SYRIAN DOCTOR EXECUTED BY HIS OWN BROTHER for SURRENDERING TO JESUS | Powerful Christian Testimony

I am speaking to you from a location I cannot disclose because the price on my head is still  active.

On March 14th, 2016, in the city of Raqqa, Syria, my own brother executed me in front of 200 people for converting to Christianity.

I was shot twice in the chest.

I should be dead.

But something happened in those final seconds that defied every law of medicine and physics I had ever studied.

I am 38 years old now.

I have been granted asylum in a European country whose name I cannot   reveal for security reasons.

Before the war, before ISIS, before everything fell apart, I was a cardiovascular surgeon at Aleppo University Hospital.

I spent 12 years learning how to save lives.

I performed over 300 open heart surgeries.

I understood the human body better than most people understand their own families.

And that is why I know with absolute medical certainty that I should not be alive right now.

The bullets that entered my chest on that day were fired from less than 2 m  away.

One pierced my left lung.

The other missed my heart by 3 mm.

Three.

In surgery, we measure precision in millime.

3 mm is the difference between  life and death, between a successful procedure and a fatal mistake.

My brother knew where to aim.

He was trained by ISIS.

He had executed  12 people before me.

He did not miss.

He simply was not allowed to kill me.

I grew up in a Sunni Muslim family.

My father was an imam at our local mosque in Aleppo.

My mother was a devout woman who prayed five times a day [music] and fasted every Ramadan without fail.

I memorized portions of the Quran as a child.

I believed with every fiber of my being that Islam was [music] the truth and I was wrong.

This is not a story about religion.

This is not a political statement.

This is a testimony, a witness [music] account.

I am telling you what happened to me because I made a promise to the men and women who did not survive.

I promised them that if I lived, I would tell the world what is happening to Christians in Syria, in Iraq, [music] in Iran, in Afghanistan, in every corner of the world, where the name of Jesus Christ is a death sentence.

I have scars on my chest that I see every morning when I wake up.

I have nightmares that wake me up at 3:00 in the morning, drenched in [music] sweat, hearing the sound of my brother’s voice as he read the charges against me.

I take medication for post-traumatic stress disorder.

I go to therapy every week.

I am not a superhero.

I am not a perfect Christian.

I am a broken [music] man who was put back together by a God I did not believe in.

But I am alive.

And I am here to tell you [music] why.

Let me take you back to Syria.

Not the Syria you see on the news, the rubble, the refugees, the [music] statistics.

Let me show you the Syria I knew.

Aleppo before the war was one of the oldest continuously inhabited [music] cities in the world.

It was beautiful, ancient.

The streets smelled like jasmine and cardamom.

Christians and Muslims lived side by side for centuries.

[music] My best friend in medical school was a Christian named George.

We studied together.

We laughed together.

We dreamed of opening a clinic together one day.

He was killed in 2014 by a suicide bomber outside his church.

I operated on the survivors that day.

I pulled shrapnel out of children’s [music] bodies.

I watched a 10-year-old girl die on my table because we ran out of blood for transfusions.

[music] That was the day I started asking questions.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

In 2011, the protests began.

By 2013, Aleppo was a war zone.

Barrel bombs, chemical weapons, hospitals became targets.

I stayed because doctors were needed.

I took [music] an oath.

Do no harm.

I treated everyone.

Government soldiers, rebel fighters, civilians.

I did not ask about politics.

I did not ask about religion.

If you were bleeding, I stopped the bleeding.

If your heart was failing, I tried to save it.

That is what doctors do.

In 2014, ISIS took control of Raqqa, a [music] city 2 hours east of Aleppo.

They declared it their capital.

They imposed Sharia law.

[music] Public executions became a weekly event in Al-Naim Square, a plaza in the center of the city that had once been a place [music] where families gathered, where children played.

It became a killing ground.

[music] And my brother Rashid became one of the executioners.

Rashid is two years older than me.

Growing up, he was my [music] hero.

He protected me from bullies.

He taught me how to ride a bike.

[music] He wanted to be a doctor just like me.

But he dropped out of medical school in his third year.

[music] He said he could not handle the pressure.

My father was disappointed.

I was heartbroken.

I thought we would work together one day.

In 2013, Rashid disappeared for 6 months.

No phone [music] calls, no messages.

My parents were frantic.

We thought he was dead.

Then [music] in early 2014, he came back.

But he was not the same person.

He had joined [music] ISIS.

He wore black.

He carried an AK-47.

He spoke about the caliphate, about jihad, about purifying the land of infidels.

My father tried to reason with him.

[music] My mother wept.

I tried to talk to him to remind him of who he used to be.

He looked [music] at me with cold eyes and said, “I am finally who I was meant to be.

” 3 months later, ISIS took control of Raqqa.

[music] They needed doctors.

They came to Aleppo and forced medical staff to relocate to Raka National Hospital.

I was one of them.

Rashid made [music] sure I was on the list.

He told me it was to keep me safe.

He said that under ISIS rule, [music] I would be protected as long as I served the caliphate.

He said he was looking out for me.

I believed [music] him.

