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Shalom Chaverim,

I am proud to show you the prologue of Dawn of Mashiach. The story is planned as an anthology exploring different characters, places, and events during the years 5960–6000 Anno Mundi (the Hebrew calendar).

The first issue was originally intended to be much longer, but I decided to split it into two issues. This opening story arc is called Sefer Emet (The Book of Truth).

In Sefer Emet, we follow a family of crypto-Jews living as Bedouins in Yemen, forced to confront a Jewish identity they have long concealed. How does the family maintain composure in stressful environments? What does it mean to be a Jew in an era when idolatry is the mandated again? How does evil respond to evil?

In Sefer Emet, your questions will be answered, but you still have more.

I hope you enjoy the beginning of the journey.

Shalom,

Sincerely,

Ari Tamani

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Shalom Chaverim,

I am currently working on the prologue to Dawn of Mashiach, which consists of a few pages introducing the world before the main story begins.

I have now drawn 29 pages, including the prologue, and I’m still shocked I didn’t quit after the second week.

My love of Comics has allowed me not only to absorb great works of art but also to be inspired to create art of my own, even when I previously doubted my ability.

I originally wanted to go into the animation industry during high school, having created a portfolio I am still proud of, and being accepted into several art schools. However, having explored animation in college, I realized that the process of animating was not my strong suit and that my creative muscles in both visual and written storytelling were best utilized through comics.

Ironically, I had drifted away from comics.

As a kid, I devoured Marvel through my library and a Marvel Unlimited subscription. Eventually, I became tired of endless continuity, characters who never stayed dead, and stories that never truly ended. I followed comic YouTubers instead of reading the books myself, which saved me time and kept me up to date.

Then, almost by fate, I rediscovered the medium.

One day, I found the first three volumes of The Walking Dead sitting around my house. They belonged to an old friend and had been misplaced by the cleaners. Before returning them, I read them, and they completely changed how I thought about comics.

Soon, I was buying graphic novels and checking them out from my school library. Persepolis, Watchmen, and most recently Absolute Batman reminded me just how much the medium was capable of.

Rediscovering comics didn’t just rekindle my love of reading them; it convinced me that I had found the right medium to tell the stories I had always wanted to tell.

Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t go with my original plan of animation. Part of it could have been imposter syndrome. I undoubtedly have talent as an artist, even if my animation skills are lacking. However, I could always be a storyboarder or visual developer, which is already what I do through comics.

However, animation is competitive, and due to the high budgets of producing even a few minutes of animation, you have to have lots of industry experience and trust to even pitch a story. And even if you land a pitch, the story has to be appealing to the widest variety of people, as millions of dollars are on the line.

I cannot tell a story like Dawn of Mashiach that is overtly zionist and Jewish. Not without a proof of concept.

With comics, I can begin immediately. I don’t need years of industry approval, investors, or permission to tell stories that fall outside the mainstream. My only real limitation is my own ability.

If I continue improving, perhaps one day Dawn of Mashiach will be adapted into an animation. But first, it has to exist. At the same time, the comic I am creating is not made because I want it adapted, but because I want it to be a comic.

I want my story to be both a proof of concept and something that stands on its own, just like Japanese Manga.

Comics, graphic novels, sequential art, cartoons, or whatever name the reader chooses to assign are mediums that have the most to prove. And I hope to one day help to transition it into a prestigious art form as it deserves to be.

Shalom,

Ari Tamani

Shalom Chaverim,

I recently finished Chapter 3 of my comic, Dawn of Mashiach. I am planning to roll out pages soon,

But every week, I plan to write a newsletter so you can see my progress. It will also serve as an opportunity to express my views on art, politics, religion, and storytelling. This week I wanted to talk about the process of learning art.

When I was trying to learn to be a better artist, I was told, like many others, to spend time practicing the fundamentals. I understand why perspective, anatomy, gesture, and composition matter, but the culture of art education focuses a lot on drilling rather than creating.

I started getting serious about art when I was 16, during the COVID-19 lockdown. I always drew pictures as a kid, but the isolation and contemplation during COVID made me realize I needed to pursue something artistic in the future.

