Jesus Appeared To Us Before The Bomb – I’m The Only Iranian Leader Who Survived
I am a dead man. According to official records, I died on March 3rd, 2026 in Kong, Iran, when an Israeli air strike destroyed the Assembly of Experts meeting hall where Iran’s most senior religious and military leaders had gathered to select our new supreme leader.
43 men died in that building. Bodies were burned beyond recognition. The new leadership held elaborate funeral ceremonies for all of us, declaring us martyrs of the Islamic Republic.
But I did not die that day. I survived. And the reason I survived is because I witnessed something so terrifying and so profound that I ran from that building minutes before the missile struck.
What I saw in that room, what happened in those final moments before the explosion has haunted me every second since.
It has cost me everything I spent 40 years building, forced me into hiding, and turned me into a hunted fugitive in my own country.
But it also saved my soul. My name is General Resza Oseni. And until March 3rd, 2026, I was one of the most powerful military commanders in the Islamic Republic of Iran.
I served the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps for over 30 years. Rose to the rank of major general, commanded critical military operations across the Middle East and was trusted advisor to Supreme Leader Ayatah Ali Kami himself.
I was a true believer in the Islamic Revolution devoted to Allah and to the vision of Iran as the leader of the Shia Muslim world.
I’m speaking now from a location I cannot disclose, knowing that powerful forces are searching for me and that this testimony may be the last thing I ever share before they find me.
But the truth must be told that the world needs to know what really happened in that room in comb.
What Iran’s leadership saw and rejected moments before their deaths and why the Islamic Republic is so desperate to ensure no one discovers I survived.
I was born in Thran in 1966, 7 years after the Islamic Revolution that transformed Iran from a secular monarchy into an Islamic theocracy.
My father was a mid-level official in the new revolutionary government and I was raised in a family completely devoted to the revolutionary ideology.
From childhood, I was told that Iran had a divine mission to spread Shia Islam to resist Western imperialism and to prepare the world for the return of the Madi, the hidden Imam who would establish Islamic justice across the earth.
I joined the Revolutionary Guard when I was 18 during the Iran Iraq war. I saw combat, witnessed the deaths of friends and comrades, and became hardened to violence in service of what I believed was a righteous cause.
After the war, I continued rising through the ranks, specializing in strategic operations and eventually commanding forces that operated not just in Iran, but throughout the region in Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Yemen, and Gaza.
I was not just a military officer. I was a true believer. I prayed faithfully, studied Islamic texts, consulted with religious scholars, and genuinely believed that everything I did, including ordering operations that resulted in deaths of our enemies, was service to Allah and advancement of Islamic justice.
I had blood on my hands, but I slept well at night because I believed it was righteous blood shed in defense of Islam and in preparation for the coming of the Madi.
By 2026, I had reached the highest levels of power in Iran. I was one of perhaps 20 military commanders who had the ear of the Supreme Leader who could influence major strategic decisions, who helped shape Iran’s regional policies.
When Supreme Leader Ayatah Ali Kami was killed on February 28th in the coordinated USIsraeli air strikes on his compound in Tehan, I was among those who vowed immediate and devastating revenge.
The attacks had been catastrophic for Iran’s leadership. In addition to harmony, the strikes killed our defense minister Aziz Nasir Zade, Chief of Army Staff General Abdul Aim Musavi, IRGC Commander and Chief Muhammad Hussein Bageri, and security advisor Ali Shamhani.
Approximately 40 of our most senior officials were killed in those initial strikes across multiple locations in Tahan.
The Islamic Republic was in chaos. Our supreme leader was dead. Much of our senior military command was dead.
And we faced the most serious crisis since the revolution. The assembly of experts, the body of senior Islamic scholars responsible for selecting and overseeing the supreme leader, called an emergency meeting in K to quickly choose Kina’s successor before our enemies could take advantage of our vulnerability.
K is Iran’s holiest city. Home to the most prestigious Islamic seminaries and the burial place of Fatima Bent Musa, sister of the eighth Shia Imam.
It is the spiritual heart of Shia Islam and the center of Iran’s clerical establishment.
The assembly of experts held their emergency session in a secure compound in central compound believing the religious significance of the city and the underground construction of the meeting hall would protect them from further attacks.
I was not officially a member of the assembly of experts as that body was reserved for senior clerics but as one of the highest ranking surviving military commanders and someone who had worked closely with the late supreme leader.
I was invited to attend the meeting to provide military perspective and security assessments as they deliberated on choosing our new leader.
The meeting began on March 2nd and continued through the night and into March 3rd.