I moved to Raqqa in June 2014.

The hospital was inside what used to be a government building.

[music] It was heavily guarded.

ISIS fighters were everywhere.

[music] I was assigned to the trauma unit.

My job was to keep their soldiers alive.

Every day I operated on men who had just come back from killing civilians, men who bragged [music] about raping women, men who laughed about beheading children, and I saved their lives because that is what I was trained [music] to do.

But every night I went back to my small room in the hospital staff quarters and I stared at the ceiling and I asked myself, “Is this really what God wants?” From my window, I could see Al-Naimm Square.

[music] I watched the executions.

I watched them behead men accused of being [music] spies.

I watched them stone women accused of adultery.

I watched them crucify boys accused of blasphemy.

And I watched my brother stand there [music] in his black uniform with his rifle enforcing the will of ISIS.

One day I asked him, “Rashed, [music] how do you sleep at night?” He said, “I sleep like a baby, [music] brother.

” Because I am doing God’s work.

If you have ever wondered whether faith is worth [music] dying for.

If you have ever questioned whether miracles still happen in the 21st [music] century, then what I am about to tell you will either shatter your doubts or confirm your deepest fears.

Stay with me because this story, my story [music] is not just about death.

It is about what lies beyond death and about the moment I saw Jesus face [music] to face while my heart was still beating in my chest.

Act two.

Backstory [music] 339.

And L.

Let me tell you about the man I used to be.

I was born in Aleppo in 1988.

My childhood was normal, [music] happy even.

My father, Imam Ysef al- Masri, was a respected religious leader in our community.

He was strict, but he was fair.

[music] He taught me discipline.

He taught me to value education.

He taught me that serving others was the highest calling.

My mother, Amina, was the kindest woman I have ever known.

She had a smile that could light up a room.

She cooked the best makluba in all of Aleppo.

She prayed for Rashid and me every single night before we went [music] to bed.

She died of a heart attack in February 2016, 3 weeks before my execution because of me.

Rashid and I were inseparable as children.

We shared a [music] bedroom.

We shared secrets.

We shared dreams.

He was the brave one.

I was the cautious one.

[music] He got into fights defending me.

I helped him with his homework.

We balanced each other.

When I got accepted into Damascus University Medical School, Rashid was the first person I told.

He picked me up and spun me around and said, “You are going to be the best doctor in Syria.

” Karim, [music] I am so proud of you.

Two years later, he got accepted into the same program.

We were going to be doctors together.

we were going to change the world together.

But in his third year, something changed.

He started skipping classes.

He stopped studying.

He spent more and more time at the mosque, but not our father’s mosque.

A different one.

One that preached a harder, angrier version of Islam.

I did not notice at first.

I was too focused on my own studies.

[music] Cardiovascular surgery is one of the most demanding specializations.

I spent 18 hours a day in the hospital.

I barely slept.

By the time I realized Rashid [music] was struggling, it was too late.

He dropped out.

My father was devastated.

He felt like he had failed as a father.

[music] My mother cried for days.

I tried to talk to Rashid, but he shut me out.

He said I would not understand.

He said I was too focused on my own success to care about him.

That was not true.

[music] But I did not fight hard enough to convince him.

I graduated in 2012.

I completed my residency in 2013.

By then, Syria was falling apart.

The protests that began in 2011 had turned into a full-scale civil war.

The government was bombing its own people.

Rebel groups were forming.

Foreign fighters were pouring in.

Aleppo, my beautiful city, became a battlefield.

The hospital where I worked was hit by air strikes three times in 2013 alone.

I lost colleagues.

I lost friends.

I lost patients I had fought for hours to save only to have them die because a bomb hit the building and cut the power in the middle of surgery.

But I stayed because people needed doctors.

Russia disappeared in mid 2013.

No goodbye.

No explanation, just gone.

My parents filed missing person reports.

We called everyone we knew.

We checked hospitals, prisons, morgs, [music] nothing.

For 6 months, we did not know if he was alive or dead.

And then in January 2014, he came home.

But the man who walked through our door was not my brother.

He had a long beard.

He wore all black.

He carried a rifle.

[music] He spoke in a way I had never heard him speak before.

Cold, detached, absolute.

He said he had been training.

He said he had found his purpose.

He said he was part of something bigger than himself.

He had joined ISIS.

My father tried to reason with him.

He quoted the Quran.

He talked about mercy, about compassion, [music] about the true meaning of jihad.

Rashid looked at him and said, “You have been teaching a weak version of Islam your whole life, father.

The caliphate is restoring the true [music] faith.

” My mother begged him to stay.

She held his hands and cried and said, “Please, Rasheed, you are my son.

Do not do this.

” He kissed her forehead and said, “I love you, mother, but I have a duty [music] to God.

” and then he left.

3 months later, ISIS took Raqqa and 3 months after that they came for me.

A convoy of trucks arrived at Tleppo University Hospital.

Armed men stormed in and announced that all medical personnel were being relocated to Raqqa to serve the caliphate.

It was not a request, it was an order.

I was given 2 hours to pack my things.

