Fleeing IRGC Commander Meets Jesus On His Way To Saudi Arabia After Ali Khamenei’s Death


I met Jesus face to face on my way to Saudi Arabia as I was trying to escape death from the attacks in Iran.

On March 2nd, 2026, I was driving through the desert towards Saudi Arabia when a blinding light filled my car and everything stopped.

A figure in white stood before me and asked me why I had been persecuting his people.

His name was Jesus.

And in that moment I realized that 40 years of my life had been a complete lie.

My name is Brigadier General Farad Rostami.

I am 58 years old.

I spent four decades hunting down Christians, torturing prisoners, and suppressing protests for the Iranian regime.

I was one of Ali Kune’s most trusted commanders.

And then Kina died on February 28th, 2026.

I fled Iran to save my life.

But on that desert road, something happened that changed me forever.

I was struck blind.

My sight was restored.

And I was born again in the presence of the risen Christ for the first time in my life.

H I’m about to tell you a story that cost me everything.

A story about the man I was and the man I have become.

When the Islamic revolution exploded in 1978 and 1979, my father was one of the first men in our neighborhood to join the protests.

He marched through the streets of Isvahan with thousands of others shouting for the sha to leave and for Ayatollah Kumeni to return from exile and lead the country.

I was only 10 years old at the time.

But I remember the excitement and the chaos and the fear that filled our city during those months.

I remember my father coming home late at night with his clothes torn and his face covered in sweat from hours of marching.

I remember my mother crying and begging him to stay home and not risk his life.

I I remember the sound of gunfire echoing through the streets and the smell of tear gas drifting through our windows.

And I remember the day when everything changed.

The day in February 1979 when the sha finally fled Iran and Kumeni returned to Thran in triumph.

My father wept with joy that day.

He fell to his knees in our living room and thanked Allah for answering his prayers.

He told me that a new era had begun for Iran.

He told me that the Islamic Republic would bring justice and righteousness to our country.

He told me that Ayat Kummeni was the greatest leader the Muslim world had seen in centuries.

He told me that every good Muslim had a duty to serve this new government with everything they had.

His words planted something inside my young heart that day.

A seed of loyalty and devotion that would grow larger and stronger with every passing year.

I did not know then that this seed would eventually turn me into a monster.

I did not know that the loyalty my father planted in me would lead me to do things that no human being should ever do to another human being.

The years that followed the revolution were difficult for Iran.

The country was in chaos as the new government tried to establish control.

Different political groups fought for power.

The economy collapsed and then in September 1980 the worst thing imaginable happened.

Saddam Hussein invaded Iran from across the border in Iraq.

The Iran Iraq war had begun.

This war would last for eight terrible years and kill nearly a million people on both sides.

It would destroy cities and families and an entire generation of young Iranian men.

Uh, I watched the war unfold on our television screen every night.

I saw images of soldiers fighting in trenches and tanks rolling through burning deserts.

I saw wounded men being carried on stretchers with their faces twisted in agony.

I saw the coffins of martyrs being paraded through the streets of Isvahan draped and the Iranian flag while their mothers screamed and tore at their hair.

By the time I was 18 years old in 1986, the war was still raging with no end in sight.

The government was calling on every young man to join the fight and defend the Islamic Republic against the Iraqi invaders.

My father sat me down one evening and told me it was time.

He said that serving in the military was not just a duty to the country but a duty to Allah himself.

Nahi said that dying in defense of the Islamic Republic was the highest honor a Muslim could achieve.

He said that the martyrs who fell on the battlefield would go straight to paradise without being questioned about their sins.

I looked into my father’s eyes and I saw pride and expectation and something else that I could not refuse.

He wanted me to be a hero.

He wanted me to fight for everything he believed in.

and I wanted to make him proud more than I wanted anything else in the world.

So, I made the decision that would define the rest of my life.

I walked into the local recruitment office of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps and signed my name on the paper.

I was 18 years old and I had just given my life to the IRGC.

I had no idea what that decision would cost me and everyone around me.

The first time I held a rifle in my hands, I felt like a man.

I was 19 years old and I had just completed my basic training at a military camp outside of Isvahan.

The rifle was heavier than I expected and colder than I thought it would be.

My drill sergeant told me that this rifle was now part of my body.

He said I should love it more than I loved my own mother because it would keep me alive when nothing else could.

He taught me how to clean it and load it and fire it at targets until I could hit a bull’s eye from a 100 m away without even thinking about it.

He taught me how to march in formation with hundreds of other young men who are just like me.

He taught me how to obey orders without question.

He taught me how to turn off the part of my mind that asks why and just do what I am told.

And these lessons would become the foundation of who I would become over the next 40 years.

In August 1986, I was deployed to the front lines near the city of Bazra in southern Iraq.

The war had already been going on for 6 years and thousands of Iranian soldiers had already died.

The trenches where we were stationed were filled with mud and the stench of death.

Bodies of soldiers from previous battles were sometimes still lying in the ground where they had fallen.

