TEHRAN - When Ciamak Morsathegh chose to take up a position as medical head of Sapir Hospital he did not regret the "big opportunities" he was giving up in an already high-flying career.
"This hospital is part of our identity as Jews," he says. "It is the practical point of interaction between us and non-Jews in Iran. We help anybody who comes here. We don't ask them their religion."
The pictures on opposite walls of Morsathegh's office tell their own story. The stern, patrician features of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, father figure of Iran's Islamic revolution, glower down from above Morsathegh's desk, as they do in almost every office in the country.
Facing the desk is a painting of Moses, Aaron, and a tablet bearing the Ten Commandments.
Sapir Hospital is a venerable institution of Iranian Jewish life. Founded 60 years ago as a charitable body, it provides free and heavily subsidised medical care for people in its working-class neighbourhood.
In some ways, it continues a medical tradition in which Jews have been celebrated in Iran for centuries. Only a few of the staff are Jews but it is funded by Jewish donations.
Now, Iranian Jews are worried by their President's denial of the Holocaust. Haroun Yashayaie, head of Tehran's Jewish Committee, sent an open letter to the President protesting against his comments.
"Yes, it worried us, it was disrespectful," said a woman who did not want to be named.
"Everyone knows that six million Jews were killed and burned but the President denies this. How does he know if something happened or not?"
The fact she did not want to be named shows the tightrope minorities walk in Iran.
Jews, Zoroastrians and Christians all have rights and limitations enshrined in the constitution. They each elect their own member of Parliament and are entitled to worship freely but not to proselytise. They can make, but not sell, alcohol. They cannot hold senior judicial or Army positions.
Iran remains home to the largest Jewish community - more than 20,000 - in the Middle East outside Israel, despite post-revolutionary emigration that saw tens of thousands leave. Those who remain say emigration has slowed and that those who have stayed are unlikely to change their minds. They talk of repeating patterns of discrimination - the difficulty of securing a job or postgraduate place at university, and anti-Semitism in state media - but say they do not face active hostility.
"Everyone thinks the Islamic republic is killing us, but this is wrong," Morsathegh insists. "Of course, as a minority we have some problems, but they are not as bad as people outside the country think."
It is early morning in Yusuf Abad, an old, middle-class neighbourhood that is home to many of Tehran's Jewish families, and as the city stirs itself awake a low chanting pervades the streets. About 40 men recite from the Torah in the local synagogue. These words have been recited every morning in Iran since about 700BC.
Yet Iranian Jews have learned the hard way that they must publicly renounce any connection to Israel or Zionism. In the first days after the revolution, several Jews were executed on charges of Zionism and relations with Israel.
Since then, Jewish leaders, including their MP, have always protested their antipathy to Israel.
Most are at pains to profess their fundamentally Iranian nature - something they say would make it difficult for them to move abroad.
"Iranian Jews have been good Iranians for 2700 years," says Morsathegh. "I can speak in English, but I can only think in Persian. This is my language and my native culture. I'm not going to leave."
- INDEPENDENT
Proud Jewish community living in the shadow of a Holocaust denier
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