Over and Under Zoroastrianism 1: Seyfi Tomar, Anatolian Alevism
Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen
Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project
Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/05/31
Seyfi Tomar, an independent scholar from Maras, Turkey, explores the intersections of Anatolian Alevism, Zoroastrian heritage, and pre-Islamic beliefs. He shares insights into rituals emphasizing peace, sacred elements like fire and the sun, and a moral code centred on good thoughts, words, and deeds. Tomar highlights the persecution of Zoroastrians in Turkey and the concealment of their identity, the syncretic nature of Alevism, and the value of spiritual integrity over religious conversion. Emphasizing tolerance, he advocates for a world where beliefs are not imposed, and all individuals flourish freely in their spiritual paths.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: So Seyfi Tomar is an independent scholar and cultural researcher focused on the intersections of Anatolian Alevism, pre-Islamic belief systems, and Zoroastrian heritage. Born in Maras, Turkey, Tomar documents oral history, symbols, and rituals that connect contemporary Alevi practices to ancient spiritual traditions. His work explores identity, resistance, and sacred ecology through a multidisciplinary lens. Sebi is especially interested in the survival of esoteric knowledge under religious and political pressures, contributing to community dialogue and interfaith understanding. He presents at cultural forums and contributes essays that highlight the enduring legacy of Anatolia’s syncretic spiritual history. Thank you for joining me today. I appreciate it.
Tomar: Thank you for the interview.
Jacobsen: Thank you for the insight into Zoroastrianism. So, who was Zoroaster? For many enmeshed in some Western literature, people mostly know Zoroaster by the name Zarathustra, primarily from Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra.So, is there a relationship between these terms and who Zoroaster was in the original sense?
Tomar: Yes. Zoroaster, or Zarathustra in the Avestan language, was the founder of Zoroastrianism, one of the world’s oldest monotheistic religions. Zoroastrianism originated in ancient Persia, likely around the 2nd millennium BCE, and emphasizes the worship of Ahura Mazda, the Wise Lord, along with principles like truth, righteousness, and the cosmic struggle between order and chaos.
Zoroastrianism, or Mazdayasna as it is known traditionally, is not officially banned in Turkey today. Still, it is not formally recognized or supported by the state. In Iran, it is a legally recognized minority religion, though historically, it faced severe persecution, especially after the Islamic conquest in the 7th century. During the Ottoman Empire, heterodox beliefs such as Alevism were often suppressed or marginalized.
Many of my ancestors, even after centuries, retained elements of Zoroastrian tradition, though often blended into Alevi practices. Alevism is a distinct syncretic tradition within Islam, especially in Turkey, incorporating Shia Islamic, Sufi, and possibly pre-Islamic elements, including influences that may resemble Zoroastrian customs—such as reverence for fire, the sun, and water—but it is essential to clarify that Alevism is not simply a continuation of Zoroastrianism.
Alevism varies significantly by region and community. For many, especially those critical of institutional religion, Alevism has become a spiritual or cultural refuge because it lacks rigid dogma: it does not require mosque attendance, five daily prayers, or strict fasting like Sunni Islam. Instead, it emphasizes internal morality, music (using the saz), and communal worship in clevis (Alevi gathering houses).
This openness may explain why people from different backgrounds—including, historically, some Armenian or Christian families—might have found refuge in Alevi communities and integrated elements of their heritage into local traditions. However, these integrations are complex and vary significantly by geography and historical circumstance.
My family’s traditions reflect Zoroastrian heritage. My parents and grandparents practiced rituals that echo Zoroastrian respect for natural elements, such as honouring the sun at dawn, cleansing the face with water while facing the sun, and treating fire with deep respect, never extinguishing it with water.
Although not strictly Zoroastrian in their current form, these practices suggest a syncretic spiritual lineage that preserves fragments of ancient belief systems within modern cultural frameworks like Alevism.
They have other ways of extinguishing fire. If you’re a firefighter, you wouldn’t be Zoroastrian in the traditional sense because Zoroastrians believe fire is sacred and should not be put out with water. That’s just something I remembered. They have to do it differently. And every house in my town had some symbol of a peacock, which also comes from traditions influenced by Zoroastrianism. We retain so many signs and symbolic elements. That’s what I want to share with you.
