Fleeing Iran, Facing War, Finding Purpose Through the Lens
When Daniela Shem boarded her flight out of Tehran on October 8, 2023, she had no idea she’d land into a country reeling from one of its darkest days in decades. A day earlier, Hamas had launched a surprise assault on Israel, triggering war. But Shem, 27, wasn’t turning back. Her destination was always Israel. Her purpose? Preserving what’s left of Iranian Jewish heritage—through photographs, memories, and raw truth.
The journey was turbulent, not just literally but emotionally. As she and her younger brother Gabriel waited in a Turkish hotel under restrictions for being Jewish, she clutched her camera bag like a lifeline. “I was terrified,” she said. “But I knew I had to keep going.”
Choosing Aliyah Amid Chaos
It came after years of quiet yearning and escalating unease. Despite Iran once having a thriving Jewish community, life for Jews there has grown increasingly precarious. Fear and silence often hang heavier than celebration or faith.
She first shared her aliyah plans with her family three months before the war. Her brother, a violinist, didn’t hesitate to follow. When war broke out, they nearly postponed the move—but ultimately chose resolve over retreat.
That moment of commitment, made as war headlines screamed across their Turkish hotel room screen, shaped everything that followed. They weren’t running—they were arriving.
Snapshots of a Disappearing Identity
Once in Israel, Daniela did something many new immigrants might not: she turned around—metaphorically—and began looking back.
Back at the crumbling synagogues in Shiraz.
Back at the hushed Shabbat dinners in Tehran.
Back at old family albums wrapped in cloth, hidden in drawers.
She started assembling a photographic archive of Iran’s Jewish spaces—most of them now abandoned or repurposed. Her camera captured not just dust and decay, but a people’s echo.
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Old Torah scrolls buried in basements
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Hebrew inscriptions fading off ancient brick
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Portraits of rabbis who once led congregations now gone silent
Each frame tells a story of survival. And Daniela isn’t doing this just for nostalgia. She wants the world—and young Jews especially—to remember that Iran was once home to one of the oldest Jewish communities on earth.
Between Two Worlds, With a Camera in Hand
It’s not easy living between places that don’t speak to each other.
In Tel Aviv, Daniela found safety—but also alienation. She’s Iranian in a place that views Iran as the enemy. In Iran, she was Jewish in a land that treats Jews with suspicion. Her lens became a translator between these conflicting identities.
She says the hardest part isn’t the criticism she sometimes receives from all sides. It’s the ache of knowing she may never go back to photograph her grandparents’ village.
“Even if I could go, I don’t know what would be left,” she said in a whisper. “Or if I’d be safe enough to take my camera out.”
Art as Resistance, Memory as Power
Her book, now circulating quietly in Jewish bookstores and art circles, is titled “Dust and Light: Jewish Echoes of Iran.” The cover shows an empty prayer room lit by a single window. Inside, there’s no narration—just captions, years, and locations. Let the silence speak.
But this isn’t just art—it’s protest. Against forgetting. Against erasure.
Israel’s Ministry of Culture has taken notice. So have Iranian diaspora communities in Los Angeles and London. Shem’s project has sparked conversations about preserving Jewish histories in Muslim-majority nations before they’re lost to time—or politics.
Here’s a look at how Daniela’s book project breaks down:
| Focus Area | Description |
|---|---|
| Synagogues | Over 20 locations documented from across Iran |
| Personal Stories | Family testimonies and diary excerpts included |
| Jewish Cemeteries | Highlighting neglect and urgent need for care |
| Women in the Community | Rare portraits from all-female gatherings |
| Iranian-Jewish Objects | Ritual items, books, textiles photographed |
Some have called her work brave. Others say it’s dangerous. She just calls it “necessary.”
From Grief to Grit: Life in Israel Now
The air raid sirens rattled her at first. She’d drop to the floor, heart pounding, unsure what to do. But she’s learned. “You get used to a different kind of fear here,” she said, “but at least it’s a fear where you’re allowed to speak your name.”
She now lives in a modest apartment in Jaffa, close to the sea. Her brother plays music in a community center. Together, they’ve started teaching Farsi-language classes for young Iranian Israelis who want to reconnect with their roots.