I always wanted to be remembered long after I died for doing something great. I did not have the brains of a genius like Albert Einstein or Rosalind Franklin, or the military aptitude of a Moshe Dayan or Yonatan Netanyahu, or the entrepreneurial grit of a Rothschild or Rockefeller. But I always knew I was good with a pencil, both for writing and drawing.

What really flipped the switch to tell me that I NEED TO BE AN ARTIST was watching the movie Into the Spider-Verse and watching the show Avatar: The Last Airbender. I wanted to create stories on a similar scale that made people feel all fuzzy inside with joy, or make them want to pick up a pencil. But I knew I was not up to the task in terms of technical ability.

To improve my fundamentals, I signed up for the SVS Learn Courses. While I owe a lot to the team behind SVS Learn for giving me creative fundamentals, I stopped all of a sudden after completing the perspective course.

While I am unsure why I did it, it was probably because making perspective grids, drawing boxes, and studying the instructor’s work felt like a chore when I really wanted to tell stories.

Eventually I decided to start working on comics about a year and a half ago. I signed up for SVS Learn’s awesome Graphic Novel Pro course, which gave me a great game plan and tools to create something achievable. However, I still missed a lot of the fundamentals.

Even though I wasn’t making superhero stories, I still needed to know perspective for backgrounds, anatomy for believable characters, and gesture to create motion on a static page. But if I spent so much time studying, it would be years before I reached professional-level comic art, and by then I might lose interest.

So instead of just going back to video courses and studies, I tried something new. I already had some background in anatomy and gesture from my life-drawing classes during freshman year. I knew I needed to get better at perspective so I could create epic landscapes, cities, and architecture for my stories. So I bought Framed Perspective Vol. 1: Technical Perspective and Visual Storytelling by Marcos Mateu-Mestre. The book is very technical; however, it does a great job breaking down perspective.

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The book didn’t include exercises, which at first I thought was a bummer, but then I decided to create my own. For example, in Chapter 2 of my graphic novel, I really wanted to iron out my one-point perspective, so I designed the pages to force me to draw many images in one-point perspective. For Chapter 3, I moved to 2-point perspective and continued to reference Mateu-Mestre’s art when drawing grids.

Had I just studied everything in the art book, line for line, I wouldn’t have gotten so far into my story and probably would have given up, but by learning as I went, I prevailed.

The process of learning while doing also lends itself to other skills, such as languages. When I was in high school, I took 3 years of Spanish, but I can barely order food now. That’s because we spent more time doing workbooks and grammar than actually speaking. And when I no longer was required by my school to learn Spanish, I lost interest in continuing to practice.

However, when I was in Israel, I went to Ulpan and actively practiced the Hebrew in ways that served my ambitions. One of my main motivations for learning was to bond with my family, and by practicing it in natural, non-academic settings, I improved drastically.

The Ulpan already gave us ample opportunities to practice; however, when I spent weekends with my Haredi family, who had only one English-speaking family member, I improved greatly. I had to learn Hebrew while speaking, which forced me to recall and absorb the material I was learning.

Learning while doing is what works best for my cognitive profile, but don’t let that stop you from benefiting from methods that work for you. However, if you feel bad about paying for art courses and not utilizing them, it doesn’t mean you are a bad student; it just means you learn differently.

Art is fun because we take things from our head and transfer them into reality. Studying is important; however, it shouldn’t come in the way of working towards our ambitions. That is why I learn while doing and why you should do the same.

I wish anyone reading this who is also on an artistic journey would follow through on their ambitions, just as I have.

Shalom,

Ari Tamani

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I am happy to have returned to America after a long, adventurous trip to Israel, which concluded three weeks ago. While I intended to stay for a year, abandon my old life for a fantasy as an Israeli olim (immigrant), I now realize that G-d wants me to deal with my unfinished business before I arrive in his holy Land.

After the first week in Israel, due to my arrogant behavior, lack of compatibility with the Yeshiva system, and inability to be a team player, I was kicked out of Yeshiva.