Jacobsen: When I used to work at a horse farm for about 27 months, it became a side project: a book of conversations with equestrians. The second volume is ongoing. The owners, one of whom had been on the Canadian Olympic show jumping team in 1984 and 1988, had a peacock fly into her deceased father’s yard, where they were living. That man brought McDonald’s to Canada and founded The Keg restaurant chain and the horse facility called Thunderbird, probably the second largest in Canada. They decided to take a road trip to Saskatchewan and picked up three more peacocks. They just said, “We’ll be gone for four days,” hitched up a trailer. I filled the three-horse trailer with shavings and timothy hay. They drove off and came back with three peacocks. So, if I had any introduction to Zoroastrianism, it was through three peacocks at a horse farm.
Tomar: And as I said, I cannot say all Alevis are Zoroastrian. Right now, there’s a genocide happening in Syria targeting the Alawites, or Nasiris, who are often grouped under broader categories like Alevis. But they are not the same. They are different sects, united mainly in opposition to Sunni orthodoxy, but their sources differ. Even within Turkey, Alevism is not homogenous. If you’re in cities like Sivas, closer to the Black Sea, the Alevis are more likely descendants of Armenians who survived by integrating. In my region, which is closer to Syria and Iran in the southeast, I believe many of us are descendants of Zoroastrians who survived by practicing under the cover of Anatolian Alevism. That’s why there are differences. When we hold large gatherings to discuss what Alevism is in Turkey, there’s always division because the roots of Alevism are diverse. It comes from many sources.
Jacobsen: What is the central message of the Gathas–the sacred hymns of Zoroastrianism?
Tomar: Ah, yes. The Gathas are the oldest part of the Zoroastrian scriptures, written in Old Avestan. The core message is about living in harmony with nature. We didn’t necessarily know we were following it consciously. We were never formally educated about Zoroastrianism. It was always viewed negatively and always prohibited. You couldn’t even say the name. In Turkey, from Prime Minister Erdoğan down to other officials, calling someone a “Zoroastrian” is an insult. It’s used as a slur. That’s how deep the repression goes.
Jacobsen: So there’s even a limitation in self-knowledge due to governmental repression?
Tomar: Absolutely. Right now, if you want to insult someone or accuse them of being evil, you call them a Zoroastrian. That’s how bad it is in Turkey. It means you’re the worst; you’re evil. That’s how they portray it.
Jacobsen: Would you say Turkey is the worst?
Tomar: No, I wouldn’t say that. Iran is probably worse. Turkey isn’t the worst. Syria and Turkey weren’t bad historically, but today, even Syria might be worse because there is either an Islamic regime or no functioning regime at all. That makes things more dangerous. Turkey may have been worse in the past. In the last 15 to 20 years, even though the term “Zoroastrian” is still used as an insult, Turkey has seen some changes. But generally, minorities like Armenians and Zoroastrians in Turkey are very self-disciplined. They hide their traditions. That’s why you don’t see them much in the media.
You know, probably in the beginning, when people opposed it, it made the news, and there were all kinds of court cases and controversies. Now, I don’t think there are many of those anymore.
Jacobsen: What are the roles of Asha and Druj in the moral framework of Zoroastrianism?
Tomar: Asha?
Jacobsen: Truth, order. Druj—falsehood, chaos.
Tomar: I don’t really know in detail because although we had those concepts, I never delved into them. I never had a strong interest in learning more formally. Whatever I absorbed was passed down from my parents, and that’s all I carried forward.
Jacobsen: One thing you mentioned earlier was the significance of fire. For example, in Zoroastrianism, someone wouldn’t become a firefighter because of the sacred status of fire. So, even if a person grows up with some foundational Zoroastrian theology when you live under a repressive regime, most people keep their spiritual practices private.
Tomar: Yes. Even today, our practice includes elders who can be either male or female, which is very different from many traditional religious leadership models. Our leaders can be female—and many of them are—and that’s already very different from what has been dominant over the past thousand years. We also create a circle. The circle is significant; everything begins with that shape.
Within that circle, everyone must be at peace. If someone has had a falling out with another, if someone has hurt another person, or if someone isn’t speaking to them, the circle cannot begin. Prayers cannot start until reconciliation happens. So, before anything else, the leader—male or female—ensures that everyone opens up, expresses what is in their heart, and makes peace with others.
