I pray every day that she will come to faith soon.

Omar is only 10.

He mostly just misses his father.

He does not understand the religious complexity of everything.

He just knows that daddy left and did not come back.

Aliyah says he cries sometimes that he asks when I will come home that he thinks he did something wrong to make me leave.

That knowledge breaks my heart over and over.

But I cannot go back.

If I go back, I will be killed.

and my death would not help my children.

My life and my testimony and my continued work reaching thousands of others is worth more than returning to be a present father who can say nothing about the truth.

I tell myself this, I believe it, but it does not make the pain any less.

There have been close calls, so many close calls.

Three times Hamas operatives have come within meters of finding me.

Once they actually knocked on the door of the apartment where I was staying.

I hid in a crawl space in the ceiling while they searched below me.

I could hear their voices, hear them describing me, hear them promising rewards to anyone who gave information about my location.

I held my breath for what felt like hours.

I prayed silently, desperately, and somehow they left without finding me.

Believers moved me that same night to a new location two cities away.

Another time, someone recognized my voice from a video.

They traced the general region where the video’s IP address originated from before my VPN fully kicked in.

Hamas sent people to sweep the area.

I had to flee with only my laptop and the clothes on my back.

Everything else was left behind.

They ransacked the apartment looking for clues.

They questioned neighbors.

They showed my picture around, but I was already gone.

Hidden in a safe house 300 kilometers away, protected by believers who risked their own lives to shelter me.

I have moved 17 times in five years.

17 different rooms in 17 different cities.

I own nothing anymore except my laptop, a change of clothes, my Bible, and the cross on my wall.

Everything else is temporary.

Everything else can be abandoned in seconds if I need to run.

This is the cost.

This is what it means to follow Jesus.

When you come from a place where following him is illegal, where it is punishable by death, where your own family might be the ones to kill you, but I do not regret it.

Not for one second because I know the alternative.

I have been to hell.

I have seen what awaits those who reject Jesus.

And compared to that, every earthly suffering is nothing.

Every sacrifice is worth it.

Every cost is acceptable.

My message has remained consistent over these five years.

I share my testimony.

I warn about hell.

I point to Jesus as the only way of salvation.

I explain the gospel simply, clearly, repeatedly.

But I have learned to speak to different audiences in different ways.

When I speak to Muslims, I am gentle but firm.

I tell them I understand their devotion.

I respect their sincerity.

I was just like them.

But sincerity in the wrong direction does not save anyone.

Truth matters.

Reality matters.

And the reality is that Muhammad cannot save anyone from hell.

The Quran cannot open the gates of heaven.

Good works cannot pay for sins.

Only Jesus’s blood can do that.

I tell them about the dreams and visions that are happening all over the Muslim world.

About the millions who are encountering Jesus supernaturally.

About the growth of the underground church in places where Christianity was supposed to be dead.

These are signs.

I tell them signs that we are in the last days.

signs that Jesus is is calling his people home before time runs out.

When I speak to Christians, I challenge them.

I ask them if they really believe hell is real.

If they really believe people are going there because if they believe it, how can they stay silent? How can they not share the gospel with urgency and boldness? I tell them about the secret believers in Muslim lands, about the risks we take, about the prices we pay.

And I ask, if we are willing to give up everything to share Jesus in the most dangerous places, what excuse do Christians in free countries have for staying silent? I tell them to pray, to give, to support ministries, reaching Muslims, to not be afraid of Muslims, but to love them enough to tell them the truth.

To see Muslims not as enemies, but as souls that Jesus died for, souls who are deceived, souls who are heading to hell unless someone tells them about Jesus.

When I speak to atheists and secularists, I simply tell them what I saw.

I do not argue philosophy or debate evolution or discuss the problem of evil.

I just tell them I died.

I saw hell.

It is real.

You can choose to believe me or not.

But one day you will find out for yourself.

And in that day it will be too late to change your choice.

