My mom yells at me: "Hurry up, it is almost Pesach and we haven't done anything yet."
The memory goes back several years, when I was a teenager living with my parents and brother in our three-story building in western Tehran.
Yosef Setarehshenas wants to revive and introduce Jewish Persian art to the world.
Janet Nabatian tried to answer her cellphone at the busy Santa Monica Farmers' Market July 16 at about 1:30 p.m., but the reception was so weak that she had to walk a few steps away from her mother and 7-month-old son to get better reception.
Nabatian, 32, was at the market with her child and 63-year-old mother to buy food for Shabbat. The phone call from her sister in Washington, D.C., saved her life.
Moments later, Nabatian turned her head and saw a speeding red Buick smash into her mother and the baby carriage. Nabatian stared in shock as she saw her mother, Molok Ghoulian, roll over on the ground and her son, Brandon David Esfahani, tossed into the air.
Ghoulian was killed on the spot. The baby was rushed to Santa Monica-UCLA Medical Center and later transferred to UCLA Medical Center, where he died a day later from brain injuries.
Ghoulian and Brandon, members of the Persian Jewish community, were two of the 10 people killed by 86-year-old driver George Russell Weller, who lost control of his car. As of press time, Santa Monica Police had not decided on what action to take in the case.
The only store nestled in the verdant Laurel Canyon, Canyon Country Store, built in 1919, has served as a location for several films and is also a hangout for many artists, musician and actors.
The Passover I spent with Rav Tov, a Jewish Rescue Organization in Vienna, in 2001, was my first time being separated from my family andÂ our Pesach seder.
Rabbi Michael Pressburger, a prominent Austrian rabbi, hosted us in his small Orthodox synagogue. Pressburger, a native Austrian, spoke fluent Farsi. He had been in close contact with Persian Jews, because he was responsible for teaching religion, morality and Torah to Jewish young adults.
Like many Jewish leaders in the community, Rabbi Reuven Malekan, who works with various Persian Jewish organizations, is torn about the prospect of war.
Picture a middle-aged Jewish Persian couple who have lived in the United States for years and are concerned about what goes on with their children in this strange and foreign country. They are upset that their daughter disobeys them by studying photography, not medicine, at college, and they cannot understand the comings and goings of their English-speaking younger daughter, because they don't speak English very well.
In 1973, when then-33-year-old Jimmy Delshad was sitting in Sinai Temple, he asked his father-in-law, "Who's that man sitting next to the rabbi on the bimah?"
I have been here less than two months, from Iran by way of Washington, D.C., and my very first days in Los Angeles are strange and lonely.
I gravitate toward a nearby public library. In a strange city, it is water in the wilderness. I glance around, and spot something familiar, not in appearance but in nature. It is just a word that draws my attention. The word is Jewish. I walk close to it. "The Jewish Journal," reads the cover page of a newspaper laying on the stand alongside other papers. I would like to take a look at it, but another feeling runs through me: I am a little bit unsure whether to touch it. Again I am in a new place, in a new situation and concerned with not doing anything against the rules; I look around to find a person in charge to ask some questions. I find someone standing not far, looking at me.
"Can I take a look at this paper?....How much is it?....Free? Great!"