There were 48 of us in that underground chamber, members of the assembly of experts, senior IRGC commanders like myself, intelligence officials, and key government ministers who had survived the initial attacks.
We were exhausted, grieving, angry, and determined to ensure Iran’s leadership would continue uninterrupted. The debate was intense.
Different factions supported different candidates to become the new supreme leader. Some wanted Mad Mortavi, the late Supreme Leader’s son, arguing that continuity was important and that he understood his father’s vision.
Others opposed the hereditary succession, saying it violated revolutionary principles. Still others argued we needed someone with more direct religious credentials or someone with stronger military background given the threats we faced.
As the hours passed, emotions ran higher. Some speakers quoted Quran and hadith to support their positions.
Others referenced statements from ayati, the founder of the Islamic Republic. The air in the underground chamber was thick with tension, cigarette smoke, and the weight of knowing that our decision would shape Iran’s future for decades to come.
It was approximately 11:30 a.m. On March 3rd when something happened that I still cannot fully comprehend or explain.
We were in the middle of a heated exchange between two senior clerics about the qualifications needed for supreme leadership when suddenly the room became very quiet.
Not a quiet that we choose, but a quiet that fell upon us, as if sound itself had been suppressed by some external force.
Then the temperature dropped. I felt it distinctly. The underground chamber, which had been warm from the bodies of nearly 50 men, packed into a relatively small space, suddenly became cold.
Not just cool, but cold enough that I could see my breath when I exhaled.
Several men noticed this and looked around confused. One of the clerics started to speak to ask if something was wrong with the heating system, but his voice made no sound.
His mouth was moving, but no words came out. Panic began showing on faces around the room as others tried to speak and found themselves equally unable to make sound.
Then the light in the room changed. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered and dimmed, but simultaneously another light source appeared.
It was coming from the center of the room between where we were all sitting in a circle arrangement.
A soft white light growing brighter but not harsh emanating from a point in the air and expanding outward.
In that light a figure began to materialize. At first it was just a vague shape, but within seconds it became fully visible and solid.
A man dressed in white robes that seemed to glow from within, standing in the center of our meeting with an expression on his face that was both compassionate and severe.
The panic in the room intensified. Several men jumped to their feet. Others pressed back in their chairs, trying to create distance from this impossible figure.
Two of the security personnel reached for their weapons, but found they could not move their arms.
We were all frozen, unable to flee or fight. Only able to sit or stand and stare at this being who had appeared in our midst.
He spoke. His voice was not loud, but it filled the room and seemed to vibrate in my chest.
He spoke in Persian, perfect Persian, with no accent, and his words were clear and authoritative.
He said, “I am Jesus Christ, whom you call Isa. I am the Son of God, the Word made flesh, the one who was crucified and rose from the dead.
I stand before you now as witness and as warning. The room remained silent, though now it was the silence of shock rather than supernatural suppression.
We could hear him clearly, could hear our own breathing and heartbeats, but no one seemed able to respond.
Jesus, and I had no doubt even in that moment that this was who he claimed to be, looked around the circle of us and his eyes seemed to see each man individually.
When his gaze passed over me, I felt exposed as if every thought and action and secret of my life was being examined and evaluated in an instant.
Then he began speaking directly to individuals in the room, calling them by name. He pointed to one of the senior clerics, a man named Ayatollah Yazdi, who had been particularly vocal in the meeting, and said, “Ahmad Yazdi, you have told thousands of students that I was merely a prophet, that my claims to divinity were fabrications added by corrupt Christians.
You have denied my death on the cross and my resurrection. You have led many astray from the truth.”
Ayatollah Yazdi’s face went white. Jesus knowing his full name, his teachings, his specific theological positions was impossible unless this being truly was who he claimed to be.
Jesus turned to another man, a senior IRGC commander named General Salai. Hassan Salhi, you have shed innocent blood in my name, claiming to serve God while serving your own ambition and the agenda of men.
The blood of Christians, Jews, and even fellow Muslims cries out from the ground against you.
One by one, Jesus addressed the men in that room by name, speaking to their specific sins, their specific rejections of truth, their specific ways they had led others away from God while claiming to serve him.
Some of what he said I did not understand because it referenced private matters in other men’s lives.
But every word seemed to strike like a hammer, and every man he addressed reacted with shock that this being knew such intimate details.
Then Jesus addressed the room as a whole. He said, “You gather here to choose a leader who will continue leading this nation in rebellion against God.
You quote the Quran which speaks of me but does not understand me. You claim to honor me as a prophet while denying everything I taught and everything I accomplished.
