Miniskirts and Miracles: Imagining a Free Iran

Last week, I was thrilled when the Journal ran my interview with Iran’s Crown Prince Reza Pahlavi as its cover story. During that interview, Pahlavi offered something that had eluded me for so long: optimism that Iran may change for the better, and that, in his words, it was time to “stop hoping and start believing” in a free Iran.

I thought about Pahlavi’s words for weeks after our interview in late January. I don’t know if counting sheep is an outdated practice, but several nights ago, after consuming a copious amount of cake at 11 p.m. and struggling to sleep, I played a game of imagination.

I imagined all of the ways that Iran would be different if, next year, the regime ended, a referendum was passed and the country tasted freedom again for the first time in nearly 50 years. Perhaps the new government would be an American-style republic. Or a British-inspired constitutional monarchy with Pahlavi at the helm. Whatever it would be, it would no longer be a fanatic Shiite theocracy. My heart pounded at such an exciting thought. 

In an attempt to lull myself to sleep again, I began to count sheep. Only, these sheep were lazily chewing shrubs on a pastoral Iranian mountaintop. Many miles behind them, beyond the horizon, lay the silhouette of my hometown, Tehran, the capital of a new Iran in which the regime no longer existed.

Here is everything else I imagined:

It is spring of 2026. The Cyrus Accords between Iran and Israel had been signed that previous summer. Traffic is jam-packed at LAX as the first international flight between Los Angeles and Tehran is set to depart.

It is spring of 2026. The Cyrus Accords between Iran and Israel had been signed that previous summer. Traffic is jam-packed at LAX as the first international flight between Los Angeles and Tehran (with a stopover in Tel Aviv) is set to depart at 11 a.m. local time. Inside the Tom Bradley terminal, hundreds of Iranian-American Jews who will visit Iran for a few weeks draw a collective deep breath as they stare at the massive flight information display system. There it is, in all its glory; a sight which, until now, has never been seen at LAX: “DEPARTURES: 11 A.M. FLIGHT 1839. DESTINATION: TEHRAN.”

Yes, in my dream, America and Iran have restored relations, which also meant that flights, most of them direct, have resumed between the two countries for the first time since 1979. 

When the plane lands in Tel Aviv for a brief stopover, everyone cheers. When it finally lands in Tehran, everyone aboard cries. Several Jewish passengers need some gentle coercion to leave the plane; they had never abandoned the trauma of having to flee Iran after the 1979 revolution, and though this is one of the happiest moments of their lives, they still struggle to believe that they will set foot in a new, free land, where persecution is no longer. 

But as soon as they leave the plane and smell Tehran’s famously congested air (the new government is working on environmental measures nationwide), they can sense that something feels different. 

Months earlier, Hamas had been all but eradicated and Hezbollah, which still remains in Lebanon, has been squeezed so hard of funding that the replacement for the late Hassan Nasrallah has been forced to moonlight as a busboy in Beirut. 

In Tehran, things are nowhere near perfect. Running water in the hotels is too cold. There are centipedes the size of small cars under the sink of many new Airbnbs, especially in the south. There is still some confusion in more remote areas regarding new banknotes that have been printed (the old ones featured the face of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini on one side and Jerusalem’s Dome of the Rock on the other). At small, outdoor markets in the most remote areas, people are still getting used to the new banknotes: an image of Cyrus the Great, founder of the Persian Empire, on one side, and a drawing of Persepolis on the other. 

There is even more confusion in big cities, as street signs named after “martys” and terrorists have been removed and changed. Pre-1979 “Pahlavi Avenue” in Tehran, which then became “Valiasr Street” post-1979, is now “Ayandeh (“Future”) Avenue.” Taxi and Uber drivers are doing their best to keep up with new street names. Traffic is a glorious mess, and there is an “Ayandeh” avenue or street in nearly every city.

At the base of Tehran’s famous Azadi Tower, a special “Re-unity Concert” will begin shortly. For the first time in nearly five decades, the country’s most legendary performers, all of whom were previously in exile, will again sing in their home country. Scalpers have been warned to stay clear of the premises. Tens of thousands wait in long lines; fortunately, street vendors are ready for them, and it is precisely that time of the year, in the spring, when “Gojeh Sabz” (small, green sour plums) and “Chaghaleh Badom” (fresh almonds, still in their fuzzy hulls) are poured into wax paper bags and sold to happy customers.

During sound checks for the concert, the haunting voices of Iranian legends Googoosh, Ebi, Moein and Dariush may be heard by those lucky enough to live and work in the vicinity of Azadi Tower. Younger Iranian performers will join them on stage. Non-religious pop music and female performers are no longer illegal in Iran. 

Nine hundred kilometers away, in the south, the monument of Persepolis will also host a historic concert to celebrate the legacy of ancient Persia and the future of a new Iran. A small group of Shiite clerics has arrived to protest the concert, but the bearded men are quickly chased away by dozens of women, most of them mothers, hurling rocks, overripe melons and house slippers.

Seventy miles south, at the tomb of the ancient Persian poet Hafez in the city of Shiraz, couples hold hands in the gardens. Some of them kiss, while others embrace and doze off on picnic blankets, encircled in a warm, spring breeze. No one is arrested.

At the Tehran Grand Bazaar, the second-best-selling pomegranates are the ripe Israeli variety. Naturally, the top best-sellers still hail from Iran. For some reason, the pomegranates in Iran taste sweeter this year.

In the streets, most women wear their hair uncovered. Some women still cover their hair. The choice is theirs to make. Stalls at Tehran’s bazaar still offer a beautiful array of headscarves, alongside new racks of women’s swimsuits and miniskirts. 

The previous week, synagogues all over Iran held Purim celebrations, attended by local officials. In a few weeks, the Israeli foreign minister will travel to Tehran to speak at a Yom Ha’Shoah commemoration ceremony that will also recognize Iran’s role in saving over 1,000 Jewish children during the Holocaust by allowing them to temporarily resettle in Tehran. A delegation of over 100 Israeli hydrologists and water engineers will return to Iran for the fourth time this year to help ensure the country has an effective integrated water management system. 

Next month, Jewish community centers and Jewish schools around the country will host Yom Ha’atzmaut parties to celebrate Israel Independence Day. The celebrations won’t be as large as past Nowruz (Persian New Year) parties, but attendees will feel proud that they are Iranians, and proud to be Jews.

No one will be arrested. 

Photos of Ayatollah Khomeini and Ayatollah Ali Khamenei are being removed from all classrooms and government buildings, especially from classrooms at predominantly Jewish schools. Jewish heritage tours for students and young professionals from around the world will be available in Iran for the first time, beginning this summer. 

In a few days, the new mayor of Tehran will hold a press conference and announce her city’s plans to submit a bid for the 2042 Winter Olympic games. 

No, nothing will be perfect. It will take years to overcome drought and challenges ranging from poverty to internal political strife and border skirmishes with Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan. But it will be a new era. 

If, during the reign of Reza Shah Pahlavi from 1925-1941, Iran was modernized in ways no one thought possible, and if, in the late 1970s, it reverted back to the misogyny and brutality of a medieval period that no one thought was possible, then we must believe that today, anything can happen. 

I imagined the sights, sounds and smells of a free Iran as a means to help me fall asleep. But the heart-pounding thrill of everything I imagined rendered me an insomniac for the rest of the night. And I had never felt so happy to be awake.

Tabby Refael is an award-winning writer, speaker and weekly columnist for The Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. Follow her on X/Twitter and Instagram @TabbyRefael