To Shahin Alizadeh, the Iranian citizen fighting right now for his future, and perhaps even for his life,
Hello. Salam. That is how you greet each other, too.
For years, I have met people from your nation all over the world. It began with my trips when I was a 14-year-old sport shooter on Israel’s national team, and it continued over the past two years, when I flew abroad during the war to catch my breath for a moment from news broadcasts in which I report to Israeli viewers about the atrocities our enemies committed against us on our holiday, on the holy Sabbath of the October 7 massacre, and later about our hostages who were held for years in Hamas terror tunnels.
Every encounter with you abroad left me more surprised than the one before. Your overflowing friendliness, your impressive intelligence, the modernity that matters to me too, and above all, a rare kind of courage. You left on me the strongest impression, far from the image your ayatollah dictatorship has tried to impose on your lives.
I was moved by your strength to leave home behind and build a new future as complete strangers in a new country. I drew inspiration from your ambition and your ability to rebuild yourselves with your own hands, you made the right decision to escape a dark regime, sure, you deserve real life and freedom, even while fearing for those you left behind. People like you deserve a good home, a home that forces the evildoers to flee, not the decent ones.
I remember Mola well, a man in his forties who chased after me on the Champs-Élysées after he heard me speaking Hebrew on the phone. That was 20 years ago, long before pro-Palestinian activists took over parts of the city and made Israelis and Jews feel threatened.
Mola worked in the Iranian airline shop. He looked chic and modern, and he wore a grin from ear to ear. He tried with all his might to convince me, a young woman startled by the Middle Eastern intensity that suddenly fell on her and simply trying to end the moment safely, that he had fled his terrible regime in Iran. He insisted that Iranian citizens despise the regime, that the Iranian people want peace with us, Israelis, and he offered me a handshake.
Forgive me, Mola. I did not take your outstretched hand. I panicked, and I walked away. Today I understand what I did not understand then.
I especially loved Vida, a young waitress, full of charm and glamor, who served me in Rome exactly seven years ago. Before she even put the menu on the table, she made sure I was Israeli. I admit I tensed up. She asked me in English, with a foreign accent that did not sound European, and with sparkling eyes I will never forget: “Can I hug you?” Surprised by the warmth, I replied, “Of course.” We hugged, and I immediately asked what I had done to deserve it.
“I’m Iranian. I ran away with my whole family from the regime,” she said (and muttered a curse). “Here I can wear tank tops, get tattoos, dance, design, and be who I am. Look how similar we are. We are a generation that loves Israelis. We believe in you.”
She spoke to me, smiling, and the whole restaurant watched our spontaneous encounter, two young women from enemy countries, in a rare moment of sisterhood. Vida’s fierce hug and the words that came from her heart accompany me in every broadcast I do about Iranian citizens. We took a photo together as a keepsake, and over the years since, we have exchanged mutual likes on Instagram.
I also drew inspiration from interviews with journalists, especially Iranian women journalists, and with authors whose unimaginable life stories I had the privilege to read. Book after book, read with my breath held, I came to know, firsthand, the writers’ extraordinary courage to run from a cruel regime.
A partnership between Israelis and Iranians
In all these encounters, you, Shahin, my Iranian friend, give us the feeling that you want a partnership with us Israelis. We sense that you place hope in us. If I could, I would fight alongside you in the streets of Tehran and across the rest of your country. The warmth, the love, the honest desire for a good life, and the willingness to cooperate with Israelis became clear to me through meeting you. The justice of your protests, including the just and breathtaking hijab protest that ended in a way that broke my heart, too, pulls me in as an Israeli.
Know that I support you, and I am far from alone. In Israel, we follow your every step closely, alongside all the horrors produced by your cruel regime. On television, we pray for your success and your health. We are proud to broadcast the images of you fighting for justice, for good, for a modern life, for a functioning economy, for money, food, dignity, and a better future for you and your children. Right now, as dark forces block your internet access and try to crush you in every possible way, I salute your fighting spirit.
I hope that by the time this letter appears in print, it will already feel less relevant because you will have managed to bring down the tyrannical, monstrous government that runs your lives and crushes them. I hope, like in the movies, that the good will defeat the bad, and you will not need outside help. Outside help is complicated, intrusive, and it does not always deliver. Do it yourselves, as heroes. Write yourselves into the history books for the immense change you led with admirable courage, and for the strength to take responsibility for your lives. Win, for you, for your children, and for us too.
Amen and inshallah.
From an Israeli citizen who stands behind you.