You prepare for the coming of the Mai while rejecting the Messiah who has already come.”
He paused and the weight of his presence was almost unbearable. “I felt like the air was crushing me, like gravity had increased, like I was standing at the edge of a cliff.”
“I call you to repent,” Jesus said, his voice somehow both gentle and terrifying. “Turn from your rejection of truth.
Turn from your violence done in the name of God. Turn from your pride that refuses to admit you might be wrong.
Accept me as Lord and Savior, and you will be saved. Continuing your rebellion and you a fist judgment far more terrible than any earthly destruction.
For a moment nothing happened. We all sat or stood in stunned silence processing what we had just witnessed and heard.
Then as if a spell had been broken several men found their voices. Ayatah Yazdi was the first to speak he stood up his face red with anger and began quoting from the Quran.
Say he is Allah the one. Allah the eternally besought of all. He beggetth not nor was begotten and there is none comparable unto him.
This is from surah aliklas the chapter Muslims use to affirm the absolute oneness of God and deny Christian claims about Jesus being God’s son.
Other clerics joined in quoting more verses and they say the beneficent heart taken unto himself a son.
Assuredly ye utter a disastrous thing whereby almost the heavens are torn and the earth is spread a thunder and the mountains fall in ruins that you ascribe unto the beneficent a son when it is not meat for the beneficent that he should take a son.
The room erupted in religious fervor. These men confronted with the impossible presence of Jesus Christ himself chose to respond not with consideration or examination but with aggressive recitation of Quranic verses denying his deity.
They raised their voices some standing and pointing at the figure in white declaring that he was a deceiver a demon a trick from Shayan designed to lead them astray.
General Ole, the man Jesus had specifically addressed about innocent blood, shouted, “We will not be deceived.
We know the truth. There is no goat but Allah, and Muhammad is his final messenger.
You are a jin, a demon taking the form of the prophet Issa to mislead us.”
I watched this unfold with growing horror. These were among the most educated religious scholars in Shia Islam.
Men who had spent decades studying theology and doctrine. And they were responding to a supernatural visitation by doubling down on their denials.
Rather than considering the possibility that their understanding might be incomplete or wrong, they were aggressively asserting their existing beliefs in the face of evidence that challenged those beliefs.
Jesus did not respond to their quotations or accusations. He simply stood in the center of the room, that terrible compassion still on his face, and let them rage.
His silence was somehow more powerful than any argument he could have made. Then he spoke one more time, and his words cut through the noise.
Your time is ending. What you have built will fall. The blood you have shed will be accounted for, and the choice you make in this moment will determine where you spend eternity.
I have warned you. I have called you. You have chosen your answer. And then he was gone.
Not gradually fading, but instantly absent, as if he had never been there. The temperature returned to normal.
The strange light disappeared. Sound and movement and time all seemed to resume their normal flow.
For several seconds, no one moved or spoke. Then the room erupted in chaos. Some men were on their knees praying loudly.
Others were arguing about what had just happened. Several insisted it had been a demonic manifestation designed to shake our faith.
One of the clerics suggested it might have been some kind of advanced holographic projection by Israeli intelligence, a psychological warfare operation, but I knew it was not a hologram.
I had felt that presence had experienced that supernatural suppression of sound and movement. Had watched Jesus call men by names he should not have known and reference private matters he could not have learned through intelligence gathering.
What we had witnessed was real and that terrified me more than any military threat I had faced in my career.
My mind was racing. Everything I had believed, everything I had built my life upon was being challenged in a way I could not simply dismiss.
If Jesus really was who he claimed to be. If he really was the son of God who had died and risen, then Islam’s central claims were wrong, then everything I had done in service of the Islamic Republic was not service to God, but rebellion against him.
Then the blood I had shed was not righteous martyrdom, but murder. I stood there in that chaos, my heart pounding, sweat running down my face despite the air conditioning, feeling like the ground was shifting beneath my feet.
I needed to get out of that room. Needed air, needed space to think. I remembered that I had scheduled a communication with one of our military bases in Western Iran for 11:45 a.m.
With everything happening, I had forgotten about it. But now it provided the perfect excuse to leave this unbearable chamber.
I announced loudly, cutting through the arguing voices, that I needed to step out briefly to give orders to our forces and that I would return shortly.
No one objected. They were too absorbed in debating what had happened and what it meant.
I walked toward the door, my legs feeling weak, my mind spinning. A security officer opened the door for me and I stepped out into the corridor leading to the stairs that would take me up and out of the underground chamber.
