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My Shared Pain - Beyond the Politics of Iran and Israel
There’s a deeper thread I can’t ignore. It haunts me when I try to make sense of everything. I believe it all started with the assassination of Qassem Soleimani. However, I’m not sure what to believe here. The footage and the narrative never quite add up. It felt like a staged moment that set something larger in motion.
Then came October 7. Israel, which is considered to have the best intelligence force in the world, somehow their intelligence missed this? It’s hard to understand. A catastrophic breach with no real warning? No interception? Yet afterward, they had the precision to infiltrate Iran and set up a drone factory? That sequence alone raises questions—rational ones as well as emotional ones. The poor Israeli lives, innocence. Then the retaliation and the poor innocent lives on the other side.
This isn’t about conspiracies. It’s about how absurd the information we receive is. And the heavy feeling that what we’re seeing is only a small part of what’s actually happening.
I’m not here to promote a theory. I want to share my discomfort and urge more people to pay attention to the gaps. Because something deeply unjust is happening in those gaps. No matter where we come from, we all have a stake in the truth.
These days, I feel a quiet heartbreak. Not only as an Iranian American, but as a human being. Watching the escalating conflict between Iran and Israel—the rockets, the rhetoric, the bloodshed—I can’t help but feel that something sacred is being lost. It’s not just lives. It’s our shared humanity. I find myself calling my family in Tehran, then reaching out to my friends in Tel Aviv. We all speak the same language, the language of Compassion!
Iran is a land of poetry, resilience, and warmth—a place whose people have endured more than the world often recognizes. Yet today, that Iran is obscured by layers of propaganda, misrepresentation, and pain. The people of Iran are not the politics of Iran. Just as the people of Israel are not the politics of Israel. Yet it is always the innocent who suffer for power struggles they never chose. In speaking with youth on both sides, they just want to have a normal life. Enjoy social media, have a social life. Worry about finals and securing a job. Being safe, going on dates, etc. things we here in the west take for granted.
Over the past few months, I’ve watched events unfold with a growing sense of unease. It’s not just because of what’s happening, but because we’ve all become numb to the suffering. Governments speak in absolutes while people bleed in silence. We’ve allowed labels to replace lives.
We must ask: who benefits from endless conflict? Who profits from our division? These aren’t new questions, but they feel more urgent than ever. When you trace the timeline and connect the dots, it’s hard not to feel that war has become a business—and human lives the currency.
But even with all of this, I refuse to lose hope. I believe in people. I believe in the power of truth, compassion, and the ability of ordinary voices to rise above made-up hate.
This is not a call to ignore reality. It’s a call to look deeper. To challenge the narratives we hear. To remember that behind every flag is a mother, a son, a dream, a prayer. And that our pain—Iranian, Israeli, Palestinian, human—is shared.
We can disagree with governments and still care about their people. We can speak up without taking sides. We can demand peace not because it's easy, but because it's right.
I don’t know what comes next. But I know this: when we allow ourselves to feel—the suffering on all sides—something changes. And maybe, just maybe, that’s where healing begins.
Pray for my family and friends in both countries.
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