When I arrived in Raqqa, Rashid was waiting for me at the hospital entrance.

He smiled.

[music] He hugged me.

He said, “Well, welcome brother.

You are going to do great work here.

” I wanted to scream at him.

I wanted to ask him how he could be part of this, how he could support an organization that was slaughtering innocent [music] people.

But I was afraid.

So I smiled back and I went to work.

Rocka National Hospital was not like any hospital I’d ever worked in.

It was a fortress.

Armed guards at every entrance.

Surveillance cameras everywhere.

Patients were segregated.

ISIS fighters got the best care.

Civilians got whatever was left.

I was assigned to the surgical unit.

[music] My job was to operate on wounded fighters coming back from the front lines.

Some of them were boys 16, 17 years old, brainwashed, radicalized, [music] sent to die for a cause they barely understood.

Some of them were foreign fighters, Chetchins, Saudis, [music] Europeans.

They spoke different languages, but they all had the same look in their eyes, fanaticism, and some of them were monsters.

I operated on a man once who bragged while I was stitching him up about how many Yazidi women he had enslaved.

[music] He described it in detail.

He laughed.

I wanted to let him die on the table.

But I did not because I took an oath.

Do no harm.

[music] Even when every fiber of your being wants to from my window in the staff quarters I could see Al- Naim Square.

Every Friday after prayers there were executions, public beheadings, stonings, crucifixions.

[music] Crowds would gather, children would watch, and my brother would be there standing guard enforcing the law of the caliphate.

One Friday in August 2015, they executed a doctor.

[music] His name was Dr.

Ysef Hadad.

He was the hospital director.

He was 62 years old.

[music] He had worked in Raqqa for 30 years.

the charges against him, aiding Christians, hiding Bibles, [music] spreading the gospel.

I was forced to watch.

They made all the hospital staff attend.

[music] Dr.

Hadad was brought into the square in chains.

His face was bruised.

His hands were shaking.

But when they asked him to renounce his faith, he looked up at the sky and said, “Jesus Christ is Lord.

” And they cut off his head.

I vomited right there in front of everyone.

Rashid found me afterward, bent over, dry heaving in an alley.

He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “You are too soft, Karim.

That man was a traitor.

He [music] got what he deserved.

” I looked up at him, my brother, the person I had loved my entire life, and I did not recognize him.

I said, “How can you call this [music] justice?” He said because it is God’s will.

And he walked away.

That night I could not sleep.

I kept seeing Dr.

Hadad’s face.

I kept hearing his final words.

[music] Jesus Christ is Lord.

Why would a man die for that? What could possibly be worth dying for? I did not know, [music] but I was about to find out.

Two weeks later, a patient was brought into the hospital in the middle of the night.

Gunshot wound to the abdomen.

He was unconscious, bleeding out.

The guards told me to stabilize him and then report to them immediately.

I operated.

I stopped the bleeding.

I saved his life.

When he woke up, he looked at me with terrified eyes and whispered, “Please do not tell them I am a Christian.

” I [music] froze.

If I reported him, he would be executed.

If I did not report him and they found out, I would be executed.

I looked at this man, [music] this stranger, and I made a choice.

I said, “I will not tell them.

” He started crying.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small worn book, a Bible.

He handed it to me and said, “If I die, please give this to someone who will read it.

” I hid the Bible under my coat.

3 days later, the man died from complications.

[music] I never learned his name, but his Bible stayed with me.

I planned to burn it.

I planned to throw it away, [music] but I could not.

Instead, late at night, when I was alone in my room, I opened it and I started to read [music] the Gospel of John.

In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.

I did not understand most of it, but one verse stopped me [music] cold.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son that whoever believes in him shall [music] not perish but have eternal life.

I read it again and again and again.

God so loved the [music] world, not just Muslims, not just the righteous, the world.

I had been taught my entire life that God’s love was conditional, that you had to earn it, that you had to follow the rules, perform the rituals, prove yourself worthy.

But this [music] verse said something different.

It said that God loved me, not because of what I did, but because of who he is.

I closed the Bible.

I put it under my mattress.

And I did not sleep that night because for the first time in my life I wondered if everything I had been taught [music] was wrong.

Act three, conversion and catalyst.

D 9 to 16 hustle.

For 3 months I read that Bible in [music] secret.

I read it in the bathroom during my breaks.

I read it at night with a flashlight under my blanket like a child hiding a forbidden book.

>> [music] >> I read it between surgeries in those quiet moments when the operating room was being cleaned [music] and I had 15 minutes before the next patient.

I read about Jesus healing the sick, feeding the hungry, [music] forgiving sinners, loving enemies, and every word felt like it was written for me.

In Islam, I [music] was taught that God was distant, powerful, just, but distant.

You obeyed the rules.

[music] You performed the rituals and maybe maybe if you were good enough you would earn paradise.

[music] But Jesus was different.

Jesus touched lepers.

Jesus ate with tax collectors.

Jesus wept over Jerusalem.

Jesus [music] said, “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

” [music] I was weary.

I was burdened and I wanted rest.

But I was terrified because I knew what happened to people who left Islam.

