From Iranian Roots to Israeli Advocacy: Why I Keep Standing Up

Nearly a month ago, I was standing in a little room in New Jersey, speaking to college students about my journey to becoming an Israel activist. My goal was to inspire the next generation to find their unique voices in the noise of these oversaturated times. At the end of my speech, a student raised their hand and asked me a profound question:

“You said you haven’t been to Israel in eight years. So why is it that you’ve dedicated your life this past year to defending a place you haven’t visited for so long?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy, yet familiar. I had been asked this question multiple times throughout the year. And while it might seem difficult for some to answer, my response had always been clear. My mind immediately went to my parents, who sacrificed everything when they fled Iran, no longer safe simply for being Jewish. But my answer was about to take on an even deeper meaning as I prepared to board a plane to Israel on behalf of Israel’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 

From Jan. 26-30, I had the privilege of being part of an exclusive delegation with the Ministry, traveling from the North to the South alongside 21 of social media’s most prominent Israel activists of the past year. Among us was a pink-haired pizza girl who wasn’t Jewish, but who felt compelled to stand for the humanity of Jews; a British comedian who had perfected the Israeli accent and lifestyle, making people laugh worldwide through our shared experiences in Israel; an Orthodox college student who sued Harvard for failing to protect its Jewish students; a Syrian lawyer unafraid to speak the truth in Arabic; and a comedian-turned-man-on-the-street reporter risking his life to uncover facts around the world including the West Bank.

And then, there was me — a first-generation Iranian American who fell into becoming an activist because I refused to stand by and watch my Jewish community feel alone or scared, knowing right after Oct. 7 what it would mean for Jewish safety and hatred worldwide.

Together as a group, we met with an array of people whose lives had been shattered — Israelis who survived the massacre at Kibbutz Nir Oz, Druze parents who lost their children on the Majdal Shams soccer field, and the incredible Rachel Goldberg-Polin, whose son’s life was taken in an unimaginable way. As we listened to their stories and witnessed firsthand the realities of life in Israel, my answer to that student in New Jersey became even more undeniable. Despite the heartbreak, the chaos, the nuance, the despair, the hurt and the destruction, one thing remains unchanged: Israel will always be home.

Growing up, I constantly heard my parents’ stories of fleeing Iran alone at the ages of 13 and 18 during the Iranian Revolution. Before the revolution, when it was still safe to be a Jew in Iran, they were always reminded that they were the “other” — that no matter how much they loved Iran, they were not fully welcome. They were Iranian by birth, but Jewish by identity — and that always played more heavily in the forefront. So from a young age, my parents learned to accept a painful truth: no matter where they lived, the only place they would ever truly be able to call home was Israel.

For the past year and a half, Jews around the world have unfortunately also received that same awakening. No matter how integrated we have become into the societies we live in, we, too, have been reminded that we are “other.” We are Jewish first. And while that identity has cost many of us friendships, jobs, and for all of us on that Ministry delegation trip, thousands of followers — for those in Israel, it has cost them their lives.

And as I traveled through Israel with these activists, I realized that being Jewish this past year isn’t just about what we lost — it’s about what we gained. The way the people of Israel live their lives to the fullest, knowing all of this can be taken away in a moment. The way they have willingly signed up to risk their lives, advocate for their friends, and never give up on a better future. The way we, all around the world, have discovered a newfound, unshakable pride in who we are. We have found resilience in the face of hatred. We’ve discovered a global family willing to fight for each other. And as I traveled through Israel it became overwhelmingly clear: no matter what happens to Israel, people around the world will rise to defend it. Because Israel is not just a place on a map — it’s the beating heart of a people who refuse to disappear.

As I traveled through Israel with these activists, I realized that being Jewish this past year isn’t just about what we lost — it’s about what we gained.

What was truly emotional and unique about this trip was seeing the people of Israel recognizing and thanking us, each uniquely for the different talents we bring to this fight. I’ll never forget the moment a young woman, the owner of a coffee shop in Tel Aviv who had recently moved from France, recognized me from Instagram and thanked me — a girl all the way from LA. It was a reminder of the power of social media and how our words and actions reach across the globe, connecting people in ways we don’t always realize. That moment reaffirmed the importance of what we do — how every action, no matter how small, makes a difference in this fight.

So to that student who asked how I could dedicate my life to a place I hadn’t visited in years, I responded: You don’t need to step foot in Israel to know it’s home. But since my visit, a large part of my heart is even more deeply rooted there. What I learned from this visit is that the fight for Israel — and for my people — is far from over, and you can be sure that I won’t stop raising my voice.

Elaine Chaya is an Iranian American Jew who has spent the past 12 years using social media to empower people worldwide to unapologetically embrace their true selves and pursue their passions. Be sure to check out her new kids’ show on YouTube, Chaya & Orly.