The following is an excerpt from my journal on this topic, which has been modified for the sake of anonymity and clarity.

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9/14/24 Lessons in Humility.

A week ago, probably on Sunday, I learned the unfortunate truth that I would no longer be attending Ohr Somayach Yeshiva.

Here are the reasons I was expelled.

1. I made crass, often dirty jokes in a very conservative religous environment.

2. I got lost in Jerusalem multiple times, which is a dangerous thing for an American tourist.

3. I can’t confirm this for sure, but I made many jokes about Ashkenazi Jews, such as impersonating their accents and using the term penguin to describe their community (based on their outfits). For example I would joke sarcasticaly that I was Joining a penguin cult.
   
   I was also very proud of my Mizrahi heritage and was not interested in assimilating into the Lithuanian Ashkenazi customs.
   

   I never once prayed at the Yeshiva; I always went to the nearby Yemenite Synagogue. While there is nothing wrong with following my own customs, I chose not to participate in praying in the Yeshiva, which doubles as a team-building activity.
   
   Why would they make the effort to invest in me when I have demonstrated a lack of enthusiasm for the Lithuanian Jewish customs?

4. I was very ambitious, wanting to create a newspaper with comics as well as a Hebrew study group. I hadn’t even spent a week within the system, but I tried to change it.

Was it wrong that nobody mentioned these infractions until the day I was kicked out, thereby preventing me from knowing what I had done and from improving? Yes!

Was it wrong that they gave me initially only an afternoon to pack up and go? Absolutely, and thank G-D my mom negotiated for me to have a few more days.

Can Haredim be very uptight and inflexible? Obviously!

But I was going to Yeshiva for free, and they didn’t have to give me a chance at all.

I came with too much chutzpah and ego. I thought I was going to be some big shot, but I ended up looking like a brat.

I needed to learn humility, and hopefully I learned that humility.

But what am I supposed to do with my life now?

The Wandering Jew of Israel.

I did my best to stay in Eretz Yisroel. I didn’t want to go back to California. I was extremely jaded by the growing Islam-Unist alliance. I am saddened by the highly assimilated, divided, and nonconfrontational Jewish communities of the USA.

I was extremely shocked by the murder of Charlie Kirk, and I was terrified of a civil war awakening, and still am.

My parents supported me the best they could; they gave me money to survive and inspired me to keep trying to stay here.

I looked into other Yeshivas but realized that I was not ready to commit myself to such intense learning.

I tried to apply to the IDF for the shortened diaspora service, but due to my health history, they wouldn’t take me.

And I tried to join a kibbutz, but recognized that they’re too left-wing and anti-religious for me. I may not be very religious anymore, but when I want to practice, I want to do it authentically, without modern reforms and compromises.

While all this was happening, it was the chag. For almost a month, from Rosh Hashanah to Simchat Torah, businesses slowed down or were closed due to the holidays. Many government bureaucracies were completely unavailable.

I experienced these holidays with both my Haredi family and my Religious Nationalist family.

Wonderful people opened their homes to me, despite never having met me. I never experienced a Shabbat or any holiday without company!

And while this was happening, I briefly attended an Ulpan.

But eventually the money I had saved had dried up, and my parents understandably didn’t want to give me more.

I had eventually recognized that this dream of living in Israel was out of reach for now.

Israel is a land that spits out those it deems incompatible, like an immune system rejecting transplanted organs.

Living in Israel is among the top three most difficult mitzvot in the Torah, along with studying Torah and meriting resurrection in the world to come.

Righteous men such as the Rambam had traveled to Israel but could not remain due to their circumstances. Rambam’s tombstone reads, “From Moshe to Moshe, there arose none like Moshe.” And just likeLand Rambam, the original Moshe never lived in Israel.

Being spat out of the holy land has been a rite of passage for Jews for centuries and is nothing to be ashamed of.

Initially, I adamantly refused to return to college. While the religious establishment of Israel jaded me, I still wanted to be observant, and feared I would lose all the progress I had made spiritually if I returned.

