Zionism as a Pretext: What Iran’s Persecution of Jews Reveals About a Dangerous Pattern

As a Jew of Iranian heritage, watching the current situation unfold in Iran fills me with sorrow, rage, and a deep, personal unease. In recent days, reports have emerged of hundreds of Iranians arrested on charges of being “Zionist collaborators” following Iran’s confrontation with Israel. Among those detained are, reportedly, members of the Jewish community. The regime claims to be targeting Mossad-linked spies, but history teaches us to be skeptical of such claims — especially when they come at the expense of vulnerable minority groups.

This news has only just come to light, but any of us familiar with the history of Jews in Iran knew something like this was coming. For years, we have seen how the Jewish community walks a tightrope — propped up by the regime for propaganda purposes while simultaneously viewed with deep suspicion. The community is, in many ways, trapped. Too valuable to the regime’s narrative to be expelled or eliminated, but never truly safe.

Iran’s recent crackdown has not only targeted Jews. As many as 700 Iranians — journalists, academics, artists and ordinary citizens — have reportedly been arrested for merely expressing sympathy for Israel’s preemptive strikes or for questioning the regime’s escalating hostilities. In Iran today, voicing a nuanced opinion about Israel can land you in prison. For Jews, the risk is exponentially higher.

Speaking publicly about this hasn’t been easy. I feared that raising the alarm might put Iranian Jews in greater danger. But silence in the face of escalating danger is its own kind of betrayal.

The Jewish community in Iran has long walked a tightrope — its leaders often forced into public shows of loyalty to the regime, denouncing Zionism in the hopes of fending off suspicion. But these gestures rarely offer real protection when the state decides to wield Zionism as a weapon of persecution.

This is not a new phenomenon. The use of “Zionism” as a pretext for antisemitic policies and scapegoating has a long and painful history across the Middle East and North Africa. In every case, it has coincided with regional wars involving Israel. When Arab or Muslim-majority states go to war with Israel, the Jews who live within their borders often become collateral damage — scapegoated, imprisoned, exiled or worse.

In Iraq, the years following Israel’s establishment saw Jews accused en masse of Zionist collaboration. In 1948, Shafiq Adas, one of Iraq’s most prominent Jewish businessmen, was falsely accused of aiding Zionism and communism. He was publicly hanged in Basra before a crowd of thousands. The message was clear. Within a few years, the Jewish community of over 130,000 people was effectively erased.

In Egypt, the 1956 Suez Crisis unleashed a torrent of antisemitic persecution. Jews were labeled enemy nationals, stripped of their citizenship, and expelled en masse. Egyptian newspapers boasted headlines like “A Journey With No Return,” signaling the state’s determination to rid itself of its Jewish population. Over 25,000 Jews fled or were expelled in the months that followed.

Libya saw similar horrors. In the wake of the 1967 Six-Day War, anti-Jewish riots broke out in Tripoli. Jewish homes and businesses were looted, synagogues torched. The remaining Jews — who had already endured decades of mounting hostility — fled under government pressure, escorted by Italian ships. Today, there are no Jews left in Libya.

Syria and Yemen followed the same pattern. In Syria, Jews were forbidden to emigrate, placed under surveillance and often detained under suspicion of Zionist ties. In Yemen, state-backed antisemitism and tribal hostility culminated in the near-total disappearance of Jewish life. In 2021, a handful of Jews — among the very last in Yemen —were expelled by Houthi authorities.

And now, once again, it is Iran.

The history of Jews in Iran under the Islamic Republic regime has been marked by persecution, fear, and survival. Iran’s Jewish community is estimated to number between 8,000 and 10,000, a fraction of the 80,000–90,000 who lived there before the 1979 Islamic Revolution. One of the regime’s first symbolic acts after seizing power was the public execution of Habib Elghanian, a Jewish industrialist accused of spying for Israel. He was one of the first civilians executed in a public spectacle. His death sent a chilling message to Iran’s Jews, prompting thousands to flee. Those who remained have had to navigate a precarious existence — barred from holding government jobs, subject to surveillance, and expected to publicly denounce Israel to maintain basic safety.

This history isn’t theoretical for me. It’s deeply personal. I am who I am because my family had the chance to leave. But I often wonder: What if they hadn’t? What would life have looked like for me — an openly gay, proudly Jewish person — under a regime that persecutes both my identities? That question haunts me more now than ever.

This history isn’t theoretical for me. It’s deeply personal. I am who I am because my family had the chance to leave. But I often wonder: What if they hadn’t? What would life have looked like for me — an openly gay, proudly Jewish person — under a regime that persecutes both my identities? That question haunts me more now than ever.

Iran’s recent arrests come amid heightened tensions with Israel and a crackdown on dissent. The accused are allegedly being investigated under Iran’s sweeping “Law to Confront the Hostile Actions of the Zionist Regime,” passed in 2020. This law criminalizes any form of cooperation with Israel and has been used to arrest ordinary Iranians, including those who may have family in Israel or have accessed Israeli media. For Jews in Iran, this law deepens an already dangerous climate. Even routine communications with relatives abroad can be construed as evidence of disloyalty.

While regime-aligned Jewish leaders in Iran continue to affirm their opposition to Zionism, it’s clear these statements are made under duress. They are not acts of free speech, but survival. The Jewish community in Iran is trapped — used by the regime to signal religious tolerance while simultaneously held hostage to that image.

What makes this moment especially devastating is how eerily familiar it is. We’ve seen this pattern across the region for decades. It always begins with war, followed by nationalist rhetoric, then accusations of espionage, and finally, persecution. The victims are rarely just the political targets — they are the families, the elderly, the children who have done nothing but exist while Jewish in the wrong place at the wrong time.

At JIMENA, we are all too familiar with this playbook. Our organization was founded to preserve and amplify the stories of Jews from the Middle East and North Africa — stories like these. We recognize the signs. We are watching. And we will not be silent.

To those who care about human rights and religious freedom, I urge you to pay attention. Iran’s Jews are living on a knife’s edge. Their situation is not safe, and their future is far from secure. The global Jewish community — and the broader human rights world — must advocate on their behalf.

We must also speak with nuance. This is not an attack on the Iranian people, who have themselves suffered greatly under this regime. In fact, many Iranians have shown solidarity with the Jewish community and with all minorities. This is about an illegitimate government that has long weaponized anti-Zionism to justify repression.

As we bear witness to what is happening today in Iran, let us not repeat the mistakes of the past. Let us not wait for silence to become complicity. We must also recognize that the climate that allows this kind of persecution is not confined to authoritarian regimes. Increasingly, political voices and academic institutions in the West are echoing similar rhetoric — where Zionism is vilified, and support for Jewish self-determination is framed as morally suspect. Let us speak clearly: being a Zionist is not a crime.

Matthew Nouriel is an Iranian Jewish LGBTQ advocate and activist based in Los Angeles. He serves as Director of Community Engagement for JIMENA (Jews Indigenous to the Middle East and North Africa) and is active in public discourse on Middle Eastern human rights, antisemitism, and identity. @matthewnouriel (Instagram & X) | @JIMENA_voice (Instagram & X)