son gets the shit beaten out of him every day in school, you're on the list for the next set of trials and you're waiting for a sign? I'm your sign, B,get the hell out of this country. Now".

Saturday morning was a treat, and it was hard to keep order in the shul because everybody wanted to talk to me. I was, of course, given an Alyiah to the Torah and invited to sit next to the one Rabbi who hadn't been arrested. From the point of view of liturgy, the Jews of Shiraz are unique. I had never heard the service done in quite that way, not even in Hamadan. Words and phrases were emphasised with no relation to their meaning as though someone with a surrealistic sense of rhythm had gone through the text and underlined words for his own amusement. The chanting was limping, yet melodious and captivating.

Every Saturday night after the Sabbath goes out,the Jews of Shiraz meet in a park called the Chamran Goal Khouré for a picnic, and of course we were invited. So we spent the Sabbath day, our only day in Shiraz, visiting the sites and met the community back at the shul at sunset to accompany the Sabbath out and welcome in the new week.

This was to be the picnic of picnics, the mother of all picnics, and a unique glimpse into a community which is threatened, afraid and yet confident and tightly woven. If there is not another revolution soon, this community is not long for this world. They will be hounded and persecuted until they are forced to leave. Unlike Hamadan, we were asked to take no photos of any Jews, only the synagogue, which is not really a marvel of style.

So instead here are some pictures of an ancient Torah scroll, the Great Mosque, Marie-Do looking completely 'tsnius' (modest in Yiddish), someMollahs looking totally right about something, the courthouse where the shameful trial of the Shiraz 13 took place, and Marie-Do smoking the narguileh in the tea shop near the Hafez monument.

Post Script

Some of the Shiraz 13 were sentenced to 15 years imprisonment. Others were acquitted. I wonder who was sentenced, the English teacher or the Rabbi? The boy of fifteen or the merchant? On the news we heard that Israel is considering a response, but the response can come only from the Jews of Iran themselves. They all live within driving distance of an airport.