I tell them that Jesus offers a relationship not a religion.

That he is not asking them to follow rules or do rituals.

He is asking them to trust him to accept his sacrifice to believe that he is who he says he is.

That is all.

And in return he offers forgiveness, purpose and eternal life.

The work continues.

Every single day I wake up and I do this work.

I write.

I record.

I message.

I pray.

I encourage.

I teach.

I warn.

I point to Jesus.

Some days are harder than others.

Some days the loneliness is crushing.

The fear is overwhelming.

The weariness makes me want to quit.

On those days, I remember hell.

I close my eyes and I see it again.

the fire, the darkness, the faces, the suffering, the hopelessness, the screaming that never stops, the torment that has no end.

And I remember the souls there begging me to warn others, the fighters who thought they were serving God.

The clerics who thought they knew the truth.

All of them deceived.

All of them suffering.

All of them desperate for others to not make the same mistake they made.

I remember Jesus standing in that place surrounded by light in the midst of darkness.

His scarred hands, his loving eyes, his words tell them time is running out.

And then I get back to work because I cannot stop because too many people still do not know because time is running out.

I want to speak directly now to you who are reading or hearing this testimony.

I want to make sure you understand what I am telling you.

This is not entertainment.

This is not a creative story.

This is not religious propaganda.

This is truth.

This is my life.

This is what I saw.

Hell is real.

It exists.

It is not metaphorical or symbolic or temporary.

It is a literal place of conscious eternal torment.

And many people are going there.

Good people, religious people, sincere people, people who thought they were on the right path but were deceived.

I was one of those people.

I was religious.

I was devout.

I prayed.

I fasted.

I gave to charity.

I memorized scripture.

I believed.

I was serving God.

And I was headed straight to hell.

If Jesus had not shown me mercy, if he had not sent me back, I would be there now forever.

And nothing I could say or do would change that.

That is the reality I am trying to help you understand.

Your good intentions do not save you.

Your religious observance does not save you.

Your charitable works do not save you.

Only Jesus saves you.

Only his blood shed on the cross can pay for your sins.

Only his resurrection proves that he has power over death and hell.

If you are a Muslim, please listen to me.

I know what you believe.

I believed it, too.

I know you think Jesus was just a prophet.

I thought that, too.

I know you think the Quran is God’s perfect word and Muhammad is the final messenger.

I thought that too, but I was wrong.

And if you believe those things, you are wrong, too.

I do not say this to insult you.

I say this because I love you.

I say this because I do not want you to end up in the place I saw.

I say this because Jesus loves you and died for you and is calling you to come to him.

The dreams and visions happening all over the Muslim world are real.

Jesus is revealing himself because he loves Muslims and wants to save them.

But he will not force anyone.

You must choose and time is running out.

If you are a Christian, I have a message for you too.

Do not take your salvation for granted.

Do not live a comfortable lukewarm faith while the world burns around you.

You have the truth.

You know the way.

You know what awaits those who do not know Jesus.

What are you doing about it? Are you sharing the gospel? Are you making disciples? Are you supporting missionaries and ministries that reach the unreached? Or are you just going to church on Sunday and living for yourself the rest of the week? I gave up everything for Jesus, my family, my home, my identity, my safety.

I did this because I know the stakes.

I know what is real.

What will you give up? What will you sacrifice? What does your faith cost you? If it cost you nothing, it might be worth nothing.

If you are an atheist or agnostic or follow any other religion, I want you to know that Jesus died for you too.

He loves you.

He wants a relationship with you.

He offers you forgiveness and eternal life.

You can choose to dismiss my testimony.

You can say I hallucinated or I am lying or I am mentally ill.

That is your choice.

But one day you will die and on that day you will discover whether I am telling the truth or not.

And if I am telling the truth, it will be too late for you to change your choice.

Why wait? Why risk it? Why not investigate now while you still have time? Ask Jesus to reveal himself to you.

