Remaining in Iran, however, was just as impossible
Tehran, Iran 1978
When I was about 11 years old and my brother Yitzchok was 16, he and my father opened a small electronics repair shop. Yitzchok had worked as an apprentice in a similar shop before, and by age 16, he knew enough to be able to start a shop of his own.
Nowadays it’s probably strange to think that people would pay to have their CD player or hairdryer fixed, but back in the late 1970s, it was common practice. One day, a Muslim man from a nearby village showed up in the store.
“I’d like to fix a blow dryer and tape recorder,” the man told Yitzchok.
“Chohesh mikonam khubel nadoreh!” my brother told him. “With pleasure.”
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