As I walked down that corridor, I heard the voices in the meeting room growing louder again.
Clerics and commanders reasserting Islamic doctrine, convincing themselves that what they had seen was an attack rather than a warning, an attempt to deceive rather than an offer of salvation.
I climbed the stairs, pushed open the heavy door at the top, and emerged into the bright midday sun of K.
The contrast between the underground chamber and the outside world was disorienting. Life was continuing normally on the streets.
People were going about their business, unaware that in the chamber below, nearly 50 of Iran’s most powerful leaders had just been confronted by Jesus Christ himself.
I walked toward the communications building about 50 m away from the main meeting hall.
I needed to make the call to our western base. But more than that, I needed a moment alone to try to process what had just happened.
I was halfway to the communications building when I heard the sound. A high-pitched whistle growing rapidly louder.
The sound every military officer knows and dreads. Incoming missiles. I threw myself to the ground just as the first explosion hit the meeting hall.
The force of the blast was enormous, even at my distance. I sure to pressure wave slam into me, felt tibli flying overhead.
More explosions followed at least three or four in rapid succession, each one hitting the building where moments before I’d been sitting.
I looked up from where I lay prone on the ground and saw the meeting hall collapsing in on itself.
The underground chamber where the assembly of experts had been meeting was being crushed by tons of concrete and steel.
Secondary explosion suggested the missiles had penetrated deep before detonating, ensuring maximum destruction of the underground space.
The entire attack lasted perhaps 30 seconds. Then there was eerie quiet, broken only by the sound of debris still falling and fires beginning to burn in the wreckage.
I stood up slowly, my ears ringing, dust covering me, and stared at what remained of the building I had just left.
Every person in that chamber was dead. They had to be. No one could survive that level of destruction.
47 men, including some of the most powerful figures in Iran, had been killed in an instant.
And I had survived only because I had left the room to make a phone call moments before the missiles struck.
No, not just because of the phone call. I had survived because I’d been so disturbed by seeing Jesus, so shaken by his presence and his words that I had used the phone call as an excuse to escape that room.
If Jesus had not appeared, if I had not been so desperate to get away and think, I would still have been in that chamber when the missiles hit.
Jesus had saved my life by appearing and warning us. And 47 men had rejected that warning and were now dead.
I stood there in the smoke and dust, my body shaking, my mind unable to process the magnitude of what had just happened.
Around me, security personnel and staff who had been in other buildings were running toward the destroyed meeting hall.
Some screaming, others trying to organize rescue efforts, even though it was obvious there would be no survivors.
Someone grabbed my arm. It was one of the security officers who had been stationed outside the meeting hall.
His face was covered in blood from a head wound, but he was alive. He shouted something at me that I could not hear clearly through the ringing in my ears.
Then he was pulling me away from the destruction toward a vehicle, saying we needed to evacuate immediately in case there were more strikes coming.
I let him guide me into an armored SUV along with several other survivors who had been in adjacent buildings.
As we sped away from the compound, I looked back and saw smoke rising from the ruins of the meeting hall.
Emergency vehicles were arriving, sirens wailing, people running in confusion and panic. The holy city of K had just witnessed the assassination of nearly 50 of Iran’s most senior leaders in a single coordinated strike.
The driver took us to a secure IRGC facility on the outskirts of K. Once there, we were checked for injuries.
Questioned about what we had seen and told to wait while senior commanders tried to assess the situation and organize a response.
I sat in a small room still covered in dust, replaying everything in my mind over and over.
Jesus had appeared. He had called men by name. He had warned us. He had offered repentance and the leaders had rejected him quoting Quran to deny his deity even as he stood before them.
Then minutes later they were all dead. Was it a coincidence? Had the Israeli strike been planned long in advance with no connection to Jesus’s appearance or was this the judgment he had warned about the consequence of rejection that he had said would come?
I knew what the official explanation would be. Israeli intelligence had tracked our meeting, had known the assembly of experts would gather in Kami, and had launched a strike to decapitate Iran’s leadership during our moment of vulnerability.
It was a military action explainable in purely natural terms, requiring no supernatural explanation. But I had been there.
I had seen Jesus appear in that sealed underground chamber in a way that no human technology could achieve.
I had watched him demonstrate knowledge he could not naturally possess. I had felt that presence that was beyond anything human or demonic.
And I had heard his final words. Your time is ending. What you have built will fall.
Over the following hours and days, the full scale of the disaster became clear. All 47 men who had been in that chamber were confirmed dead.
