Hopeless in Tehran

I teach in a summer course called NeuroBridges, which brings students from the countries of the Middle East, including Israel and Iran, to a village in France for 10 days. The course teaches the students about the brain, but more importantly, by having them live together, eat their meals together, and do projects together, the course teaches them about each other. 

Today I received a note from one of those students. She lives in Tehran. Her note gives you firsthand experience of what it’s like to live in a city that is being bombed, and what it’s like to be young and feel despair about your future. Below is an excerpt of her letter, followed by my response.

------------------------------

I finally managed to connect to the internet, and I was wondering if you might have a little time for me. I really just wanted to talk for a moment and share what’s been on my mind. You’ve always been such a valuable mentor to me, and I truly trust your wisdom.

In Iran, every day things get worse than the day before. People are slain. Infrastructure is being targeted — historical sites, hospitals, schools. We constantly hear the sounds of air defenses and missiles, and every time it happens I feel a wave of anxiety, wondering whose loved ones might be lost next… or whether the next missile might hit my own loved ones. I remember your wife saying that even in the worst situations, you always manage to find positive points — something to be grateful for. I’ve thought about that a lot. I truly tried to look at things the way you do and find some positive meaning in all of this… but honestly, I couldn’t.

If you were in my place, how would you endure this situation? And what positive point would you try to hold onto?

I am deeply worried about the future — not just mine, but everyone’s. Even if the war ends, there will be severe economic hardship, instabilities...

I’m also afraid that I might not be able to reach my long-time dream of starting a PhD in Europe. With the situation worsening, there will probably be more sanctions, and universities may become even more hesitant to accept Iranian students.

At the same time, because of the war and constant internet disruptions, research in the country has almost completely stopped. Universities are closed. We were working on an animal neuroscience project that had progressed really well, but because of the current conditions we had to sacrifice the mice and stop the project. You might imagine how hard that feels

Sometimes I feel that when a professor chooses a PhD student, they will tend to choose someone who has had uninterrupted research opportunities in a first-world country, rather than someone like me who has fallen behind simply because of war, instability, and internet shutdowns. They might not even be able to imagine what it’s like to continue doing research while worrying about basic financial survival, or while your country is going through so much turmoil. I used the PhD example just to explain how unfair and discouraging things can feel right now.

And it’s not just me. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of ambitious young students who love science and are facing the same uncertainty.

If you have the time, I would really appreciate hearing your thoughts. If you were in my place, in a situation where your home, your dreams, your goals, and the safety of your loved ones all feel threatened at once, how would you keep going?

Excuse me for taking your time.

-----------------------------------

I read your note with great concern. I’m so glad that you’re OK. Thank you for writing.

War is often the consequence of a long series of bad decisions by misguided leaders on both sides of the conflict. You are an innocent citizen who is suffering because of their mistakes. I am so very sorry.

It hurts to have lost the research that you had invested so much time in. These bombs are not just killing people and destroying buildings, but the rubble that they have produced might forever block the path that you had planned for building your future.  

When the bombs stop falling, and they will, life will restart, tentatively at first, but then with vigor. You will see small ordinary things anew. Like a child, you will examine the new leaves on a tree and smell its bark with delight. You will share a cup of tea with a friend and look in her eyes and listen to her voice as if for the first time. You will travel to the Caspian and place your toes in the sea and close your eyes and feel joy.

And you will restart your research, and you will apply for graduate schools in Europe and America. And when the professors read your application, they will see something extraordinary: a young woman of magnificent perseverance who pursued her dreams despite war, bombs, and despair.  

As Walt Whitman wrote, “What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer: That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”

 

image credit: Atta Kenare/AFP 

 

 

Neurobridges: from synapses to understanding

Neurobridges is a summer school that brings together students from countries in the middle east so that they can learn about the brain, as well as each others' cultures. The aim is to take a small step that might reduce tension and build understanding. Perhaps the best way to show you what Neurobridges is about is by telling you about a few of the conversations that took place during the course.

At lunch, I sat with two students, an Israeli student from Jerusalem. and an Iranian student  from Tehran. After a bit of talk about their individual areas of study, we talked about the summer course. The Iranian student said: "Here the idea is to use science to bring people together, with the purpose of seeing each other’s humanity, to reduce our perception of differences." Then the Israeli student added: "This is much better than bringing people together and having them talk about their cultural differences or similarities. Science is a better excuse to start the conversation."

At another meal, a young lady from Macedonia mentioned that she learned from an Iranian student that the two cultures shared a custom: "when the host offered you food, you politely declined. When they offered it again, you again declined. Only on the third time you accepted. I was delighted to learn that this was the measure of etiquette in both cultures."

The Palestinian Israeli young woman, born and raised in Haifa, now studying for her PhD in Europe, was sitting across the lunch table from a Jewish Israeli young woman, a postdoc in America. The Palestinian woman called herself Palestinian, but she said: "The Jewish Israelis don’t like it when I call myself Palestinian. They’d prefer if I called myself Arab Israeli."

She continued: "Until college it was rare for me to have any interaction with kids of my own age who were not Palestinian. This is because there are 4 types of schools, 3 of which are Jewish, and the fourth one which is for Arabs. There are rare schools that admit both. When I graduated from college and wanted to apply for grad school, there were many foundations that offered scholarships, but all of them required military or public service. I didn’t have those."  

The Israeli woman replied: “Why didn’t you volunteer for civil service?”

The Palestinian woman said: “How could I serve a government that is oppressing me and my people?”

The Israeli woman replied: “But you are Israeli, this is your country.”

The Palestinian woman replied: “I am Palestinian. I live in an occupied land. Right now my whole people are just trying to survive. I can’t think about helping Israel.” She continued: “When you go to Ben Gurion airport and try to leave the country, if you are Palestinian, you are taken aside for extra searches. When someone asks the authorities why, they say, "What's a little inconvenience to search your body and suitcase if it improves safety?”

The Israeli woman said: "I'm sorry about that. I know that's not fair."

But the conversations are not just bridges that help build understanding among young people, they are also a conduit for learning among the professors, who also come from diverse backgrounds. Here is a sampling:

At breakfast each morning, the professors sit together and talk. I learned that at Hebrew University, the admissions officers are encouraged to enroll students from East Jerusalem, i.e., Arab Israelis. My colleague said: "the university receives more funding for graduating this population of students than Jewish students."

He continued: “If the Arab Israelis participated more, for example, by voting, they would have more power in the government. The fact that they don’t seem to want to participate tells me that they don’t seem to want to be a part of Israel.” Another colleague mentioned that look at the Druze people in Israel. They participate in the Army, and other aspects of being an Israeli. "Recently I heard that the best high school in the country is one in the Druze region."

Listening to these exchanges, I'm reminded that the value of Neurobridges is not that it dissolves political realities or resolves historical wounds, but that it creates a space where curiosity takes precedence over fear, and where the first move toward understanding is made not through slogans or diplomacy but through shared pursuit of ideas. When students and faculty discover that science can be a neutral ground on which difficult identities can coexist, and even converse, they begin to see one another with more dimensionality. That shift is small and fragile, but it is real, and it accumulates. In a region where young people are more often taught to imagine an adversary than a colleague, the act of studying synapses, brain circuits, and behavior side by side becomes a modest but profound counterexample. Neurobridges does not claim to fix the world; it simply gives the next generation a better starting point.