As the world is told about the war between Iran, Israel and the United States in the language of strategy and security, my prism is memory. For many, this is geopolitics. For me, it never really is.
All my grandparents were Persian Jews. They left their homes when the country they had known most of their lives had become home no longer. They felt unsafe under a regime that was fast becoming more rigid and fundamentalist.
They left behind property, wealth, community and family. Some relatives who stayed were imprisoned. Many others were killed. In our family, those stories are not told as political history, they are told as personal experience.
Before the Islamic Revolution in 1979, Iran back then was a rapidly modernising country, vibrant and sophisticated with an incredibly rich culture. Under the rule of the Shah, it blended ancient heritage with a booming, Western-influenced urban culture – and the Jews were protected.
For centuries, Jews in Persia contributed to its society in many meaningful ways. My own family, from Mashhad, were educated, entrepreneurial and deeply connected to the people around them. The shift did not happen overnight. It rarely does, but as Islamic fundamentalism hardened into state power, Jewish life became increasingly precarious. What once felt like belonging, became uncertainty, and then fear. That change shaped the course of my family’s life, and it still echoes.
They were lucky and managed to leave the country before the current evil regime took power. They move to Israel, the US and the UK.
I was meant to be in Israel this week on a Technion UK solidarity visit. Cancelling the trip was not an easy decision. It felt heavy, and even disloyal. Yet whether I am in Israel or in London, what is unfolding does not feel far away. It feels familiar in ways that are too difficult to explain to those who do not carry a similar history.
As CEO of Technion UK, I proudly represent Israel’s oldest university and one of its leading scientific and technological institutions. Technion graduates have played a central and leading role in many areas including developing nearly all of Israel’s defence systems that protect Israel’s citizens of every background; Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Druze and Bedouin. But beyond the technology is something more enduring: a determination to keep building and contributing to the country and the world, even under threat.
When I spend time with members of the Persian Jewish community in London, I do not hear rage. I hear deep sadness. There is grief for a country they once loved that no longer exists. Their hope for change is not driven by vengeance. It is shaped by longing and the memory of what once was.
Behind the headlines are so many families like mine: 150,000 Jews shaped by exile, resilience and memory. That is not ancient history. It sits within living memory, around Shabbat tables, in the stories grandparents tell our children.
Purim teaches us that Jewish history has never moved in a straight line. There have been moments of threat, moments of reversal and moments of renewal. Remembering that is simply part of our inheritance.
For me, this moment is not only about strategy or security. It is about responsibility, to those who came before us, and to those who will come after. That is why it feels so personal.
Alan Aziz is CEO of Technion UK
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