We would step over them or remove them to make room for ourselves.

The sound of artillery explosions was constant day and night.

The ground would shake beneath our feet from the bombs falling from the sky.

Mortars and shells and machine gun fire killed men randomly with no pattern or logic.

What? One moment your friend would be standing beside you and the next moment his body would be torn apart by shrapnel and he would fall to the ground bleeding.

I watched dozens of men die during my first month on the front lines.

I watched friends I had made during training cry out in pain as their legs were blown off or their stomachs were ripped open.

And I learned very quickly to stop feeling anything about it.

The human mind is an amazing thing.

It has the ability to shut down and protect itself when it experienced too much trauma and pain.

After a few months in the trenches, I stopped seeing the dead men as people.

I stopped hearing their screams as voices of humans in agony.

I stopped thinking about their families waiting at home for them to return.

They became nothing more than obstacles in my way or meat lying on the ground.

Well, I became very good at killing.

I became very good at following orders to attack the enemy without hesitation or doubt.

My commanders noticed this about me.

They saw that I did not hesitate or freeze up when they ordered me to go into battle.

They saw that I could kill without emotion or regret.

They saw that I would do whatever they told me to do no matter what it was.

And they began to give me more and more responsibility.

By 1988, when the war finally ended, I had been promoted to the rank of sergeant.

I had been part of operation that killed hundreds of people.

I had been involved in chemical weapons attacks that burned the skin of the bodies of Iraqi soldiers.

I had seen things that no human should ever have to see.

And the worst part was that I did not feel bad about any of it.

I did not feel guilt or shame or remorse that I felt proud.

I felt like I had served my country and my religion with honor.

I felt like I had done everything my father had taught me to do.

When I came home to Isvan after the war ended, my entire family welcomed me as a hero.

My father embraced me and told me that he knew I would make him proud.

My mother kissed my forehead and wept with joy that I had survived.

My younger brothers looked at me with admiration in their eyes.

They wanted to know stories about the battles I had fought in.

They wanted to know what it was like to kill an enemy soldier.

I told them that it was an honor and a duty and that one day they too would have the chance to serve the Islamic Republic.

After the war ended, the IRGC did not demobilize me or send me home to live a peaceful life as instead I was kept on active duty because the government still needed loyal soldiers to maintain control of the country.

The war with Iraq may have ended, but a new kind of war was beginning inside Iran itself.

The new Islamic Republic was not what many people had hoped it would be.

Instead of bringing justice and equality, it had brought corruption and oppression.

The government controlled every aspect of life.

It told people what to wear and what to watch and what to think.

It executed anyone who spoke against the regime.

It imprisoned people for reading the wrong books or listening to the wrong music.

And many Iranians began to realize that they had simply traded one dictator for another.

They began to protest and demand reforms.

And that is where my role in the IRGC changed completely in 1989 and 1990.

As I was assigned to internal security operations in Isvahan and other cities, my job was to help suppress any protests or demonstrations against the government.

I was given a group of soldiers to command and we would patrol the streets looking for people who were causing trouble.

We would beat anyone we found gathered in groups of more than three or four people.

We would arrest anyone who was wearing western clothes or had forbidden music on their cassette cassette tapes.

We would interrogate suspects and detention centers trying to get them to confess to crimes against the Islamic Republic.

I did all of these things without question.

The orders came from above and I obeyed them.

I did not think about whether what I was doing was right or wrong.

I simply did my duty as a soldier of the Islamic Republic.

By 1995, I had been promoted to the rank of captain.

By 2000, I was major.

By 2005, I was a colonel.

I was rising through the ranks faster than many of my peers because I was willing to do the dirty work that other commanders were hesitant to do.

In 2009, when the green movement erupted after the presidential election that everyone knew was rigged, I was one of the commanders given the task of crushing the protests.

Hundreds of thousands of Iranians filled the streets of Thran and other cities demanding that their votes it will be counted.

They were peaceful at first, just marching and chanting and waving green ribbons to show their support for reform.

But the government saw them as a threat to its power and ordered us to brutally crack down on them.

I remember the day we were sent into the streets with our riot gear and our weapons.

I remember the look of hope and fear in the eyes of the protesters when they saw us coming toward them.

I remember the sound of our batons hitting their bodies and the screams of the people as they ran trying to escape.

I remember the young woman named Nida Aa Sultan who was shot in the chest and bled to death on the pavement.

Her image became famous around the world as the symbol of the brutality of the Iranian regime.

And I was part of the machine that had killed her.

I tell you this not to justify what I did, but to help you understand how a man can become a monster step by step without even realizing it is happening.

I did not wake up one morning and decide to become a cruel and violent person.

It happened gradually through a thousand small decisions and compromises.

Each time I obeyed an order to hurt someone, it became easier the next time.

Each time I convinced myself that what I was doing was for a good reason.

My conscience grew quieter and quieter.

Each time I was promoted and given more power, I became more arrogant and more convinced that I was right.

and everyone who disagreed with me was wrong.