I knew I needed to return and was okay with that, but I considered taking a low-skilled job so that I could earn enough to return and try again.

However, I then called Nefesh B’Nefesh, the Israeli organization that assists people in making Aliya, and explained my circumstances.

They told me I should go home and plan again. They also mentioned that it would be better to make Aliya after college. It would be challenging to transfer my credits internationally, and I needed to complete what I started because commitment is essential for success in Israel.

So what am I doing now?

Currently, I am preparing for the upcoming spring semester at CSU Chico. I was initially hesitant to return to a small Jewish community: no more daily minyanim, far fewer kosher options, far less religiously curious people.

But I recognize now this is just what being outside of Israel is like, and regardless of where I go, unless I am in a Haredi area or a modern orthodox area, I will have to get used to it.

I will continue my major in International Relations while starting my minor in Comparative Religions.

And most excitingly, I have adopted a puppy named Violet who will accompany me back to college.

Overall, I am very optimistic about the future. I have my eye on the ball, which would be to go to Israel.

B’ezrat hashem, I will merit living there soon.

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Shalom Chaverim,

For the last two years, I attended one of the top party schools in the country, but I hated partying. I had three different majors, but I was passionate about none of them. I had close friends, but I felt like an outcast. I couldn’t get up in the morning, which meant I was late for morning classes almost every day.

I had to make a change, and now, I am halfway across the world in a Yeshiva in the most talked-about country in the world, Eretz Yisrael.

My Childhood.

Growing up, I had all the creature comforts. I didn’t have to worry about money; my parents had already saved for my college education, and despite my many health problems, I never had to worry about healthcare bankrupting my family.

While I had material foundations, I didn’t have what truly mattered: faith and a sense of community.

When I was 15, my parents' divorce destabilized everything for me. I didn’t have to be disciplined because my parents would compromise their parenting to gain favor from my sister and me. The divorce nearly ruined the exemplary relationship I had with my sister because one of my parents used me against her.

I had to grow up faster, but that didn’t necessarily make me a mature, stable individual.

This period of turmoil left me confused about everything. I questioned almost every aspect of my identity, struggled to make my own decisions, and probably wasn’t the best person to be around.

Somehow, I didn't get addicted to drugs, become transgender, or join a political cult like many people my age. My life was atomized, but somehow I found new hope.

The Lifeline.

The only person I felt truly understood what I was going through was my local Chabad Rabbi. I would have been completely isolated if he weren’t there for me every step of the way, always available to offer wisdom, company, and support.

Some may call this “predatory indoctrination,” after all, cults generally go after atomized individuals because they are more susceptible to programming. But unlike cults, exposure to my Jewish roots made me more independent, analytical, and decisive.

This is because Judaism isn't a culture of submission or guilt like Islam and Christianity; it is a culture of questions and debates. While there is consensus in the Torah, such as Rambam’s 13 principles of Jewish faith, even within Orthodox communities, there is a ton of diversity.

There are Chassidim, Litvish, Kabalists, Modern Orthodox, Dati, and more. Despite their diverse opinions, the family remains relatively harmonious compared to others of different faiths.

That is why I don’t consider Judaism to be a religion; a religion is like a business, and you can always return the product. But Judaism is a nation; once you are a citizen, either through birth or conversion, you are part of the greater community. And unlike my own home, where there was no shalom bayit, they managed to create it even across different sects.

Freedom in Structure.

At first, I found these traditions silly and outdated. But as I observed how these positive and negative commandments shaped Orthodox Jews, I found myself envying their discipline. I learned over time that there is immense freedom in structure.

Going to the Mikvah, keeping kosher, praying three times a day, and studying a page of Talmud daily were not just habits but exercises to strengthen one’s character.

Do norms play a role in their behavior? Absolutely! There is societal pressure to conform, leading to various unhealthy issues, including reckless decision-making, self-loathing, and shallow observance. This is a separate issue I may discuss in the future.