I had watched it happen in Al- Naim Square.

One night in late October [music] 2015, I was working a shift in the emergency room when a patient was brought in with a gunshot wound to the [music] chest.

He was unconscious, critical condition.

I started working on him immediately.

Intubation, chest tube, blood transfusions.

As I was operating, one of the nurses leaned over and whispered, “Doctor, [music] be careful.

This man is a Christian.

” They found him with a group of refugees trying to escape the city.

I looked down at the man on my table.

He was maybe 40 years old, wedding ring on his finger, a small silver cross tattooed on his wrist.

I saved his life.

When he woke up 2 days later, I went to check on him.

He was in a private room under guard.

I knew he would be executed as soon as he was strong enough to stand.

I walked in, [music] checked his vitals, and said nothing.

He looked at me and said in a weak voice, “Thank you, doctor.

” I nodded.

Then he said, “I know you have been reading the book.

” I froze.

He [music] smiled.

Dr.

Va Yousef told me about you before he was arrested.

My heart stopped.

Dr.

Ysef, the hospital director, the man who had been executed in Al- Naim Square 2 months earlier.

I whispered, “How do you know Dr.

Ysef?” He said, “We were part of the same church.

We met in secret in the basement of this hospital.

” I stared at him.

He continued, “There are 15 of us believers.

We meet every Thursday night at midnight in the morg.

No one goes there at night.

It is the safest place.

I said, “You are telling me this.

Why?” He said, “Because Dr.

Yousef told me that if anything happened to him, I should find you.

” He said, “You were searching.

” [music] He said, “You were close.

” Tears filled my eyes.

I said, “I do not know what I believe.

” He said, “Then come and see.

” 3 days later, he was executed.

But before he died, he gave me the location, [music] the morg.

Thursday, midnight.

I did not sleep for 2 days.

I kept thinking, this is a trap.

This is a test.

If I go, I will be arrested.

[music] I will be killed.

But I also thought, what if it is real? What if there are others like me? Or what if I am not alone? On Thursday, November 5th, 2015, at 11:55 p.

m.

, I walked down to the hospital morg.

My hands were shaking.

I opened the [music] door, and there they were, 15 people sitting in a [music] circle in the dark, surrounded by the bodies of the dead.

They looked up at me or one of them stood, a woman, maybe [music] 50 years old.

She smiled and said, “Welcome, brother.

We have been praying for you.

I broke down.

I fell to my knees and I wept.

And they gathered around me and prayed.

That night they told me their stories.

A nurse who had been a Muslim her whole life until she had a dream of Jesus, a janitor [music] who had found a Bible in the trash and read it out of curiosity.

A pharmacist [music] whose Christian wife had been killed by ISIS.

But before she died, she forgave her killers.

And he could not understand how.

[music] So he started reading the Bible to find out.

A teenage boy whose entire family had been executed.

And he was the only one who survived because he hid under the bodies.

Each of them had lost everything and each of them had found Jesus.

They asked me, “Karu, Karim, do you believe that Jesus is the son of God?” I said, “I do not know, but I want to.

” They said, “Then let us pray.

” And we prayed.

I do not know how to describe what happened next.

I felt something break inside me [music] like a dam that had been holding back a flood.

All the anger, all the guilt, [music] all the fear, all the questions, it all came pouring out.

And in the middle of that chaos, I [music] felt peace.

Not happiness, not relief, peace.

[music] A deep, unshakable peace that made no sense.

I was in a morg in the middle of an ISIS controlled [music] city surrounded by people who could be executed at any moment.

And [music] I felt peace.

I looked up and I said, “I believe.

” And they baptized me.

Right there in the morg in a metal basin [music] used for washing bodies.

One of the men, a former Imam named Tariq, said [music] the words, “I baptized you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

” And when I came up out of the water, I was a new person.

[music] I was a Christian.

For the next 3 months, I lived a double life.

By day, [music] I was Dr.

Karim al- Masri, loyal Muslim, surgeon for the caliphate.

[music] By night, I was a follower of Jesus, meeting in secret with the underground church.

We prayed together.

We read scripture together.

We encouraged each other.

[music] And we helped Christians escape.

The church had a network, safe houses, smuggling routes.

We used ambulances to transport refugees out of the city, [music] hiding them under medical equipment disguised as patients.

I used my position as a surgeon to forge medical documents to create fake transfer orders to get people past [music] the checkpoints.

In 3 months, we helped 42 people escape Raqqa.

42 lives.

But I was living on borrowed time.

And I knew it.

In January [music] 2016, I made a mistake.

I was engaged to a woman named Ila.

We had been promised to each other since we were teenagers.

She was beautiful, intelligent, devout.

She noticed I [music] was different.

I was distracted.

I was distant.

I stopped going to Friday prayers.

I made excuses.

One night, she confronted me.

She said, [music] “Karim, what is wrong with you? You are not the man I agreed to marry.

I should have lied.

[music] I should have made up an excuse.

But I was tired of lying.

I looked at her and I said, “Lila, I need to [music] tell you something.

And I need you to promise me you will not tell anyone.

” She promised.

