LIFE UNDER FIRE

IN THE DIN OF WAR, IRANIANS SHOWED A STUBBORN GRACE—AND EXTENDED UNEXPECTED WARMTH TO STRANGERS

- JUMANA SHAH

Like the battle of Karbala, this war must be fought till the end,” Reza Ahmadi, a juice vendor in his 30s, told me, as he went about his business on the busy Naser Khosro street in Shiraz, a historical town of gardens, wine and poetry in southwest Iran’s Fars province. It was just two days after Israel had launched airstrikes on Iran, on Friday, June 13. Reza was invoking the 7th-century clash that, in Islamic history, stands as a symbol of moral resistance against political tyranny. We were talking amid street celebrations for Eid al-Ghadir, the air thick with revelry and the aroma of sweetened drinks. Every 10 seconds or so, the sky lit up with streaks of intercepted drones, followed by a thud of explosions. And yet, Reza barely flinched.

Earlier, on June 12, I was further north—in Isfahan's majestic Naqsh-e Jahan Square. Hameed Rezaei, 28, was selling Persian carpets to Indian tourists, warning them half-jokingly, “Who knows, tomorrow the US bombs us...” His face was bruised, his eye stitched up, but they were the result of a recent bike accident. “I survived many wars, I survive,” he said. It was a Thursday— the evening before the Friday holiday— and the site was packed with families picnicking well past midnight, kids playing frisbee or cycling under the moonlight, Persian music playing in the streets. This was just hours before Israel launched surprise attacks on key military and nuclear facilities in Iran. A week later, missiles pounded Isfahan, leaving us anxious for Hameed’s safety—even as reports confirmed the historic square had been spared.