The missiles had been bunker busters designed to penetrate deep underground before exploding. The meeting hall had collapsed entirely, crushing everyone inside and burning many of the bodies beyond recognition.
It took days to recover and identify all the remains. I was initially listed as among the dead.
From the security logs, officials knew I had been in the meeting chamber, and when I was not found among the survivors in the immediate aftermath, it was assumed I had perished with the others.
It was not until nearly 12 hours later when I finally made contact with IRGC headquarters from the facility in K that they learned I had survived.
The reaction to my survival was strange. Of course, there was relief among those who knew me personally, but there was also suspicion.
How had I survived when everyone else died? Why had I left the room at that specific moment?
Was it just fortunate timing or had I somehow known the attack was coming? I was questioned extensively by intelligence officers.
They wanted to know exactly when I left the room, why I left, where I was when the missiles hit, whether I had any warning or suspicion of the attack.
I told them the truth about the phone call to the western bays which they verified.
I did not tell them about Jesus appearing. I knew instinctively that claiming 47 senior leaders had seen Jesus Christ moments before they died would either get me labeled insane or accused of blasphemy.
After 3 days of questioning and medical observation, I was cleared and allowed to return to Taharin.
But by then the political situation had changed dramatically. In the chaos following the attack with both the supreme leader and the assembly of experts wiped out a power struggle had erupted.
Different factions within the regime were maneuvering to take control. Ultimately on March 8, Morta Kami, the son of the deceased supreme leader was installed as Iran’s new supreme leader.
It was essentially a coup pushed through by IRGC hardliners and loyalists who wanted to maintain continuity and prevent more moderate factions from gaining power.
Moda had been groomed for this role by his father but lacked the religious credentials and popular support that previous supreme leaders had enjoyed.
His hold on power was tenuous and maintained primarily to IRGC military strength and ruthless suppression of any opposition.
I attended the elaborate funeral ceremonies for the 47 martyrs. I watched as their bodies or what remained of them were paraded through the streets of Tahhan and K.
I listened to fiery speeches about revenge against Israel and America vows to make them pay blood for this attack.
I participated in the public mourning and the declarations of determination to continue the Islamic revolution.
But inside I was being torn apart. Every night I would lie awake replaying what I had seen in that chamber.
Jesus’s face, his voice, his specific knowledge of men’s sins, his offer of repentance, his warning of judgment.
The more I tried to dismiss it or explain it away, the more convinced I became that it had been real.
I began secretly researching Jesus, being very careful about my online activity because I knew IRGC intelligence monitored everything.
I used VPNs and encrypted browsers to access Christian websites and read about Jesus’s life, teachings, death, and resurrection.
Everything I read resonated with what I had witnessed. The Jesus described in the Gospels was the same Jesus who had appeared in that chamber, authoritative, compassionate, knowing, offering salvation but warning of judgment.
I started comparing what the Quran said about Jesus with what the Bible said. The contradictions were stark.
The Quran denied Jesus’s crucifixion and resurrection the very events that Christians said were central to salvation.
The Quran reduced Jesus to merely a prophet while he claimed to be the son of God.
The Quran prepared Muslims for the coming Mai while Jesus said he was the Messiah who had already come.
For weeks, I wrestled with these contradictions, trying to find a way to reconcile them, trying to maintain my Islamic faith while acknowledging what I had experienced.
But there was no reconciliation possible. Either Jesus was we claimed to be or Islam was correct.
Both could not be true. About a month after the attack, I had a private conversation with my wife Mariam.
We had been married for 28 years, had raised three children together, and she knew me better than anyone.
She could see I was troubled that something was weighing heavily on me beyond just the trauma of surviving the attack.
In the privacy of our bedroom with the doors locked and speaking in whispers in case our home was bud, I told her everything.
I described Jesus appearing in the chamber what he said, how the leaders reacted and how I had left just minutes before the missile struck.
I told her about my research into Christianity and the questions that were consuming me.
Miam’s reaction surprised me. She did not dismiss my account or suggest I was suffering from trauma induced delusions.
Instead, she began crying and told me something she had been afraid to share. For the past month since the attack, she had been having dreams.
In these dreams, a figure in white would appear to her and say, “Your husband was saved for a purpose.
Do not let him waste this second chance at life. The truth he seeks is found in me.”
She had not told me about these dreams because she was afraid of what they might mean, afraid of being seen as disloyal to Islam.
But hearing that I had actually seen Jesus, that I was questioning a faith, suddenly her dreams made sense.
Jesus was reaching out to both of us, confirming to my wife what I had witnessed so that I would know I was not alone or crazy in considering these things.