Once peace is restored, the prayers begin, led by the elder. They move around the circle, asking about people’s everyday challenges, concerns, and personal matters. After that, there’s usually a communal movement—what you might describe as a kind of dance or turning—which is a part of the prayer ritual.
But in the beginning, the emphasis is on creating a shared space of peace and openness. Only then can the circle form and the prayer proceed. That has always been the structure in our village settings—it’s a communal tradition deeply tied to locality.
At the end of the ritual, we do something like a whirling movement. It’s similar to what people see in whirling dervishes, but it is not the same.
Jacobsen: Is it similar? Do you mean the whirling dervishes of the Mevlevi Sufi tradition?
Tomar: Yes, but ours is completely different. In our tradition—called Lerdrish—we never turn our back to the leader, who symbolizes the sun. She represents the sun, and we must always keep our face toward her. Even when we whirl, we are mindful not to turn our backs.
Additionally, our foreheads are directed toward the sun, or if we’re indoors or it’s cloudy, we look into our palms. The palms serve as a mirror. By looking into them, we reflect inward, we self-criticize, and we open ourselves emotionally and spiritually. That is part of the prayer.
So, although it may look like the whirling dervishes from the outside, it is entirely different in essence. Whirling dervishes may appear as if they’re in an altered state, spinning endlessly. Still, for us, every movement has a purpose. Every second of the ritual is intentional. As we move, we keep adjusting to ensure our faces remain aligned. It is a profoundly symbolic and disciplined practice.
As soon as you face the leader, you look into your palm as a symbolic mirror—looking inward, opening yourself up, and cleansing yourself emotionally and spiritually. So, it’s different from the whirling dervishes. Whirling dervishes often appear like someone in a trance, just turning and turning in a repetitive ritual. Ours is dynamic and constantly shifting. It’s not about zoning out; it’s about heightened awareness and internal reflection. These are the practices I’ve followed, witnessed, and participated in.
Jacobsen: When you see practices and rituals in Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, how much do you think Zoroastrianism has influenced them?
Tomar: I think confession is one of the clearest examples. Islam doesn’t include a formal confessional ritual, but Christianity does. I believe the practice of confessing comes from Zoroastrianism. In our tradition, you must first confess to begin prayer and join the circle. That confession can be private but happens more often among friends, family, or those in the prayer circle. People admit how they may have harmed someone or if they’ve done something wrong. Everyone in the circle hears it and digests it. Only after that can the prayer begin. You cannot enter the sacred circle without making peace; confession is part of that peace. So yes, I think confession as a spiritual and communal practice has its roots in Zoroastrianism.
Jacobsen: How did Zoroastrianism function as a state religion during the Achaemenid and Sasanian Empires?
Tomar: No idea.
Jacobsen: What does the triad “Good thoughts, good words, good deeds” mean?
Tomar: It’s about behaviour—how you govern yourself. You must behave with your hands, meaning you do not steal or harm others physically. You must behave with your tongue, meaning you don’t speak badly or swear, and you think before you speak. And you must behave with your belly. That’s harder to translate, but it means you respect the sexual boundaries and dignity of others. You don’t go after what belongs to others, sexually or otherwise.
It’s not like in certain interpretations of Islam, where polygamy is allowed and there’s a strong male-centred structure. In Zoroastrianism, there is no gender hierarchy in moral expectations. Respect for sexuality applies to both men and women equally. You have to respect your partner and not pursue others. It’s a form of moral discipline.
So again: behave your hands—do not steal; behave your tongue—speak with care and truth; behave your belly—respect others and yourself in intimate matters. Those are the three pillars we focus on, and they guide how we live.
Jacobsen: How are practices preserved among Parsi and Iranian Zoroastrian communities?
Tomar: I don’t know the difference between Parsis and Alevis in Turkey. I don’t know. We never interact. I know what I’ve experienced. At least, as we say them, the teachings come down to being mindful of your hand, waist, and tongue. That’s what it means—control your actions, your desires, and your words. Or, as it’s often translated, guard your behaviour, body, and speech. But in Turkish, the meaning feels different.
Jacobsen: What are the key festivals?