By 2015, I was a brigadier general and I had been involved in suppressing dozens of major protests.

I had overseen the interrogation and torture of hundreds of people.

I had helped maintain the grip of fear that kept the Iranian people from rising up against the government.

and I had become a man who could look onto the eyes of a tortured prisoner and feel nothing but contempt.

In 2015, I was brought into the inner circle of Supreme Leader Ali Kam.

One of his adviserss had noticed my loyalty and my willingness to do whatever was asked of me without hesitation.

I was offered a position as one of Ham’s personal security advisors and as a liazison between the supreme leader and the IRGC commanders in the field.

This was the greatest honor that could be given to someone like me.

It meant that I would have direct access to the most powerful man in Iran.

It meant that I would know state secrets that almost no one else knew.

It meant that I would have even more power and influence than I had before.

I accepted the position immediately and moved to Thran to begin my new duties.

I became one of the men closest to Kamini.

I traveled with him wherever he went.

I sat in meetings where the highest levels of government policy were decided.

I helped coordinate military operations and intelligence activities.

I became one of the most feared men in all of Iran because everyone knew that I had come trust and support during the years from 2015 to 2026.

I was involved in some of the darkest operations that the Iranian government undertook.

I helped coordinate the suppression of the 2019 protests when the government raised gasoline prices and millions of Iranians took to the streets and in anger.

The government killed hundreds of protesters during those demonstrations and I was part of the chain of command that ordered the crackdowns.

I was involved in hunting down and arresting members of underground churches that were spreading throughout Iran.

I participated in interrogations where innocent people were tortured until they confessed to crimes they had not committed and I oversaw detention centers where political prisoners were held in inhumane conditions.

I became a master at crushing descent and eliminating anyone who posed a threat to the regime.

And with each atrocity I committed, I felt myself becoming darker and harder and more lost inside.

By 2022, when the Maha Amini protests erupted after a young woman was killed for not wearing her hijab properly, I was one of the senior commanders orchestrating the government response.

I remember watching the video of Masa being beaten by the morality police and then dying in the hospital.

I remember the anger and the grief uh that spread through Iran as her story became known.

I remember millions of people protesting in the streets and refusing to be silenced by fear.

And I remember being ordered to do everything in my power to crush these protests and restore order.

I did what I was told.

I ordered mass arrests and brutal beatings.

I authorized the use of live ammunition against unarmed civilians.

I created an atmosphere of terror that would make people think twice before speaking out against the government.

And somewhere deep inside me, beneath layers of hardness and cruelty, something small and weak was crying out in pain.

something that remembered the boy I used to be before the IRGC had transformed me into a monster.

But I pushed that voice down.

I ignored it.

I did not want to hear it because if I listened to it, I would have to face the truth about what I had become.

By late 2025, something was happening in the world that even the highest levels of the Iranian government could not ignore.

The intelligence reports coming across my desk were alarming and they kept getting worse with each passing week.

The United States and Israel were moving military assets into the Persian Gulf region at an unprecedented pace.

Aircraft carriers were being positioned.

Bombers were being moved to bases in Qatar and the United Arab Emirates.

Satellite imagery showed that preparations were being made for a massive military strike against Iranian targets.

The reports made it clear that this was not just posturing or a show of force.

This was serious.

This was real and it was coming soon.

I sat in classified meetings with other senior IRGC commanders and Kame’s advisers as we analyzed the intelligence and tried to figure out what to do about the threat that was looming over our heads.

The Kam called a special meeting in early January 2026 with his closest adviserss including myself.

He sat at the head of the table with his usual expression of calm confidence that never wavered no matter what crisis we were facing.

He told us that he had decided Iran would not back down in the face of American and Israeli threats.

He said that we would continue to support our allies in the region and that we would not allow ourselves to be intimidated by Western military power.

He said that if the Americans and Israelis attacked Iran, we would respond with overwhelming force.

We would strike back at their military bases in the region.

We would target their energy facilities and their economic interests.

We would make them pay a price so high that they would regret ever thinking about attacking us.

His words were met with nods of agreement and expressions of support from everyone in the room.

But I could see fear in the eyes of some of these men.

I could feel the tension in the air.

Everyone in that room understood that we were on the edge of something catastrophic.

As the weeks of January and early February unfolded, the intelligence reports became even more specific.

Our sources told us that the Americans and Israelis were planning to launch their strikes sometime in late February.

They would target military installations, nuclear facilities, and key government buildings.

They would try to decapitate the leadership of the Islamic Republic by targeting the places where our highest officials were known to spend their time.

This was not just a military attack.

This was an attempt at regime change.

This was an attempt to overthrow the government that I had spent 40 years serving and defending.

When I received these reports, I felt a strange mixture of emotions.

Fear for my own safety.

Anger at the arrogance of the Americans and and Israelis, but also something else.

Something that I did not want to acknowledge.

a small voice inside me that whispered that maybe this was a chance for change.

Maybe this was a chance for things to be different.

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