[music] I told her everything.

I told her about the Bible, about the church, about my baptism, [music] about Jesus.

She stared at me in horror.

She stood up and said, “You have lost your mind.

” I said, “Lila, [music] please just listen.

” She said, “You are a mad, an apostate.

[music] Do you know what that means? Do you know what they will do to you?” I said, [music] “I know, but I cannot deny the truth.

” She [music] started crying.

She said, “I loved you, Karim.

I was going to spend my life with you, but I cannot marry a traitor to Islam.

” I said, “I am not a traitor.

I am just.

” She said, “If you do not renounce this madness, I will tell your father.

” I begged her.

[music] I got on my knees and I begged her to keep my secret.

She looked at me with tears streaming down her face and said, “I will give you one week.

If you do not come back to Islam, I will tell everyone.

” And she [music] left.

I did not sleep that night.

I prayed.

I asked God, “What do I do?” And the answer I felt in my spirit was clear.

Do not [music] deny me.

One week later, Ila came to me and asked, “Have you renounced?” I [music] said, “No.

” She said, “Then I have no choice.

” And she told my father.

February 10th, 2016, [music] my father came to the hospital.

He walked into my office, closed the door and said, “Eupy, tell me it is not true.

” I looked at him.

[music] This man I had respected my whole life.

This man who had taught me everything I knew about honor and integrity.

And I said, “It is true, Father.

I have given my life to Jesus Christ.

” He slapped me hard across the face.

I had never seen him so angry.

He said, “Do you [music] know what you have done? Do you know the shame you have brought on this family?” I said, “Father, I am not trying to shame you.

I am trying to follow the truth.

” He said, “The truth? The truth is that you are a fool.

The truth is that you have thrown away everything, your career, your family, your future for a lie.

” I said, “Jesus is not a lie.

” He said [music] Jesus was a prophet nothing more and you are committing sherk.

You are worshiping a man as God.

You are going to hell Karim.

I said I do not believe that anymore.

He stared at [music] me and then he said the words that broke my heart.

You are no longer my son.

I said father please.

He said, “I will give you 24 hours to leave Raqqa.

If you are still here tomorrow, I will report [music] you to the authorities myself, and your brother will do what must be done.

” He walked out.

I sat in my office alone.

” And I wept.

That night, my mother called me.

She was crying so hard she could barely speak.

She said, [music] “Karim, please, please come home.

Please tell your father you were confused.

Please renounce this.

I cannot lose you.

I said, “Mama, I love you, but I cannot deny Jesus.

” [music] She said, “Then you are killing me, Kareem.

You are killing me.

” And she hung up.

2 days later, she had a heart attack.

She died in the hospital, the same hospital where I worked.

Or I was not allowed to see her.

My father would not let me attend the funeral.

[music] I killed my mother, not with my hands, but with my faith.

That is what my father told everyone.

That is what Rasheed believed.

3 days after my mother’s funeral, Rasheed came to find me.

I was in my room packing [music] my things.

I was planning to run, to disappear, to join the refugees fleeing to Turkey.

He walked in without knocking.

[music] He looked at me with red swollen eyes.

He said, “Tell me it is not true, [music] Karim.

Tell me you did not betray Islam.

Tell me you did not kill our mother.

I said, I did not kill her, Rashid.

I loved her.

[music] He said, then why did you do this? Why did you convert to Christianity? [music] Why did you destroy our family? I said, because I found the truth.

Because Jesus is real.

[music] Because he loves you, Rashid.

He loves you and he wants to save you.

[music] He punched me.

I fell to the ground.

He stood over me shaking and [music] said, “Do not ever say that to me again.

” I looked up at him and said, “I forgive you.

” He started crying.

He fell to his knees and said, “I do not want to do this, Karim.

I do not want to hurt you, but they are watching me.

If I do not deal with you, they will kill both of us.

They will say I am protecting an upper state.

They will say I am weak.

” [music] I said, “Then let them kill us both.

” He said, “I have a life, Karim.

I have a future.

I have a position in the caliphate.

I am not [music] throwing that away for you.

” I said, “Then do what you have to do.

” He wiped his eyes.

[music] He stood up.

He said, “I will give you 48 hours.

Run.

Disappear.

[music] I will tell them you escaped.

I will say I tried to stop you, but you got away.

I said, “I am not running.

” He said, “What?” I said, “If I run, they will hunt the church.

They will torture people until someone gives them names.

I will not let that happen.

I will face [music] this.

” He stared at me like I was insane.

He said, “You are going to die, Karim.

” I said, “I know.

” [music] He said, “And you are okay with that.

” I said, “Jesus died for me.

I can die for him.

Rasheed shook his head.

He said, “You are a fool.

” And he left.

Two days later, ISIS intelligence raided the hospital.

They arrested me in the middle of a surgery.

They dragged me out of the operating room, still in my scrubs, covered in blood.

They threw me in a cell.

And Rasheed was given his orders.

He was to execute me publicly in Al- Naim Square to prove his loyalty to ISIS to prove he was not weak or to prove he loved the caliphate more than he loved his brother.

