From childhood, one intriguing memory I recall vividly revolves around the Jewish neighborhoods. Over time, it became customary to establish Jewish schools and butcher shops alongside synagogues. These establishments formed a symbiotic relationship, collaborating on services and financing communal expenses.
In the Jewish quarters of Kashan, particularly adjacent to synagogues (there were often multiple synagogues in close proximity), another notable feature existed: the Sipak. A Sipak was a structure housing running water, typically situated at a depth of twenty to thirty meters below ground level. To access it, steps were dug into the earth at a 45-degree angle, leading to the passage of the qanat (i.e. cistern), where the flowing stream could be reached.
The rationale behind constructing the Sipak near the synagogue becomes clearer within the historical context: in an era lacking household bathrooms, the Sipak served as a mikvah, facilitating bathing rituals essential before entering the synagogue, during religious observances such as niddah, and for marriage.
The mikvah holds significance as a fundamental aspect of Jewish heritage, and is the only practice emphasized as a law in the Talmud’s section on purification. Beyond its ritual function, the flowing water of the Sipak found practical use as drinking water, bathing, and activities like washing clothes and other domestic purposes.
It is still unclear how the builders could identify where to dig for a sipak. How did the community locate the stream’s passage, buried tens of meters below ground? Such inquiries underscore the ingenuity and resourcefulness of Jewish communities to construct such blessings for themselves, even amidst the challenging circumstances of that era.
I remember next to the Gabbayi family synagogue and the ancient Nasri synagogue, which is said to be standing for half a millennium, lay a Sipak. Its waters offered respite — cool in the summer and mild and potable in the winter. Descending some 70 to 80 earthen steps into complete darkness, one could reach this precious source of sustenance and ritual purity.
When it comes to qanats, the Encyclopedia describes them as subterranean pathways, also known as kariz or karez, designed for channeling underground water. Essentially, a qanat functions as a deep channel connecting a series of wells that originate from the main well, often called the “mother well”. These channels, sometimes spanning thousands of meters in length, serve to bring water to the surface for various purposes, including agriculture. Ultimately, the water from these qanats emerges onto the ground, serving the needs of drinking, irrigation, and other activities. The point where the qanat springs forth is commonly referred to as the “source” or “mouth of the qanat”, also known as “sarcheshmeh.”.
Originating more than 6,000 years ago in Iran, the qanat stands as a remarkable technological innovation, now adopted worldwide. Iran alone boasts around 30,000 operational qanats, vital for its arid regions. Notably, the oldest known qanat, Qasabeh Qanat of Gonabad, dates back to the pre-Achaemenid era, spanning an impressive 70 kilometers. Reports indicate some qanats in Iran plunge to depths of 400 meters. The length of a qanat typically correlates with the slope of the land: gentler slopes necessitate longer channels, while steeper gradients allow for shorter constructions.
Constructing a qanat is a costly endeavor, often funded through endowments, such as the example of the Haj Ali Reza Ghanat, which traverses Tehran’s Jewish quarter. Undoubtedly, qanats play a pivotal role in sustaining life in water-scarce regions across the globe.
It can be asserted that qanats have played a crucial role in sustaining life in water-scarce regions around the globe. In Iran, during the dry years following the maintenance and clearing of the qanats, a charming tradition unfolded. Villagers, adorned in vibrant local attire and accompanied by musical instruments, would gather around the expansive mouth of one of the numerous qanat wells, which served as a nesting ground for countless pigeons too. This gathering marked the occasion of engagement, where a beautiful maiden would be joyously brought forth amidst dancing and jubilation. They held the belief that such festivities would invigorate the well’s activity, ensuring continued water supply.
The most interesting qanat in the world must be the Mun Qanat in Ardestan. It stands out as one of the most intriguing qanats globally, boasting a unique two-story design and a rich history spanning eight centuries.
Among the tales surrounding this marvel, one particularly captivating narrative revolves around the Sipak. Legend has it that a group of adventurous youths met one midnight and dared each other to descend into the depths of the largest Sipak, known as Khuniha, with the promise of a reward upon their return.
Among the group, a brave and strong young man volunteered for the challenge. His companions instructed him to drive a stable nail into the ground at the bottom of the stairs, ensuring proof of his journey for the following day’s inspection and subsequent reward. Undeterred, the young man embarked on his descent into the abyss, enveloped by the blackness of the underground passage.
As he reached the stream’s edge, fulfilling his task by firmly embedding the nail into the earth, an unexpected terror seized him. In the darkness, he felt a grip on his clothing, hindering his movement. Considering the superstitious beliefs prevalent among the people of that era and the notion of supernatural entities such as Jinns lurking in the darkness, he cries out in sheer terror, “Jinn, release me!” Yet, the grip remains unyielding. Amidst his desperate pleas and escalating anxiety, fear grips him so tightly that he suffers a stroke and meets his end right then and there. His perceived fear of the jinn materializes into a grim reality, overshadowing his rationality. Instead of seeking the underlying cause, he succumbs to his irrational dread.
His friends, alarmed by his prolonged absence, discover his lifeless body by the water’s edge, only to find that he had driven the nail into the fabric of his own garment.