Bay Area Iranians, Israelis Share Fears for Loved Ones Facing ‘Death by Lottery’

This story was originally published on June 20, before President Donald Trump’s Saturday evening announcement that the U.S. bombed three Iranian nuclear sites, bringing the U.S. military directly into the conflict between Israel and Iran.

Pantea Karimi, an Iranian American fine artist living in San José, is feeling overwhelmed.

One of her brothers and both her parents are trapped in Tehran. She is hoping against hope that no Israeli bomb falls on or near the family home her father, an architect, built himself: a three-story brick house. But given the neighborhood it sits in, those hopes are fragile.

An Israeli missile hit a power station about 3 miles from their home, knocking out electricity for the entire neighborhood. What happened after that is unclear to family members in the U.S. and Canada, as the Iranian government shut off global internet access, citing fears of Israeli cyberattacks.

“We have lost contact right now. There is no internet. There is no landline. Nothing works,” Karimi said.

Her parents, 75 and 79 years old, can’t evacuate because her mother is still recuperating from spinal surgery two and a half months ago. Karimi’s brother, who traveled from Toronto to help care for their mother, is trapped as well.

Karimi is one of tens of thousands of Iranians and Israelis in the San Francisco Bay Area who have been glued to the news about the escalating conflict between the two countries.

In between the frantic texts and phone calls, Karimi tries to find some solace practicing art in her home studio. “I try to take refuge in my art. My art is about tension and healing.”

The latest update she has about her parents came from her other brother in Toronto, who spoke with a cousin in Shiraz over a two-minute, satellite-enabled phone call. “Everyone is OK,” the cousin said. That just means they’re alive. “That’s it,” Karimi said — all the information she has until someone outside the country hears more from the inside.

“Who are in the middle?” said Karimi. “Governments are not in the middle. People [are]. They are squeezed.”

“It’s just so, so, so devastating,” she continued, choking back tears.

Her husband’s parents died years ago, but his siblings remain stuck in Tehran and, unlike her close relatives, do not have citizenship in another country.

Iranian Americans and Israeli Americans alike are bracing in fear for their loved ones abroad.

Recent U.S. Census data shows approximately 45,000 people of Iranian ancestry live in the Bay Area, many in the South Bay like Karimi. The region is also home to roughly 10,000 Israelis, similarly concentrated in the South Bay.

Though Israel and Iran have been at odds since the Islamic revolution in Iran in 1979, their Bay Area diaspora communities share much in common. They have friendships, work together at the same companies, shop at the same stores and eat at the same restaurants. Now they share fear for loved ones back home.

“The sense of anxiety right now is high,” said Guy Miasnik, an Israeli American living in Los Altos. “I have my parents, who are close to 80. I have my sister and her family. Extended family and close friends.”

Most apartment buildings in Israel include a basement bunker, and newer homes have fortified safe rooms. Miasnik’s parents live in an older building, so when there is a missile strike warning, they must rush down four flights of stairs to reach shelter. “Sitting here, you’re devastated. You can’t be with your parents. You can’t support them,” Miasnik said.

He’s downloaded an app from the Israel Defense Forces Home Front Command that sends him real-time alerts of incoming missiles near his parents in Kfar Saba, a suburb of Tel Aviv.

Miasnik, a Silicon Valley entrepreneur and investor who emigrated to the U.S. nearly 30 years ago, said talking with others about the situation overseas helps him cope. He’s also keenly aware that the conversations push back against the rising tide of antisemitism and Islamophobia in American culture.

“We have to be able to separate events that are happening abroad from how we treat our fellow community members, whether it’s Jewish or Muslim or any other background,” he said. “We have to make sure that our communities are protected, and are not collateral damage from the conflict that is happening on the other side of the world.”

Christina Rogers, a social work masters student living in Vallejo, is engaged to Mostafa Rezazadeh, an Iranian man now trapped in Tehran. Their future was already uncertain, with his visa application stalled under the Trump administration, but Rogers now fears for his life — and their plans for marriage.

“I did not think a year and a half ago that we would be in this situation,” she said.

Although Iran has encouraged its citizens to delete WhatsApp, that’s how they keep in touch — often late night and early mornings, due to the 10.5 hour time zone difference.

“I never thought I would be involved in this sort of conflict or have such an emotional connection to it, either,” Rogers said. “All I want is to bring Mosi home.”

Steven Tadelis of Berkeley grew up in Israel from age 9 and he came to the U.S. at 30 for graduate school. His parents passed away long ago, but his cousin lives in Hadera on the coast of Israel, and he remains in close contact with childhood friends.

An economics professor at UC Berkeley’s Haas School of Business, he said he understands that, statistically, most people will emerge from this war physically unharmed. He knows conceptually that every phone call with a friend or family member could be the last. Yet he also feels the unsettling dissonance of sitting in the calm, sunny Bay Area while his loved ones face what he calls a “death by lottery.”

“As my Tel Aviv friend said to me this morning, ‘It feels like we’re in a Russian roulette game,’ and I imagine that people in Tehran and other parts of Iran feel the same,” Tadelis said.