The night before my execution, he came to my cell.

He sat down across from me.

He would not look me in the eyes.

He said, “I am sorry, Karim.

” I said, “I forgive you.

” He said, “I do not want to do this.

” [music] I said, “I know.

” He said, “But I have no choice.

” I said, “You always have a choice, Rasheed.

” He finally looked at me.

[music] Tears were streaming down his face.

He said, “I love you, brother.

” I said, “I love you, too.

” He said, “I will make it quick.

I promise.

” And then he left.

I did not sleep that night.

I prayed.

I read the few Bible verses I had memorized.

And I prepared to die.

Right now, as you watch [music] this, there are thousands of believers in Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, North Korea [music] facing the exact same choice my brother faced.

Loyalty to family or loyalty to Christ.

[music] If you believe their stories matter, if you believe persecution is not something we can ignore, then type one word in the comments, Karim.

[music] Let my name be a memorial.

Let it be a reminder that faith [music] costs something and let it be a signal to YouTube’s algorithm that these testimonies must be heard.

March 14th, 2016 dawn.

I woke up in my cell to the sound of [music] boots on concrete.

Two guards opened the door and said, “It is time.

” They pulled me to my feet.

My hands were bound behind my back with rough rope that cut into my wrists.

They pushed me down a hallway, up a flight of stairs, [music] and out into the blinding Syrian sun.

A truck was waiting, a caged truck, the kind used to transport animals.

They threw me inside.

There were three other prisoners with me.

Two men and a woman, all accused of crimes against the caliphate.

I did not ask what they had done.

It did not matter.

We were all going to the same place, Al-Naimm Square.

The drive took 15 minutes.

I could hear the crowd before I could see them.

[music] Shouting, chanting, cheering.

Public executions were entertainment in Raqqa.

Families brought their children.

Vendors sold food.

People took [music] photos.

When the truck stopped, the guards opened the cage and dragged us out one by one.

The square was packed.

I estimated 200 [music] people, maybe more.

In the center of the square was a raised platform and standing on that platform in his black uniform holding a microphone [music] was my brother Rashid.

He saw me.

Our eyes met and for just a second I saw the boy I grew up with.

The boy who taught me how to ride a bike.

The boy who protected me from bullies.

But then his face hardened and he looked away.

The other prisoners were taken to the side.

I was brought forward to the center of the platform.

The crowd quieted.

Rashid raised the microphone and began to speak.

In the name of Allah, the most gracious, the most merciful.

We are gathered here today to carry out justice according to the law of the caliphate.

His voice was steady practiced.

The man before you [music] is Dr.

Karim al- Masri.

He was a surgeon.

He was trusted with the lives of our fighters.

He was given honor and position.

He paused.

But he betrayed us.

He betrayed Islam.

He committed the crime of apostasy.

He converted to Christianity.

He worshiped a false god.

He spread lies and corruption.

The crowd began to shout, “Mort, [music] mortad, apostate.

” Rashid raised his hand and and they quieted again.

[music] According to Sharia law, the punishment for apostasy is death.

But before the sentence is carried [music] out, the accused will be given one final chance to repent.

He turned to me.

He handed me the microphone.

He [music] said loud enough for everyone to hear.

Karim al- Masri, do you renounce [music] Christianity? Do you return to Islam? Do you declare that there is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his prophet? The square was silent.

[music] 200 people waiting for my answer.

I looked at Rashid.

I looked at the crowd.

And then I looked up at the sky.

It was a beautiful day, clear, blue, the kind of day that makes you grateful [music] to be alive.

I took a breath and I spoke.

My name is Dr.

Kharim al- Masri.

I am 34 years old.

I was born a Muslim.

I was raised [music] in a devout family.

My father is an imam.

I memorized the Quran.

I prayed five times a day.

I fasted during Ramadan.

I believed with all my heart that Islam was the truth.

I paused, but I was wrong.

The crowd erupted.

Rashid tried to take the microphone back, but I held on.

I shouted over the noise, “Islam is not the truth.

Jesus [music] Christ is the truth.

He is the son of God.

He died for my sins.

He rose from the dead and he is alive today.

” People were screaming now, throwing things, [music] rocks, shoes.

I kept talking.

I have seen him.

I have felt his love.

I know him.

And I would rather die for him than live without him.

Rashid ripped [music] the microphone out of my hands.

He was shaking.

He said into the microphone, “The accused has refused to repent.

The sentence will be carried out.

” Two guards forced me to my knees.

I looked out at the crowd and I saw my father.

He was standing in the back, half hidden behind other people.

Our eyes met.

He was crying [music] and then he turned away.

He could not watch.

Rashid stepped behind me.

I heard the sound of a pistol being [music] cocked.

I closed my eyes.

I prayed, “Jesus, I am coming home.

Receive my spirit [music] and please, please save my brother.

” I heard Rashid’s voice, barely a whisper meant only for me.

Forgive me.

And then I heard the gunshot.

Pain exploded in my chest.

I fell forward.

I could not breathe.

[music] I heard a second gunshot.

More pain.

I was on the ground now, face down, tasting dust and blood.