Together, Mariam and I began studying about Jesus in secret. We watched videos of Christian teachers, read portions of the Bible we managed to access through apps and discussed what we were learning.
Our three adult children lived in their own homes in Tran, and we did not tell them yet what we were going through, fearing the burden it would place on them if they knew.
The more we learned about Jesus, the more convinced we became that he was not just another prophet, but the son of God, the savior, the only way to salvation.
Everything we had been taught in Islam about earning paradise through good works and faithful practice seemed empty compared to the offer of free salvation through faith in Christ.
The fear and uncertainty we had always carried as Muslims, never knowing if we had done enough to avoid hell was replaced by assurance and peace.
About 2 months after the attack, both Mariam and I made the decision to follow Jesus.
We played together in our home telling him that we believed he was the son of God, that we accepted his death on the cross as payment for our sins, and that we wanted to be his followers.
The peace and joy that filled us in that moment was unlike anything we had experienced in decades of Islamic practice.
But we also knew we were in extreme danger. Iran’s new supreme leader, Morat Alba, had proven to be even more paranoid and ruthless than his father.
The IRGC was cracking down on any perceived disloyalty, arresting people on the slightest suspicion of being Western agents or having connection to the attack that killed the leadership.
The last thing we could do was openly declare we had converted to Christianity. We continued attending mosque, continued performing Islamic prayers publicly, continued appearing to be devout Muslims while secretly worshiping Jesus in our hearts.
The double life was exhausting and spiritually painful. Every time I participated in Islamic rituals, I felt like I was denying Jesus.
But I also knew that being discovered with me not just my death, but likely my wife’s death as well and potential consequences for our children.
Then about 3 months after my conversion, something happened that made my situation far more dangerous.
I learned through contact in IRGC intelligence that Murabakamini had become aware that I was the sole survivor of the com meeting.
This fact had been kept relatively quiet in the immediate aftermath. But now the new Supreme Leader was asking questions about it.
He wanted to know why I survived when everyone else died. He wanted a detailed account of everything that happened in that meeting chamber.
And according to my source, he was suspicious that I might have been warned about the attack or even been involved in facilitating it.
The fact that I left minutes before the missile struck seemed too convenient to be mere coincidence.
I was summoned for a meeting with intelligence officials working directly for the new Supreme Leader.
The meeting took place in a secure facility in Than and the atmosphere was hostile from the beginning.
They questioned me for over 6 hours going over every detail of the comm meeting repeatedly asking the same questions in different ways to see if my story would change.
They wanted to know about the phone calls that caused me to leave. Why had I scheduled it for that specific time?
Who was I calling? What orders was I giving? They had already verified the call records, but they seemed to believe there was something more, some secret communication that had warned me to leave.
I maintain my story consistently. I had a scheduled call with the western base. I needed to step out to take it.
I left the chamber, was walking to the communications building, and that’s when the missile struck.
Pure coincidence that I survived, but I could see they were not convinced. One of the intelligence officers finally asked the question I had been dreading.
General Hoseni, did anything unusual happen in that meeting chamber before you left? Anything that might explain why you chose that specific moment to step out?
I felt my heart pounding. This was the moment I could tell them the truth about Jesus appearing, which would either make them think I was insane or lead to accusations of blasphemy.
Or I could lie and deny that anything unusual happened which would protect me in the short term but leave them suspicious.
I chose to lie. I said nothing unusual happened, that it was just a normal continuation of the debate about selecting the new supreme leader and that I left simply because I had a scheduled call and did not want to miss it.
The officer stared at me for a long moment and I knew he did not believe me, but he had no evidence to prove I was lying.
So eventually they ended the interrogation and released me with warnings that I remained under observation and should report any suspicious contacts or activities.
I left that facility knowing that I was now a target of suspicion for the new regime.
They did not trust me and in Maba Iran lack of trust was often enough to justify elimination.
I had seen too many colleagues and rivals of the new supreme leader quietly disappear or have fatal accidents.
I confided in Mariam about the interrogation and the danger I now faced. We agreed that we needed to make plans to leave Iran, but such plans required resources, connections, and time that we might not have.
Escaping from Iran as a senior IRGC general would be nearly impossible. We were watched constantly, our movements tracked, our communications monitored.
Then something happened that forced our hand. About 4 months after the com attack, I learned from a trusted source within the IRGC that orders had been given to eliminate me.
The new Supreme Leader had decided I was too much of a security risk. They could not prove I was involved in the attack or that I was a traitor.
But my survival when everyone else died, combined with my inability to provide a satisfactory explanation for why I left at that specific moment had marked me as a threat.