But there is no point in throwing away good values and traditions. Jews should impart these habits through inspiration rather than pressure. And they need to be embraced with an understanding as to why they exist beyond just “tradition.”

For example, in my secular past, marriage was treated as “important” because it was what people had always done. That reason to get married leads to resentment and nihilism when things start to fall short of expectations.

That is how I felt after seeing my parents ’ nasty divorce. I saw marriage as a scam. If 50% of marriages end in divorce, what is the point of a lifelong commitment? What is the point in putting any work into a marriage when divorces can turn out so ugly and traumatize the kids?

But I regained hope when I saw how my Rabbi treated marriage as more than just a contract or tradition, but a work of art. Like a painting in a museum, it requires constant maintenance and an understanding of the craft so it stays in good condition.

Life isn't a romcom, as I clearly learned from my parents' divorce, but it doesn’t mean relationships have to be sad and gray. Ideals are intended to be aspired to, and even if there are failures, it doesn’t mean it has to end in giving up.

Redefining wealth.

Eventually, after getting close to my Chabad rabbi in university, I realized he possessed true wealth. He didn’t have the nicest car or the latest computer. But, as the Mishnah teaches: “Who is rich? One who is happy with his lot.”

Success is about creating community, building a family, and being happy with what you have—not how much you possess.

Their loyalty to their family, community, and traditions is what made them rich. And I realized that, while it was counter to everything I thought growing up, following these traditions may be a path to breaking the cycle of intergenerational family failures.

My Personal Sinai.

In the summer of 2024, I made an unorthodox decision to live for 40 days in the Catskills Mountains of New York and learn the fundamentals of Judaism with orthodox jews. This Program is a Jewish summer fellowship offering a stipend for learning Torah.

This experience changed me, as it was the first thing I did without my parents' influence. My attention span rapidly increased from constant Torah study. I felt myself becoming more inquisitive and found myself very motivated and hopeful.

When I returned to college after everything I had been through, I felt like I was deprived of air. I was separated from my friends. I saw myself assimilating and losing the good habits I developed in Yeshiva, like Torah study, kashrut, and prayer, and I felt isolated because I realized how much my values differed from my neighbors.

College is important, but it isn’t for everyone. And I realized I needed to delve deeper into the part of myself that the Catskills Mountains shaped before I ever returned to college.

I did some research and decided to take a “leave of absence” despite having no intention of returning to the same university. I signed up for the J101 program at Ohr Someyach Yeshiva. It’s a part-time Yeshiva and part-time internship, allowing me to balance both parnassah and Torah.

The New Me?

I now feel like I have control over my life and am hopeful again. I will miss my family, my dog, my friends, and my rabbis, but I know that this is what I need to be the version of myself that G-D wants me to be.

Do I see myself with payot and a black uniform? Probably not, but I am open to the idea.

Now I feel free to explore myself. For the second time since last summer in the mountains, I am doing what I want—not because I feel society needs me to, but because I am following my dreams.

Led by the charismatic Ben-Rachamim family, they piously guarded the throne waiting for the scion of David to return and succeed them.

Everything changed when Levitan — an artificial intelligence that sought to replace God and bring peace through slavery — unleashed a war that was over within 7 minutes.

As the year 6,000 comes closer, mashiach will soon crouch and rise like a lion ending the tyranny and leading world peace. Who is Mashaich and when is his dawn?

Imagine being born into a utopia and then having it torn away from you. That was the experience of Leah Giladi, a girl born into the final years of Israel’s Age of Milk and Honey.

Forced to flee from Israels doom in Yemen she lived among a Bedouin tribe in Yemen while her father Avraham fought for the resistance and her mother Sarah treated its soldiers as a nurse.

Despite having to hide her Judaism for fear of being hunted down by the bureau of Jewish affairs, she never forgot her heritage and always found ways to preserve her emuna.

Leah remained diligent in lighting shabbat candles, fasting on holidays, and fiercely resistant to assimilation despite the scolding of her fellow jews.