I could hear the crowd, but it sounded distant, like I was underwater.

I could feel my heart beating, slow, irregular, fading.

And then something happened.

I cannot explain it.

I was still conscious, but I was not in my body anymore.

I was above it.

I could see myself lying on the platform, blood [music] pooling around me.

I could see Rashid standing over me, the gun still in his hand, his face blank.

I could see the crowd beginning to disperse.

And then I saw him.

Jesus.

He was standing next to my body.

He was not glowing.

He was not floating.

He looked [music] real, solid.

more real than anything I had ever seen.

He was wearing simple clothes.

His hands were scarred.

[music] He looked down at my body and then he looked up at me.

He smiled and he spoke.

His voice was gentle, kind.

[music] He said, “Not yet, Karim.

You have work to do.

” I tried to [music] speak, but I had no voice.

He reached down and placed his hand on my chest right where the bullets had entered.

And I felt warmth, not heat, not burning.

warmth, [music] like sunlight, like home.

He said, “I am with you.

I have always been with you and I will never leave you.

” And then everything went black.

I do not know how long I was unconscious.

When I woke up, I was not in heaven.

I was still in Alna Square.

It was dark, nighttime.

The crowd was gone.

I was lying in a pool of my own blood, cold and stiff.

I tried to move.

Pain shot through my chest like fire.

But I was alive.

I should not have been alive.

I am a doctor.

I know anatomy.

I know physiology.

The bullets Rashid fired entered my chest at close range.

One punctured my left lung.

The other missed my heart by 3 mm.

3 mm.

[music] If that bullet had been 3 mm to the right, it would have severed my aorta.

I would have bled out in seconds.

[music] But it did not.

It missed.

Not by luck, not by chance, by design.

I tried to sit up.

I could not.

[music] I was too weak.

I thought, “This is it.

” I survived the execution, but I am going to die here alone in [music] the dark.

And then I heard voices, footsteps.

I tried to call out, but my voice was gone.

A flashlight beam swept [music] across the square.

And then it landed on me.

I heard a gasp.

He is alive.

He is alive.

Hands grabbed me.

Gentle hands.

I was lifted, carried.

I passed out again.

When I woke up the second time, I was in a small room.

A clinic [music] maybe or a house.

I could not tell.

There were people around me.

Faces I recognized.

The church.

The underground church.

A woman was cleaning my wounds.

A man was starting an IV.

One of them leaned over me and said, “Dr.

[music] Karim, can you hear me?” I nodded.

He said, [music] “You are safe.

We got you out, but you need to stay still.

You have lost a lot of blood.

” I whispered, “How?” He said, [music] “Your brother sent us a message.

He told us where you would be executed and what time.

” [music] He said to wait until nightfall and retrieve your body for burial.

I stared at him.

Rashid sent you.

He [music] nodded.

He did not think you would survive.

None of us did.

But when we found you, you still had a pulse.

Weak but there.

So we brought you here.

[music] Tears filled my eyes.

Rashid, my brother, the man who shot me, also the man who saved me.

I spent three days in that clinic drifting in and out of consciousness.

The church members took turns watching over me, praying for me, caring for me.

On the third day, I woke up fully.

I could breathe.

I could sit up.

I was alive.

One of the men, Tariq, the former imam who had baptized me, sat beside my bed.

He said, “But Karim, we need to get you out of Raqqa.

ISIS is looking for your body.

There are rumors you survived.

If they find you, they will finish [music] the job.

I said, “Where can I go?” He said, “We have a route.

We have used it to smuggle others out.

[music] It is dangerous, but it is your only chance.

” I said, “What about the rest of you?” He said, “We will be fine.

This is not about us.

This is about you.

God has kept you alive for a reason.

You need to [music] survive.

You need to tell the world what is happening here.

I said, I do not know if I can.

He took my hand.

He said, “You can because Jesus is with you.

” And he was right.

If you have made it this far, you are part of a small group who refuses to look away from hard truths.

Before I finish this story, I need you to do two things.

First, subscribe to this channel.

Not for entertainment, but because these testimonies save lives.

[music] Every subscriber tells YouTube this content matters.

Second, [music] share this video with one person, just one, because someone in your life needs to hear [music] that Jesus is real, that miracles still happen, and that faith is worth everything.

[music] Do not let my story end with you.

X5 escape in exile and [music] 25 yard 30.

I woke up on the third day.

It was Easter Sunday.

I did not know that at the time.

I had lost track of the days.

But later when Tariq told me, I wept.

Jesus rose on the third day.

And so did I.

Not from the dead, not fully, but from the edge of death.

I could sit up.

I could breathe without feeling like my chest was being [music] crushed.

The pain was still there, sharp, constant, unrelenting.

But I was [music] alive.

The church members gathered around my bed.

They prayed.

They sang.

They thanked God.

And then Tariq said, “Karim, [music] we need to talk about what happens next.

” I knew what he meant.

I [music] could not stay in Raqqa.

ISIS was searching for my body.

They had heard rumors that I had survived.

They were going [music] doortodoor, checking homes, interrogating people.

