Being a Zartoshti in America  

Zartoshti. How is it possible for there to be so much meaning in just one word? The dictionary has defined the word “Zartoshti” as a person belonging to the Zoroastrian religion. In my eyes the definition that Webster has given only covers one of the infinite significances of the people of our religion and what they represent. I cannot speak for every Zartoshti in the world, but I can speak for the Zartoshtis that I have met and have learned to love and respect as a part of my family. The kindness I have seen in the eyes of many is not the kind that I would be able to describe in words, but the kindness and love that has been expressed to me by Zartoshti people is beyond anything I could ever imagine. 

Not only Zartoshtis, but Iroonis, in general, are very friendly and that’s what I love so much about them. Zartoshti people are unlike any others in the sense that they care so much more for each other. And when I say that the people of Iran are unlike any other people, I speak from experience. 

I will never forget my first trip to Iran. So far it has been my only trip there, but I’m anticipating the day I can go back and relive everything. It was December of ’92; I was five years old and didn’t know what to expect. I stayed with my grandparents for two weeks. Those two weeks were unlike any other two weeks of my entire life. I’ll never forget the glass bottled milk, or the ‘poshti’ pillows we lay against the walls, the detailed rugs that covered the floor of every room, or the rooster calls that woke me every morning, but most of all I’ll never forget the kind hearted people that touched my life forever. 

I was a five-year-old child who had known nothing but America. I was enrolled in a Persian koodakestaan (kindergarten) for two weeks with children I had never met before in my life. It was completely different from everything I had known up to that point in my life, so you could imagine how I felt. I didn’t know what to expect at all, but the first day I walked into that classroom and sat down next to a smiling little girl, I knew everything would be alright. The children were warm-hearted and came up to ask my name as they introduced themselves one by one. Day by day I slowly became a part of them, I wrote deektehs with them, I jumped rope with them, I ate lunch with them, I took naps with them—I grew close to them. They were more than just my friends. By the end of the two weeks, I knew them almost better than they knew themselves. We became remarkably close and I’ll never forget the kindness they showed me. 

As a child, I had been taught many things about our religion and heritage. There is so much meaning in the (nearly) 4,000 years behind our history. All of our customs and rituals, different foods, our language, our holidays and celebrations and the significance of each one, the Persian Empire and each Dynasty that it harbored in order to be as powerful as it was. All of this is part of our culture, it’s part of our heritage, and it’s part of each and every one of us; and we should learn to keep that. We should keep our culture and learn to preserve it. 

The generation before us had migrated to the United States because of the Revolution of ’79. If it weren’t for the revolution, I’d be in Iran right now. I would have spent my childhood there and most probably live the rest of my life there as well. Everything would have been different; it wouldn’t have been anything like it is right now. If this generation had remained in Iran, our culture would remain stable. We wouldn’t be threatened to lose it. What I am afraid is going to happen to us is slowly starting to happen. 

Our culture is gradually deteriorating. Vanishing before our eyes. The generation born in the United States has lost so much. There are many that can’t speak a word of Farsi. It hurts me so much to think that our language has survived the hardest blows of the Arabs, but cannot survive migration. Ferdowsi spent 30 years writing the Shah Nameh; a book so incredibly important to our culture that without its existence we’d be speaking Arabic to each other instead of Farsi. At this rate, in a hundred or so years, our descendants will most likely know little to absolutely nothing of where they came from, or who they really are. They won’t know anything about the Persian Empire, of their heritage and culture, or of their very diverse and incredible religion. 

We need to preserve our background in order to pass it down to the next generation and be able to call ourselves Persian. I don’t want to think of what might happen if we don’t. To think that there are many who don’t appreciate who they are, and who don’t know that their heritage is a gift that they must never forget to cherish. If we don’t cherish our heritage we will lose it. Remember who you are and never let go of that.

Everything that our culture and religion stands for is something to be proud of. It would be awful to lose it all. Our religion is not a religion of force, whereas in the past many Zartoshtis had been forced to convert or suffer the consequence of death. Our religion is the religion of choice, and Asho Zartosht never said to force the Zartoshti religion on others in any way. A Zartoshti has a mind and knows to use it. Ahura Mazda (the Wise Creator and our one and only God) has given us the choice to chose the right or wrong path. What we do is up to us and only us. 

Our three main principles are Pendareh Neek (Good Thoughts), Goftareh Neek (Good Words), and Kerdare Neek (Good Deeds). To be a good Zartoshti you must always keep in mind the three principles and base your life upon them. 

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