But when the Bureau of Jewish Affairs found Giladis she was taken to Shtetl Park, a state of the art Jewish habitat where Levitan seeks to root out the mashiach and learn the nature of the human soul. 

During this transition Leah discovered the research of her step-grandfather Yoav Giladi the court historian of Ben-Rachamim Dynasty. Leah took it upon herself to continue his work as Shomer Hazikaron (guardian of the memories) and investigate how the Age of Milk and Honey ended. 

Levitan believed that her investigation of the past would hasten the coming of the Mashaich. 

Personality skills and relationships.

Leah is an advocate for traditionalism, yet is unafraid to question tradition. She is passionate, assertive, and curious. She explores different fashion choices throughout the story to find out what kind of Jewess she wants to be. 

Leah never really adapted to Bedouin culture, she could blend in but struggled with riding camels, tying ropes, and learning the various dialects of arabic. She struggled with friendships with other bedouin because she felt she was "spiritually incapable of assimilation.” 

Her stepbrother Yaov went 13 years of his life not knowing he was Jewish and after finding out, he never recognized the severity of this revelation until he was abducted by the Bureau of Jewish Affairs. 

Leah only really found her people when she came to Shtetl Park and met Chaim. 

The two of them worked extensively to continue the research of Yoav Giladi’s historiography. Together forming a bond as Chaim helped her re-embrace the Judaism she was forced to repress and she gave him the confidence to lead others. 

Her second big relationship is with her stepbrother Yoav whom she acts a second mother to. 

Leah struggled to get along with her stepfather Moshe who struggledwith his faith after the Shoah and felt resentful that G-D allowed this catastrophe. Leah wanted the family to return to tradition despite the terrible circumstances while Moshe wanted to take the short but long path of assimilation. 

Her mother Sarah is the peacemaker trying to calm things down between Leah and her stepfather and hopefully bring Moshe back into teshuva gently. 

Character conception.

I started working on the story some time after my Saba (grandpa) Yoav Giladi had died from last summer. I never got to know him as for most of my life he lived in Israel which I only got to see every few years and he had Alzheimer's so no progress could be maintained in our relationship. 

His passing gave me immense interest in his Yemenite Jewish culture and I wanted to show it off within the story. That is why I gave this character the name Leah as that is one of Saba Yoavs sisters' names. 

I wanted to create a character who is a strong assertive woman but still remains proud and invested in tradition. My main inspiration was Katara from Avatar, the Last Airbender. Katara  wasn’t afraid to criticize the culture of the water tribes but was persistent on her aim of revitalizing the endangered culture. 

I drew inspiration from my cousin Agam for I used as the armature for modeling Leah portrait. I love to create characters who look real rather than just iconic movie stars.

I also wanted to create a character who explores how femininity is celebrated in Judaism despite how many of its detractors focus only on the  misogyny of certain sects. Tradition is just as empowering as revolution and Leah makes her community to realize that. 

Role in the story.

In jewish tradition a Chanukiah known in gentile cultures as a menorah has the highest, often centered candle always used light the rest. This candle is known as the shamash or leader. Leah is the Shamash of Shtetl Park as she lights the candle of Judaism within others. 

Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti, infamously dubbed the “Ace of Spades,” was a dictator whose sadistic brutality rivaled the likes of Spain’s Francisco Franco and Uganda’s Idi Amin. The “Ace of Spades” moniker comes from the U.S. military’s 2003 deck of playing cards used to identify Iraq’s most-wanted regime figures like Uday and Qasay Hussein, as well as Chemical Ali.

His regime’s atrocities are undeniable: he orchestrated genocides, including the Anfal campaign against the Kurds—killing tens of thousands with chemical weapons—and the slaughter of the Marsh Arabs, destroying their ancient culture and wetlands. His invasion of Kuwait was marked by widespread torture and executions.

While the U.S. justification for the second Iraq War (WMD was flawed and regime change proved disastrous, these mistakes shouldn’t erase Saddam’s legacy of evil. I created this caricature to remind the world of his true nature, ensuring his crimes against humanity aren’t forgotten

With the conclusion of the 12-day war with Iran, many across the political spectrum feel déjà vu from the Second Gulf War. Despite evidence that Iran has enriched uranium beyond civilian requirements and violated the non-proliferation treaty, people are so traumatized by the War on Terror that they see the Iranian regime as just another Baathist dictatorship.