Tomar: Nauruz is one. Yes, Nauruz. We celebrated it yesterday. Other than Nauruz, I’m not sure.
Jacobsen: What about Sadeh or Mehregan?
Tomar: Maybe in Iran or other communities, but I don’t know in Turkey.
Jacobsen: What about environmental stewardship or reverence for nature?
Tomar: There is an extreme respect for nature. I don’t know exactly why or how, but my parents and people like them respected everything—from ants to cows. Every living being was treated with more care than in other religious or cultural settings in Turkey. I don’t know if it’s from Zoroastrianism, but they were highly mindful. They wouldn’t even kill a mosquito without hesitation. It’s deep, it’s sincere—it goes beyond usual respect. It feels like something more profound than just being kind. It’s almost sacred.
Jacobsen: Was there any influence on Freemasonry or Yezidism?
Tomar: Yezidism? I think it’s very similar. I don’t know all the differences or similarities, but I don’t think they’re that far apart. Still, I don’t know enough to say more. And in my area, we don’t have Yezidis, so I haven’t seen it personally. Maybe in other areas.
Jacobsen: How extensive were Zoroastrian communities before the Islamic conquests?
Tomar: Before the Islamic conquest, Zoroastrians were well-known and respected. It was practiced openly and freely. What I understand is that Zoroastrians are very different from other religions in one key way: they don’t care about spreading their religion. Every other religion seems to have a goal of expansion—to make the entire world adopt their beliefs. But with us, it doesn’t matter if my neighbour is Zoroastrian. We don’t try to convert anyone.
I’ve never seen a Zoroastrian try to convince a non-Zoroastrian to convert. There’s no attempt to proselytize. None of our ancestors taught us to do that. I think that’s the main difference. That’s also why the religion stayed small and marginalized—because it didn’t fight back with expansion. Meanwhile, Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism all have missionary aspects, aiming to spread everywhere. I never understood why that is.
Jacobsen: What are key symbols you’ve noticed in Alevism or Zoroastrianism? Other than the peacock? The peacock, fire, and water—those are central. What else?
Tomar: I can’t think of other symbols off the top of my head, but I’m sure they exist in my life—I never think about them consciously.
Jacobsen: What about the sun and the earth?
Tomar: Oh yes, absolutely—the sun and the earth are central. Along with water and fire, they’re essential elements. We see them as part of the cosmic cycle—everything flows, everything returns. It’s all about circulation. That’s why we use the symbol of the circle. It’s not that we believe in reincarnation the way some religions do—where you die and come back as an animal or a human. We don’t think that. We believe you don’t indeed die—you transform into something else. And that’s why we respect the earth so profoundly. It’s a part of you. Your body, your self, becomes the earth again.
Jacobsen: What about the peacock angel—Tawûsê Melek?
Tomar: The Tawus? Do you mean the peacock angel? I’ve heard of it but don’t know much about it. Those more detailed theological elements—I can’t say because I never practiced in that specific way. It was a natural part of life, not something we studied academically or systematically.
Jacobsen: Can you describe a common ritual you participated in growing up or even now?
Tomar: I haven’t practiced much in Canada, but as a child, the rituals were very special. The village leader—often a woman—would come, and we would create a protective setup outside. Not for protection from outsiders, but more like making a sacred space. We would have twelve people, each with a task, watching the perimeter or handling responsibilities.
Then, the ritual began with confessions. Everyone had to confess their current emotional or interpersonal issues. Once everyone had opened up, the leader would make decisions or offer guidance. After that, the dancing would start. It would go on through the night. It was long, but it was beautiful and meaningful. I used to enjoy it so much.
Jacobsen: In other religions, like Catholicism or Sufism, there are sometimes rituals that involve substances—wine, incense, or even hashish in some mystical practices. Was there any of that in Zoroastrianism?
Tomar: None. Just water—always water. I don’t remember food or drink being part of it at all. No one even seemed to feel hungry or thirsty. It all flowed so smoothly. There was no alcohol, no substances. During the ritual, one person would walk around continuously serving water. That was their task—serving water to everyone all the time. After the ritual, people might drink or relax, but not during prayer. During prayer, it was pure.
Jacobsen: How was respect for elders observed?
