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Iris Mansour
Executive Presence and Communications Expert - Evangelist of Powerful Meetings - Award-Winning Journalist - CEO of Every Epic
Iris Mansour is the founder of Every Epic, a company that specializes in facilitating virtual and hybrid meetings designed to achieve effective results. Her expertise lies in coaching leaders and teams on executive presence, impactful presentations, and efficient meeting strategies. She has worked extensively with tech executives, founders, and venture capitalists to enhance their communication and leadership skills.1
Before founding Every Epic, Iris held various roles focused on thought leadership and strategy within the tech sector, contributing to brand narratives and content development for companies such as BetterCloud and Virtru.14 Additionally, she has been involved in discussions about the challenges of hybrid work environments, sharing insights on effective communication and management practices in such settings.23
Iris Mansour is also active on LinkedIn under the username irismansour, where she shares her professional insights and connects with industry leaders.1
Highlights
On Thursday, I'll be sharing what makes a post stand out and what kills its impact, based on my work with tech leaders on the platform. Join my live coaching session tailored for tech professionals where we'll dive into three techniques crucial for LinkedIn success, with real examples and hands-on practice.
Get ready for insider tips, real-time coaching from the LinkedIn team, and a peek into how top tech voices excel on LinkedIn.
Sign up using the event link below.
🚀 WE'LL COVER:
- The essential elements of a standout post, illustrated with real examples.
- Reasons behind posts that fail to gain traction, even from high-profile individuals.
- Crafting a targeted strategy aligning with our audience and objectives.
🔑 TO GET THE MOST OUT OF THIS SESSION:
- Bring links to two recent under-performing posts.
- Catch up on Masterclass #1 playback: https://shorturl.at/0fX6G
👩💻 THIS IS A SESSION FOR TECH PROFESSIONALS
- If you work in tech, we recommend you attend, we’ve built this session for you.
- This session is less suitable for people in other sectors.
🔗 Sign up now: Click on the event link below
I was 11 years old when I was first called a dirty Jew. It was 1994. In London (and my first day at secondary school). A moment later, I was spat on. Then I had pennies thrown at me.
This was not the 1930s, it wasn’t the 1940s, it was the ‘90s. I went to a Jewish school in London—the oldest in Europe. The school was Fort Knox. Barbed wire, CCTV, security from morning to night.
But between the subway and school, I learned to dodge and run. Bodegas were Switzerland. If you were chased and ran into a store, you were safe: Shopkeepers would intervene.
One time when I was 12, boys on the bus hurled insults from the 1930s. I was naive—I hadn’t experienced the cost of standing up for myself, so I did.
Five-foot-three in my bright blue school uniform, I stood up and told them, “Nobody speaks to my friends like that.” They ran after us. I got to a newsagent, but one friend was punched, the other spat on. We filed a police report. And I learned to be quiet.
What else? “Hitler should’ve gassed you all” was directed at us during recess, from someone passing by the fence. When walking by a Kindergarten, a kindergartener and the adult standing next to her once shouted, “Dirty Jews.”
You might think I’m exaggerating. But being Jewish is like living in a parallel universe.
It’s being scared to go on a bus because you have friends who were killed for being Jews on buses. (Israel during the ‘90s, when buses, nightclubs and shopping malls were regularly bombed to shreds.)
It’s traveling to the south of France aged 19 and not telling anyone you’re Jewish, because the Fascist National Front are in power locally and the Jewish cemetery has been desecrated.
So, what’s Israel to me? Me, my brothers, 16 cousins, 34 second cousins, 47 third cousins—we wouldn’t be here without it. We exist by miracle. Israel is where we rebuilt. Where my parents met. Where my brothers were born.
After the Holocaust, my mother was born in a refugee camp to parents who had no parents. They had no grandparents, no aunts, no cousins, no sisters, no school friends either. Their worlds had been slaughtered.
My father was a refugee too. At five, he was forced to leave his home in Baghdad—where Jews had lived since the 6th century BCE, after the destruction of the first Temple in Jerusalem. In the 1940s, violence against Jews was so bad that my grandmother escaped a mob by fleeing across rooftops.
How do I feel today?
I Slack, I email and I hear that a friend’s school friend was killed at a music festival. Her body desecrated, paraded and filmed. I cry so hard that I can’t breathe.
This is a glimpse of what it is to be a Jew: the modern and the ancient, the resilience and the pain.
But now, I want to share the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard. The words that carry me through these darkest of days.
Our hope is not yet lost It is two thousand years old To be a free people in our land
They come from Israel’s national anthem: HaTikvah, The Hope.