Iraq under Saddam did have weapons of mass destruction, such as the chemical weapons used in Kurdistan. He possessed SCUD missiles capable of carrying nuclear warheads provided by the USSR and pursued nuclear weapons efforts that were thwarted when Israel destroyed his facilities. The Baathist regime itself was a kind of weapon of mass destruction—its purges, genocides, and campaigns of terror murdered tens of thousands, inflicting devastation on a scale comparable to chemical or nuclear weapons.

Given Saddam’s record of using WMDs, it’s understandable that people believed the claims. Saddam was undeniably evil, and evil people lie; it wasn’t unreasonable to think he might be hiding weapons despite extensive UN inspections. Moreover, his willingness to torch Kuwaiti oil wells during the Gulf War—releasing toxic fumes, contaminating the soil, and drastically lowering regional temperatures—demonstrated a reckless disregard for human life and the environment.

If he was willing to wreak such devastation on a neighbor’s land, it seemed plausible he could be unhinged enough to attack America with WMDs, potentially even in cooperation with groups like al-Qaeda.

As an Israeli citizen, I desire regime change in Iran. The Iranian regime has caused constant chaos for my family and many in the region, like the Syrians, Iraqis, Yemenis, and Lebanese. However, I recognize forced regime change is a terrible idea.

The son of the Shah has been attempting to assert himself in Iranian politics abroad, and many in Israel, as well as Iranian exiles, are enthusiastic about it. His father was an absolute monarch whose rule was forced onto the people by the British and American intelligence services.

That regime was marked by disappearances, executions, and torture. I believe asking for the Pahlavi dynasty to return is like asking the French, at the height of the Reign of Terror, to welcome back the Bourbon monarchy. While the Pahlavis were not as bloodthirsty as the current Islamic regime—just as the Bourbons were not as bloodthirsty as Maximilien Robespierre—many Iranians, like the French of that era, do not want to swing back to the opposite extreme: a corrupt and incompetent monarchy that had already sown deep resentment in the first place.

Moreover, Iran is not a homogeneous nation-state but a multi-ethnic empire stretching from the Caucasus in the north to the Persian Gulf in the south, and from Mesopotamia in the west to the borders of Afghanistan and Pakistan in the east. It is home to Kurds, Azeris, Armenians, Assyrians, Balochis, Jews, and others, many of whom yearn for independence and resent Persian cultural dominance.

The IRGC has trained in guerrilla warfare for decades and likely has contingencies for regime change or the assassination of the Supreme Leader. Additionally, the level of indoctrination among Iranian citizens complicates any outside intervention. While many cheered Israel’s recent successes in humiliating the regime, others still feel solidarity with Iran as their nation was attacked by foreign powers.

I pray for regime change—but I want it to come naturally, not through forced intervention. America and the West should leave Iran alone, allowing it to determine its own future as long as it isn’t spreading chaos beyond its borders. Iran deserves the chance to eventually be treated as a global power.

Iran before the Islamic Revolution shared many parallels with Japan before World War II: both nations resented foreign meddling, were proud and ancient cultures seeking respect, and eagerly adopted Western technology while adapting it to their own purposes. Yet just as Japan flourished under democracy—becoming wealthier, a leader in global technology, and a shaper of world culture—a post-regime Iran must also be given the chance to shine, rather than be reduced to a proxy or, worse, a colony.

I pray for peace. I hope Iranians can leave behind this barbaric Shiite death cult. But we must also remember the legacy of Saddam Hussein and how it shapes our foreign policy today. Hussein’s regime was pure evil, just like the current Islamic regime in Iran. Regime change could improve life for people both inside the country and across the region. And while overthrowing Saddam proved to be a mistake, we shouldn’t let hindsight blind us to the reasons many supported the invasion at the time.