The elimination was to look like an accident or a natural death. I would either be in a car crash or suffer a sudden heart attack or be found dead from some other apparently innocent cause.
The source who warned me risked his own life to do so. Motivated by old friendship and his own disillusionment with the direction of the new regime.
Mariam and I made the decision that night. We had to run. Staying meant certain death.
We would have to leave behind our children, our grandchildren, our home, everything we had built over 40 years in Iran.
But we would be alive and we would be free to worship Jesus openly through connections with the underground church network in Iran, a network I had learned about through my secret research into Christianity.
We made contact with people who helped believers escape from Islamic countries. The process was dangerous and complex, involving crossing borders illegally, moving through multiple countries, using false documents, and trusting people we had never met with our lives.
I managed to withdraw cash from accounts that were not directly monitored by IRGC, enough to fund our escape, but not so much that it would trigger immediate alerts.
We packed only what we could carry in small bags, things that would not be noticed missing immediately.
We told our children we were taking a short trip to visit Miam’s family in another city, knowing it was a lie, but unable to tell them the truth without putting them at risk.
Our escape happened one night about a week after I learned of the kill order.
Believers from the underground church picked us up in an unmarked vehicle, drove us out of tan to roots that avoided major checkpoints and got us to a location near the Aabaijan border.
From there we crossed illegally into Aabaijan with the help of smugglers who did this work regularly for refugees and escapes.
The journey that followed was grueling and terrifying. We moved from Azabaijan through Georgia, then Turkey, always keeping low profile, always afraid of being recognized or betrayed.
At several points, we were stopped and questioned by authorities and each time I feared we would be identified and sent back to Iran where execution awaited.
But God protected us. Looking back now, I can see his hand guiding us through situations that should have resulted in our capture.
Documents that should not have passed inspection were accepted. Border guards who should have recognized me did not.
Connections appeared at exactly the right moments to help us move to the next stage of our journey.
We eventually reached a country I cannot name where we were able to claim asylum as religious refugees.
The process has been slow and uncertain, but we have been allowed to remain while our case is processed.
We live in a small apartment provided by a Christian organization that helps persecuted believers.
We have almost no money, no possessions beyond what we carried, and no way to contact our children without putting them in danger.
My three children still live in Thran, believing their parents disappeared mysteriously and may have been killed.
It breaks my heart that they do not know we are alive. That we cannot contact them to explain what happened or why we left.
But any communication could be traced and could endanger both them and us. According to news from Iran that I follow carefully online, I am officially listed as missing and presumed dead.
The regime conducted an investigation into my disappearance, but has not made any public conclusions.
I believe they know or strongly suspect that I escaped, but they cannot admit this publicly because it would raise too many questions about why a senior IRGC general would flee the country.
More concerning, I have learned through sources that the new Supreme Leader has put out quiet inquiries to Iranian intelligence networks operating abroad trying to locate me.
They want to find me not just to eliminate me but to interrogate me about what really happened in Kum.
I believe they suspect I know something, saw something that I have not told them.
And they’re right. I am the only person alive who witnessed Jesus Christ appear to Iran’s leadership and call them to repentance.
I am the only survivor who can testify that those 47 men were given a direct supernatural warning minutes before their deaths and chose to reject it.
This knowledge makes me extremely dangerous to a regime that wants to control the narrative and maintain Islamic orthodoxy.
If Iran finds me, they will kill me. Not just kill me, but torture me first to find out what I know and who I have told.
Then they will make my death look like something other than what it is. Probably a heart attack or accident.
Something that would not raise international questions. But I am not afraid to die. Jesus saved me from that chamber in Kum when he could have let me die with the others.
He gave me a second chance at life. Time to find the truth and accept him as Lord and Savior.
Whether I live another week or another 40 years, I know that when I die, I will be with him in paradise.
Not because I earned it through good works, but because I trusted in what he did for me on the cross.
What I am afraid of is dying before I can share this testimony widely enough.
The world needs to know what happened in that chamber. Muslims need to know that Jesus appeared to their leaders and offered them salvation before judgment fell.
The Iranian people need to know that their current Supreme Leader is not appointed by God, but is a user who took power through force and maintains it through fear.
I am sharing this testimony now, recording it on video that will be distributed through channels I cannot disclose, writing it out in detail that will be preserved in multiple locations.
If I am found and killed, I want this account to survive. I want people to know that Jesus Christ is real.
That he still appears to people today just as he did 2,000 years ago and that he offers salvation to all who will accept him.