Tomar: Respect for elders was extremely strong—but I think that’s true in many cultures and religions. I’m not sure if we were unique in that regard. But yes, deep respect was always shown.
Jacobsen: What about family lineage or customs tied to ancestry? In Islam, lineage is critical. Judaism has its genealogical traditions. Christianity, particularly in medieval Europe, also kept family records in church archives. Was there an emphasis on that in Zoroastrianism?
Tomar: No, I don’t understand that concept in our context. In Alevism and Islam, yes, there’s a focus on lineage. But in Zoroastrianism—at least as I knew it—the ritual leader wasn’t chosen based on bloodline. If someone was seen as worthy, they could take on the leadership role, even if they weren’t the daughter or son of the current leader. The leader decides who follows—not necessarily their child. It’s about merit, not inheritance.
Jacobsen: What about the Fravashi—the guardian spirits in Zoroastrian belief?
Tomar: I’m not sure. We may have something similar, but we probably call it differently. I don’t recognize the word, but the concept may exist in another form within our tradition.
Tomar: Yes. I don’t know a lot of these things. There’s much I’m not familiar with. You’re already more educated than me on some of this.
Jacobsen: What about veneration for the dead or end-of-life rites? And is it “Cem” rituals or “Sem” rituals?
Tomar: Ah, yes. Some rituals are called Cem rituals—spelled C-E-M. Those are our gatherings. I referred to earlier, where we dance, reflect, and face the symbolic sun. You look at your palm like a mirror. Your forehead turns toward the sun; you never turn your back on it or the leader who symbolizes it. That’s why I didn’t recognize the word earlier; it didn’t sound familiar at first when you pronounced it. But yes, Cem rituals are central to our practice.
Jacobsen: What about fasting? How much do you fast?
Tomar: I don’t fast at all. It’s just not part of my habits. Some do, however.
Jacobsen: In Alevi customs in Turkey, which parts of Zoroastrian life are practiced publicly, and which parts are kept private—especially under Erdoğan’s regime?
Tomar: Everything is kept private. No one says they’re Zoroastrian. Everyone says they’re Muslim. You are required to list your religion as “Muslim” on your ID. And this predates Erdoğan—it’s not new. It’s always been that way. Nothing changed. It’s the same system, the same repression.
More recently, Erdoğan removed the mandatory religious declaration from national ID cards, so you’re not forced to expose yourself openly anymore. But even so, if you are known in your village or community, they will label you Alevi—but no one, I mean no one, ever dares say openly they are Zoroastrian. I’ve never seen anyone with that kind of courage in Turkey.
Jacobsen: What kinds of slurs are used against people from your community in Turkey or Iran?
Tomar: The slurs… yes. People accuse us of all sorts of things. Because we pray with candles and don’t separate men and women during worship, they accuse us of group sex or other immoral behaviour. They slander us simply because we’re different. Our leadership can be male or female, and everything is family-oriented. But people twist that and use it to insult us.
I imagine it’s the same in Iran, though I’m not as familiar with the specifics there.
Jacobsen: And fasting—you mentioned something more spiritual. Could you elaborate?
Tomar: Yes. In our tradition, there’s fasting of silence or refraining from eating meat. But I never consciously practiced it formally. Maybe I was living it as a part of daily life. The only one I truly know is fasting in the form of good thoughts, good words, and good deeds. That’s the one I’ve seen practiced and even used as a form of purification or discipline.
Someone might be asked to take time in silence, to eat less, or to purify their thoughts—not as punishment but as a way to reset spiritually. So yes, it’s less about food and more about purifying the mind. That emphasis on purifying one’s mentality was always central.
Jacobsen: We’re getting close to the end. What’s your big message—your central insight—from practicing within this tradition?
Tomar: My big message? No one should need to spread their beliefs or impose them on others. Zoroastrianism never taught us to do that. And, across all cultures and traditions, we should live that way. Let people live freely without trying to convert or dominate. That’s the core of how I try to live.
If you are Muslim, if you are Catholic, if you are Republican, Democrat, liberal, or conservative—why do you have to force other people to be like you? Let everybody be their colour, freedom, and flower. That’s where it comes from—Zarathustra. And that, I believe, is the best way to live.
Jacobsen: Excellent. Beautifully said. Thank you very much.
Tomar: Thank you, too.
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