At dusk on Fridays, Rachel Betsalely's family marked the beginning of Shabbat with an unusual action: They closed the windows, so as not to be spotted drinking wine, a forbidden substance in the strict Islamic society of Meshhad, Iran. That evening, they dined on the kosher meat Betsalely's mother had spent hours secretly preparing, after carefully smuggling it home from the shohet (kosher butcher) under her chador, long cloak. Their dog, meanwhile, devoured the non-kosher meat she had openly purchased at the market. On Saturdays, the family left their businesses open, but charged outrageously high prices to discourage customers. The men gathered at a secret Shabbat minyan in someone's home, and then made their way to services at the mosque.

"They were very clever," recalls Betsalely, born 66 years ago in Meshhad, and now a resident of Herzliya, Israel. "They had many little tricks to fool the Muslims. In the market, they bought Muslim bread, but as they walked home, they gave it to the Muslim poor. The bread they ate was made in their basements, where the women ground their own flour and baked it themselves."

The Meshhadi Jews hadn't always lived undercover. In fact, their history began with a magnanimous invitation: In 1735, when Jews were being persecuted and forced out of countries all over the world, newly-crowned Iranian King Nader Shah did exactly the opposite. He invited Jews into the Khorasan province, the center of government, into the holy Muslim city of Meshhad. The king hoped that by bringing in 2,000 prosperous merchant families, 40 of them Jewish, they would invigorate the economy. His gamble paid off: Merchant Jews flocked to Iran, business flourished, and everyone prospered.

The king was pleased, but his antisemitic Muslim subjects were not. After the king was assassinated in 1747, Jews were forced to wear identifying clothing and were refused entry into parts of the city. In 1839, on the day before Pesach, the hatred exploded when a mob attacked the Jewish community, burned several synagogues, destroyed Torahs, killed 36 Jews, and wounded hundreds. The final humiliation came at the end of the day, when 400 leading Jews were forced to convert to Islam.

From all appearances, it looked as though the Jews of Meshhad became loyal Muslims. Jews began attending services at the mosque, wore Muslim garb, and bought halal meat and Muslim-made bread. Nowhere in Meshhad could a Shabbat candle be seen.

At home, however, in basements and behind closed doors, they never gave up being observant Jews. For close to a century, they lived two lives: a public life as Muslims, and at home, in secret, they lived as Jews.

Shabbat candles were lit in basements, or under cover. On Ramadan, when Muslims fast during the day and feast at night, Jews pretended to fast, and at night, spread a lavish table, pretending they hadn't eaten. Pesach was especially arduous. "We gave our maids several days off, and then my mother began making preparations," Betsalely says. "She made our own wine in the basement. We had special flour, sifted it four times, and baked all our own matzah."

Young marriages were another defense. Because Muslims wanted to marry into the prosperous merchant families, Jewish girls and boys were betrothed very early. "My grandmother married when she was 9 years old," Betsalely notes. "Her aunt married at 6. It had to be done to protect the Jewish girls. Otherwise a Muslim could claim them."

For the most part, the subterfuge worked. The Jews of Meshhad were never persecuted in the way the Marranos of Spain and Portugal were during the Inquisition. In Meshhad, Muslims accepted the hidden Jews as Muslims. But still, life was difficult, and after World War II, life for the Meshhadi became intolerable.

"When I was 8, we moved to Tehran," Betsalely recalls. "I attended school in Tehran, and I came to Israel in 1951. I was the youngest of eight children, but the last to leave Tehran. My sisters and brothers had scattered, some to London, some to America, some to Israel."

The Meshhadi, called Jedidim in the Persian language Farsi, established large communities in London, Milan, New York, and Jerusalem. "Every place they lived, they'd build a beit kenesset, synagogue," Betsalely says. "They built homes close to each other, and they'd marry each other. Because of our unique background, our customs and traditions were a little different. Young people wanted to marry someone with the same traditions."

In Israel, the Meshhadi continued to care for each other. When Hannah Ben-David was 12, in the 1930s, she came to Palestine with her family. "I was born in Meshhad," Ben-David says. "My father was a merchant, so when I was just 3 months old, we moved to Turkey so he could run his business. I grew up in Turkey, but all her life, my mother pleaded to go to Palestine. She begged and wept, and finally my father found a way to run his business from Jerusalem. When we landed in Haifa, my mother fell on her knees and kissed the ground.

"In Jerusalem, my father built a large home. Any Jew from Meshhad who needed a place to live was invited to live with us-some stayed for years. We had many weddings at our home, and my father supplied everything they needed."

For the Meshhadi, coming home to Israel was a communal redemption, a sign that the Jews in galut, exile, were being gathered together and brought home to live in our eternal land. In Israel, the Meshhadi were finally free to live without the restrictions of foreign laws, free to live Jewish lives in public and at home.

Today, no Jews remain in Meshhad. Yet daily, in the news, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad threatens to destroy Israel. How does Rachel Betsalely feel? "Iran is a beautiful country with many lovely people," she says. "But I was never an Iranian-we were never permitted to be Iranians! I am a Jew. My home is in Israel." 

Meet Moshe, an 11-year-old Meshhadi Jew from Queens, New York. He is in sixth grade at the Yeshiva of Central Queens. Moshe talks about special Meshhadi customs for Shabbat, Rosh Hashanah, and Pesach. He also has stories about how his grandparents had to keep their Judaism a secret while still in Iran. Since his family couldn't openly practice Judaism, Moshe feels proud and happy that he can in New York.

Click here to listen to Moshe talk about being part of the Meshhadi community!