Even to the leaders of nations that oppose him. To my fellow Iranians who may watch or read this testimony.
I want you to know that I love our country. I served the Islamic Republic faithfully for 40 years believing I was serving God and advancing a righteous cause.
But I was deceived. Islam is not the truth. The Islamic revolution is not from God.
And the leaders of Iran are not serving Allah but serving their own power and ideology.
Jesus Christ is the truth. He is the son of God who died for your sins and rose from the dead.
He offers you salvation freely if you will believe in him and accept him as Lord and Savior.
You do not have to earn paradise through prayers and fasting and good works that you can never be sure are enough.
You can have assurance of salvation right now through simple faith in what Jesus has already done for you.
I know the cost of following Jesus in Iran is high. I know you risk everything by turning to him.
But I also know that Jesus is worth it. That he is worth more than your family, your career, your safety, or even your life.
And I know from experience that he protects and provides for those who follow him even when circumstances seem impossible.
To Christians around the world, I ask you to pray for Iran. Pray for the Iranian people who are suffering under an oppressive regime that rules in the name of God but opposes everything God stands for.
Pray for the underground church in Iran. For the thousands of secret believers who worship Jesus at great risk.
Pray for more Iranians to have encounters with Jesus like I did. For dreams and visions that open their eyes to truth.
And pray for me and for Mariam. Pray for our protection as we live as fugitives.
Pray that God would continue to shield us from those who hunt us. Pray for provision as we have almost nothing materially.
Pray for wisdom about what we should do and where we should go. I pray for our children and grandchildren in Thran that God would protect them and one day reveal himself to them as he reveal himself to us.
Pray also for the leadership of Iran including Mahhaming and those who serve him. Pray that they would have uh their own encounters with Jesus that their hearts would be changed that they would turn from violence and oppression and come to faith in Christ.
I know this seems impossible but nothing is impossible with God. If Jesus could save a man like me, a general who spent 40 years sering the Islamic Republic and who has blood on his hands from operations I commanded, then he can save anyone.
I want to end this testimony with a warning to Iran’s current leaders. I know some of you will eventually see or hear about this testimony.
You will recognize my description of what happened in K. Even though the official story says nothing unusual occurred before the attack, you will know I am telling the truth about Jesus appearing in that chamber because you have probably heard whispers and rumors about it from survivors and staff who were nearby.
Here is my warning. What happened to those 47 men in kum will happen to you if you continue to reject Jesus and continue to lead Iran in rebellion against God.
You saw in that attack how quickly and completely God can remove leaders who oppose him.
You took power through force and intimidation, not through divine appointment. Your authority is not from God and it will not last.
Jesus is giving you time to repent just as he gave those leaders in com time to repent.
Do not make the same mistake they made. Do not quote Quran versus to deny truth that is standing right in front of you.
Do not let pride and ideology prevent you from acknowledging that you might be wrong about who Jesus is.
Return to Jesus while you still have time. Accept him as Lord and Savior. Step down from power and seek to undo the harm you have done.
It is not too late for you to be saved, but one day it will be too late and then you will face judgment far more terrible than any earthly destruction.
To everyone else who watches or reads this testimony, I want to leave you with this final thought.
I’m a man who had everything the Islamic Republic could offer. I had rank, authority, wealth, respect, power.
I was part of the inner circle of leadership, trusted with the most sensitive military operations, privy to the highest level strategic decisions.
And I gave it all up, walked away from everything, became a fugitive and a refugee.
Because I encountered Jesus Christ and recognized that he is the truth. If Islam were true, if the Islamic Revolution were from God, I would have nothing to gain and everything to lose by leaving it.
But because Jesus is the truth, because he really is the son of God who died for our sins and rose from the dead, losing everything to follow him is the best decision I ever made.
My name is General Lorza Hosedi. I served the Islamic Republic of Iran for 40 years.
I was in the room in Koma when Jesus appeared to Iran’s leadership and called them to repentance.
I am the only survivor of that meeting because Jesus saved my life by warning us moments before judgment fell.
I have now given my life to following Jesus Christ and I will never go back to Islam no matter what it costs me.
That is my testimony. I pray it will open eyes, change hearts, and lead many to the truth that I discovered too late to save those 47 men who died in comb, but not too late to save myself and others who are willing to listen.
Jesus Christ is Lord. He appeared in Ka. He offered salvation. Islam’s leaders rejected him and died.
Do not make the same mistake. Turn to Jesus while you still can. May God have mercy on us all and may Jesus reveal himself to all who truly seek him with open hearts.
Amen.
