At Ottawa’s Cafe Tehran, Nowruz celebrations are weighed down by war in Iran | Canada Voices

The table has been set at Cafe Tehran in downtown Ottawa, well before 10:46 a.m., the precise time when the earth’s orbit brings the sun directly over the celestial equator, and one year on the Persian calendar gives way to the next.

Following tradition on Nowruz, an ancient festival to celebrate spring’s arrival and the new year, the Haft-sin table has been arranged with seven items representing specific blessings. Fresh garlic brings protection. Senjed, a dried fruit, promises love and wisdom. Apples for vitality and vinegar for patience.

Potted separately, there is a yet-to-bloom Hyacinthe and bright green sprouts called sabzeh, both symbols of growth and rebirth. The latter was planted by the restaurant’s owner and chef, Saman Rezaeifar, although, he says, “The grandmothers always grow it best.”

And then there is the spice jar of sumac, which represents the sunrise and good winning over evil, a blessing most on the mind of the Iranians gathered for Nowruz on Friday morning to bring in the New Year.

It should be a celebration. But, of course, it is not. They afraid for their families back in Iran, where bombs are falling. The year ahead is uncertain.

And there is an extra item on the table, placed by Sara Taghavi Nejad Deylami, 27, who does marketing for the restaurant: A framed montage of faces – some of the Iranians killed by police in the January anti-government protests. They didn’t know them, says Ms. Deylami, but it doesn’t matter. “It feels like it’s your family member that you lost.”

For all of them Nowruz is a day connected to happy childhood memories: their mothers fiercely tasking them with chores to spring clean the house, travelling to parties with family and friends over 13 days, plates laden with sweets, and on the last day, going to out into nature, and planting sabzeh from their Haft-sin table in the earth.

But this year, Mr. Rezaeifar has tears in his eyes. “I will be thinking of the ones who are gone,” says Mr. Rezaeifar, speaking in Persian with Ms. Deylami translating. In January, his best friend of 20 years, Mahdi Banaeyan, was shot at and killed at close range during the protest. Mr. Rezaeifar shows a picture on his phone: the two men, grinning and wearing the same green T-shirt, worn for one of their parties where Mr. Banaeyan was first to get everyone dancing. Across the bottom, Mr. Rezaeifar has written, “I wish I was courageous like you.”

Mr. Rezaeifar and his wife, Alaleh Hozeifi, left their families behind two years ago to come to Canada, wanting a better life for their two daughters. Back in Iran, their eldest, Raha, 10, would now be required to wear a hijab. Today, she is wearing a Care Bears T-shirt and jeans – it’s tradition, during Nowruz to wear a new outfit – and translating expertly for her parents between English and Persian. Her four-year-old sister, Hanna, has chosen a pink princess dress for the day.

About a dozen people, restaurant staff and their families gather near the table as the New Year approaches. A TV by the bar has been turned to Iran International, a Persian news channel, which is showing clips from the past months: heart-rending images of protestors and police and explosions. The room is silent afterward.

No one counts down, or cheers when the time arrives. “Eide Shoma Mobarak,” they say to each other, exchanging hugs. Mr. Rezaeifar, who is the oldest, hands each person a crisp $20 bill – a gift, called Eidi, meant to bring good fortune.

“The vibe is not the same,” says Hesam Garmeh, Cafe Tehran’s line cook, while skewering squares of seasoned beef. Mr. Garmeh arrived in Canada two years ago; an engineer in Iran, he is studying to become an electrician in Canada.

His phone rings, suddenly, a call from Iran, likely his parents, but when he picks up, no one is there. He returns to the skewers. He can only wait because his calls will not get through.

Usually on Nowruz, Ms. Deylami would video call her family, so she can be a part of the gathering. But the internet in Iran has been down for weeks. Now, a phone call only lasts minutes. “Sometime we are just 10 times asking each other like how are you?” Ms. Deylami says. No one speaks freely, for fear who might be listening.

In the middle of the Haft Sin table, they have placed a gold-embossed book of poems by Hafez, the beloved Iranian poet who lived during his own time of conflict and tyrannical rule in 14th-century Shiraz, a city now being bombed in the war. Poems by Hafez are often read during Nowruz; Iranian also seek their fortunes by flipping the book open randomly and reading the poem they find.

In Persian, Mr. Garmeh recites these lines from memory: “Thanks be to God that by good fortune, at the edge of the flower/the arrogance of the winter wind and the glory of the thorn have come to an end.”

The words celebrate spring’s arrival and the end of winter, he says. But like all Hafez’s poetry, they speak to a longing for beauty to succeed over injustice. As a boy, Mr. Garmeh says he knew that when his father recited these words, it was a wish for the regime to fall, and for Iran to be free.

When asked whether freedom will result from this current war, which began when U.S.-Israeli strikes hit Iran on Feb. 28, Mr. Rezaeifar says change must be led by the people, not the foreign government. Ms. Deylami worries what will be left for the people if the country is destroyed by bombs.

“It may take time,” Mr. Garmeh says, but people don’t have guns, so they must wait until the regime is weak to seize control.

It’s an old story, for a day meant to be about new beginnings. But then Hanna skips over with a red balloon, asking Mr. Garmeh to pop it with a skewer; she giggles when it bursts. And for a minute, the sombre mood lifts, and the adults smile, thankful for 4-year-olds who know only spring, and not the heavy-hearted winter. “I am laughing now.” Mr. Garmeh says after. “But we are all crying everyday.”

Soon, the restaurant will be filled. Mr. Rezaeifar has already cooked the rice and prepared the salmon for the traditional Nowruz meal. The skewers are ready. Last year, there was a DJ and dancing, but not tonight. This Nowruz is for remembering, and hoping.