Read the Bible.

Talk to Christians.

Seek truth with an open heart.

What do you have to lose? I do not know how much time I have left.

Hamas is still hunting me.

Other Islamic groups are hunting me.

Someone will find me eventually.

Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe years from now, but eventually they will find me.

And when they do, they will kill me.

I have accepted this.

I am not afraid of death anymore.

I have died once already.

I know what comes after and I know that when I die again, I will not go to hell.

I will go to heaven.

I will see Jesus face to face.

I will be re reunited with brothers and sisters who were martyed for their faith.

I will be home.

So death holds no terror for me.

My only concern is finishing my mission, reaching as many people as possible before my time ends.

Every day I have is a gift and I will use every single day to share the message Jesus gave me to tell Muslims that Islam cannot save them.

To tell Christians to wake up and engage.

To tell everyone that hell is real and Jesus is the only way to avoid it.

That is my mission.

That is my calling.

That is what I was sent back to do.

I want to close with a prayer.

If you have read or heard this entire testimony and you want to accept Jesus, you can do it right now.

You do not need a priest or a pastor or a church building.

You just need a sincere heart and simple faith.

Pray this prayer with me.

Jesus, I am a sinner.

I have done wrong things.

I cannot save myself.

I believe that you are the son of God.

I believe that you died on the cross to pay for my sins.

I believe that you rose from the dead.

I accept your sacrifice.

I ask you to forgive me.

I ask you to save me.

I give you my life.

Be my Lord.

Be my savior.

Thank you for your mercy.

Thank you for your love.

Amen.

If you prayed that prayer and meant it, you are saved right now at this moment.

You are forgiven.

You are a child of God.

You are no longer headed to hell.

You are headed to heaven.

Welcome to the family.

My brother or sister, welcome home.

Now you need to tell someone.

Find other believers.

Get baptized.

Read the Bible.

Pray.

Grow.

and share your testimony with others just as I have shared mine with you.

If you are in a dangerous situation where being a Christian could get you killed, be wise.

Be careful.

Connect with underground believers in your area.

I can help with that if you contact me through the encrypted methods listed with this testimony.

But do not stay silent forever.

Jesus did not stay silent.

He spoke truth even though it cost him his life.

We must do the same.

This is my story.

This is my testimony.

This is the message Jesus gave me to share.

I was a bomb maker for Hamas.

I died in an explosion.

I went to hell.

I saw the terrible reality of that place.

I saw Muslims there who thought they were serving God.

I saw that Islam is a lie.

that leads to destruction.

Jesus appeared to me in hell.

He showed me the truth.

He showed me his love.

He sent me back to warn others to tell them that he is the only way that time is short that they need to choose him before it is too late.

I left everything to follow him.

I gave up my family, my home, my identity, my safety.

I live in hiding.

I am hunted every day.

But I do not regret any of it because I know the truth and I would rather die knowing truth than live believing lies.

This is real.

Hell is real.

Heaven is real.

Jesus is real.

And the choice you make about him determines where you will spend eternity.

Choose wisely.

Choose soon.

Choose Jesus because time is running out.

 

 

 

 

Ex-Muslim Hamas Commander from Gaza Dies and Returns With a SHOCKING Message for all Muslims

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My name is Abdel.

For 12 years, I made weapons designed to kill people.

I mixed chemicals that would tear bodies apart.

I assembled devices that would end lives in seconds.

I did this with my own hands and I believed I was doing the right thing.

I believed I was serving God.

Today, I sit in a small room in a place I cannot tell you about.

My life depends on staying hidden.

But I am alive to tell you what I saw when I died.

And I am alive to warn you about what is waiting for many people when their last breath comes.

This is my story.

Every word of it is true.

I need you to understand something before I begin.

I was not an evil man who enjoyed hurting people.

I was not a monster.

I was a man who loved his family.

I prayed five times every day.

