On Holocaust Remembrance Day 2026, under the quiet skies of a ceasefire and while the State of Israel and Iran remain signatories to a historic agreement, the Israeli heart seeks anchors of humanity within the most harrowing pages of history.
Precisely at this moment, as the tense silence replaces the flames, we are called to look toward figures who transcended the boundaries of nation, religion, and enmity to save humanity itself. This day is dedicated to the memory of those who created light within the darkness, proving that even in the bleakest of times, the human spirit is capable of rising above hatred and fear.
We focus on two extraordinary heroes: the diplomat Abdol Hossein Sardari, rightly known as the “Iranian Schindler,” and, alongside him, in the heart of Tehran, the righteous man of hessed (loving kindness), Hajji Yaakov Hay, who built an anchor of life and rescue. Their stories, interwoven with one another, prove that even when all around is dark, there are individuals who refuse to surrender to despair and pour hope into many hearts.
Diplomatic ingenuity in occupied Paris: Courage against the machinery of destruction
Dr. Abdol Hossein Sardari was born in Tehran in 1895 to a distinguished Iranian aristocratic family; his mother was the niece of the shah. He grew up in the worlds of politics, culture, and diplomacy, possessing extraordinary talents: he was fluent in numerous languages, including French, English, and German, and was endowed with personal charm, wit, and a sense of humor that made him a central figure in the social life of Paris in the late 1930s.
He served there as a consul – a man of the world with extensive connections in government and diplomatic circles, but also a man of deep moral conscience.
With the Nazi invasion of France and the occupation of Paris in June 1940, most diplomats fled, leaving the city without clear instructions. Sardari, who remained as the sole senior representative, found himself facing a darkening and rapidly changing reality.
Thousands of Iranian Jews living in Paris began to face decrees, racial laws, and cruel persecutions. In contrast to many others who remained silent or collaborated, Sardari understood the true intentions of the Germans: total extermination. He did not stand idly by. He utilized his connections, his diplomatic status, and his brilliant legal mind to weave a web of trust and influence.
He conceived the “Jugutis” strategy – a complex racial-legal theory designed to undermine the fundamental premises of Nazi racial doctrine from within. He argued before the Nazi bureaucracy that Iranian Jews were not of the Semitic race, but rather “Iranians of the Aryan race” who had merely adopted the religion of Moses.
This brilliant argument, based on a distorted interpretation of the Nuremberg Laws, confused the machinery of destruction for many critical months. It allowed him to issue hundreds of forged Iranian passports to Jews and even extend protection to Jews who were not Iranian, acting in secret at immense personal risk. He succeeded in saving thousands of Jews from certain death.
The anchor of rescue in Tehran: “Hay” Synagogue – a beacon of hope in the heart of darkness
While Sardari conducted his sophisticated “bureaucratic warfare” in Paris, Iran itself became a fateful transit station for thousands of Jewish refugees fleeing the inferno in Europe, Poland, and Russia. Exhausted and destitute, they reached the shores of Persia; among them were hundreds of orphans, the “Tehran Children,” who carried the scars of war upon their souls.
Amid this harsh reality, the figure of my great-grandfather Hajji Yaakov Hay stood out – a man of vision and kindness who understood that rescue does not end with a crust of bread or a roof overhead, but in the creation of a place of dignity, identity, and renewed hope.
Until those years, the Jews of Tehran lived in the “Mahalleh” – the ancient, crowded, and confined Jewish quarter. Hajji Yaakov Hay was a pioneer in the deepest sense: he was the first who dared to break through the walls of the old ghetto and build the “Hay” Synagogue outside the boundaries of the cramped quarter.
This act of construction was not merely an architectural move but a profound spiritual declaration of freedom, renewal, and hope. The name chosen, “Hay” (Life), became a silent prayer and a defiant cry against the horrors of death and destruction flowing from Europe, echoing the daring will to live and rebuild.
During the war years, the complex built by Hajji Yaakov Hay became much more than a house of prayer; it became a center for absorption, rehabilitation, and a supportive community. For those children and refugees who had lost their world, their families, and their innocence, the “Hay” Synagogue was the first place where they could shed the defenses of fear, find comfort, and rebuild their lives.
My great-grandfather saw building as a sacred value; he believed that through laying brick upon brick, one could rehabilitate not only physical structures but also the ruins of broken souls. He opened his heart, his home, and his resources to ensure that the refugees would find on Persian soil not just a temporary shelter, but a “City of Refuge” and compassion, where they could once again feel like equal human beings, possessed of value and dignity.
The personal price and eternal legacy: Courage of the heart
The bridge that was stretched during those years was double and complementary: Sardari acted in Paris to keep Jews alive through brilliant diplomatic tools, and Hajji Yaakov Hay acted in Tehran to grant those lives meaning, hope, and community. Sardari’s fate after the war was steeped in pain; after the Iranian Revolution in 1979, his assets were confiscated, and he died in poverty and loneliness in London, far from his homeland. Yet, when asked about his heroic deeds, he replied with simplicity and humility: “I did my duty.” This response echoes the depth of his personality and his uncompromising commitment to human values.
An ancient hope that has not faded – a call for shared humanity
Today, in 2026, as we stand for a moment of silence under the skies of a ceasefire, the figures of Abdol Hossein Sardari and Hajji Yaakov Hay remind us of the immense power of the individual in the face of darkness.
Their actions, which grew out of ancient values of kindness and universal morality, are the bridge that connects us to a better future. They serve as a powerful reminder that even in the most challenging and difficult times, there are people who choose to create light, to reach out, and to act for the sake of the “other,” regardless of religion, race, or nation.
The ancient hope has not faded; it beats within us with every pulse of memory and every act of kindness that continues the path of those righteous ones, inviting us to embrace their spirit and act for a better world – a world of life and of peace.
The writer is an expert on Iranian culture and religion and is a member of the Bama Tova organization.