I memorized long passages from the Quran.

I fasted during Ramadan.

I gave to the poor.

I believed with all my heart that I was on the right path.

That is what makes my story so important.

Cuz if I could be so wrong about something so serious, then maybe you need to examine what you believe too.

Let me take you back to the beginning.

Hello viewers from around the world.

Before Abdul continues his story, we’d love to know where you are watching from and we would love to pray for you and your city.

Thank you and may God bless you as you listen to this powerful testimony.

I grew up in Gaza City in a neighborhood called Alimal.

Our apartment building was old with cracks in the walls that grew wider every year.

My father sold vegetables from a cart.

My mother stayed home with us children.

We were not rich, but we had enough.

Gaza is not like other places.

War is part of normal life there.

You grow up with the sound of explosions in the distance.

You learn to recognize the different sounds.

The whistle of a rocket going out.

The boom of an Israeli air strike coming in.

The rattle of gunfire that could be close or far away.

When I was 7 years old, I was playing soccer with my friends in the street.

We used a ball made of rolled up plastic bags tied with string because we could not afford a real one.

We were laughing and shouting the way children do everywhere.

Then we heard the sound.

It was different from the usual background noise of war.

It was closer, louder, coming toward us.

My friend Mahmud looked up at the sky.

I remember his face.

His eyes went wide.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Then there was a flash of light and a noise so loud it felt like my head would split open.

When I could see again, Mahmud was on the ground.

There was blood everywhere.

Too much blood.

Other children were screaming and running.

Adults came rushing out of buildings.

Someone picked me up and carried me away.

But I kept looking back at Mahmud lying there in the street.

He died before they could get him to a hospital.

He was 8 years old.

That was my first real memory of death.

It would not be my last.

By the time I was 12, I had been to 17 funerals.

Most of them were for people younger than 30.

Some were for children.

You learn to recognize the sound of women wailing.

You learn to watch men cry quietly with their faces turned away.

You learn that death can come at any moment for any reason without warning.

You also learn to be angry.

I was angry at Israel.

I was angry at America for supporting Israel.

I was angry at the world for not caring about us.

I was angry at God.

Sometimes though I felt guilty for those thoughts and would pray extra to make up for them.

The anger grew inside me like a living thing.

It fed on every new death, every new destroyed building, every new family left homeless.

And there was always something new to feed it.

When I was 16, our building was hit.

We had warning.

Someone ran through shouting that we needed to evacuate.

Israeli jets had fired warning shots at the roof.

We had minutes to get out.

We ran down the stairs, my father carrying my youngest sister, my mother grabbing what she could.

We made it to the street just before the real missiles came.

I watched our home collapse into rubble and dust.

Everything we owned was inside.

my clothes, my school books, the photo albums with pictures of my grandparents, all of it gone in seconds.

We stayed with seconds relatives after that.

12 people crammed into three rooms.

My father tried to to start over, but his cart and all his vegetables had been in the storage room of our destroyed building.

He had nothing.

We had nothing.

That is when the men came to talk to me.

They were from Hamas.

They came to the mosque where I prayed.

They were always respectful.

They never pushed.

They just talked to me about dignity and resistance and faith.

They told me that Allah honored those who fought against oppression.

They told me that I could make a difference, that I could protect my people, that I could be more than just another victim.

I listened and slowly over months I began to believe them.

They started by giving me small tasks, delivering messages, standing watch, nothing dangerous at first.

They paid me a little money which I gave to my father.

They made me feel important like I mattered, like I was part of something bigger than myself.

By the time I was 18, I was fully committed.

I had been trained.

I had been taught and I had been given my specialty.

I was good with my hands.

I had always been good at taking things apart and putting them back together.

As a child, I used to fix broken radios and clocks for neighbors.

This skill, the men told me, could be used for the cause.

They taught me chemistry.

They taught me electronics.

They taught me how to build devices that would explode.

Continue reading….
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