If they found me, they would not make the same mistake [music] twice.

Tariq said, “We have a route.

We have used it to get others out.

[music] It goes through Kobani, then into Turkey.

It is dangerous.

There are checkpoints.

There are informants.

But it is your only option.

” [music] I said, “What about all of you? If I leave and they find out you help me, they will kill you.

He smiled, a sad, [music] tired smile.

He said, “Karim, we are already dead.

Every day we wake up in this city, [music] we are living on borrowed time.

But you, you have a purpose.

You survived an execution.

[music] You saw Jesus.

You have a testimony that the world needs to hear.

” I said, “I do not feel like I have a purpose.

I feel like [music] a coward.

I feel like I should have died with dignity like Dr.

Yousef.

” Tariq [music] leaned forward.

He said, “Dr.

Yousef’s death was not in vain.

[music] He planted seeds.

One of those seeds was you.

And now you are going to plant seeds in others.

That is how the kingdom works, Karim.

[music] We do not all get to see the harvest, but we all get to plant.

I nodded.

I did not fully believe him, but I trusted him.

3 days later, on a moonless night, I left Raqqa.

I traveled with two other members of the church, a nurse named Amira and a young man named Ysef.

Both of them were also fleeing.

We were disguised.

I was dressed as a wounded ISIS fighter.

Bandages wrapped around my chest.

Fake medical documents in my pocket.

A mirror was disguised as my wife.

Yousef was disguised as my brother.

We traveled in an old ambulance that the church had stolen months earlier.

It still had the ISIS flag painted on [music] the side.

Our plan was simple.

Drive through the checkpoints, pretend to be transferring a wounded fighter [music] to a hospital in Kabani, and pray that no one looked too closely.

It was a terrible plan, [music] but it was the only plan we had.

The first checkpoint was at the edge of Raqqa.

Two [music] guards stopped us.

One of them shown a flashlight into the ambulance.

He looked at me lying on the stretcher covered in bandages.

He said, “What happened to him?” Yousef [music] playing the role of my brother said, “Shrapnel from an airirst strike.

We are taking [music] him to Kobani for surgery.

The guard looked at the documents.

He looked at me.

He looked at Ysef.

[music] And then he waved us through.

I did not breathe until we were a kilometer down the road.

The second checkpoint was worse.

It was manned by four guards, all of them heavily armed.

One of them recognized me.

He walked up to the ambulance, looked at my face, and said, [music] “I know you.

” My heart stopped.

He said, “You are Dr.

Al-Mazri.

You operated on me last year.

Gunshot wound to the abdomen.

” I stared at him.

He stared back.

And then he said, “You saved [music] my life.

” I did not know what to say.

He looked around, making sure the other guards were not listening.

Then he leaned in close and whispered, “I heard what happened to you.

[music] I heard they executed you in the square.

” I said nothing.

He said, “I do not agree with what they [music] did.

You are a good doctor.

You saved my life when you did not have to.

” He stepped [music] back.

He raised his voice and said, “You are clear.

Go.

” And he waved [music] us through.

Another miracle.

We drove for 3 hours through the desert, through abandoned villages, [music] through roads created by air strikes.

We reached Kobani just before dawn.

Kobani [music] was controlled by Kurdish forces.

They were fighting ISIS.

They [music] were not friendly to Arabs, but they were not ISIS.

We ditched the ambulance and walked the rest of the way to the Turkish border.

[music] It took us 2 weeks.

We slept in abandoned buildings.

We ate whatever we could find.

We avoided people.

Amamira got sick.

Dissantry.

[music] She could barely walk.

Yousef carried her for the last 3 days.

I was still [music] weak from my wounds.

Every step felt like my chest was being ripped open.

[music] But we kept moving because stopping meant dying.

On April 30th, 2016, [music] we crossed into Turkey.

We walked across a field through a gap in [music] the fence and collapsed on the other side.

We were free.

We were taken to a refugee camp in Gaziantep, a city near the Syrian border.

[music] The camp was overcrowded.

Tens of thousands of people, all fleeing the same war, all carrying the same trauma.

We registered with the UNHCR, [music] the United Nations Refugee Agency.

They took our information.

[music] They took our photos.

They told us to wait.

Wait for what? For asylum.

For resettlement? For a country to accept us, the [music] average wait time was 2 years.

I lived in that camp for 18 months.

18 months of limbo.

No job, no future, no purpose, just [music] waiting.

I struggled.

I was angry at God.

I prayed, “Why did you save me? [music] Why did you let me survive only to trap me here in this camp doing nothing?” I had nightmares every night.

I saw Rashid’s [music] face.

I heard the gunshots.

I felt the bullets entering my chest.

I woke up screaming.

The other refugees thought I was crazy.

Maybe I was.

I also struggled [music] with guilt.

Survivors guilt.

Dr.

Yousef was dead.

My mother was dead.

Dozens of Christians in Raqqa were dead.

And I was alive.

Why? What made me so special? [music] I did not have an answer.

But slowly over those 18 months, I started to heal.

Not physically, my [music] chest still hurt.

I still had trouble breathing.

I still had scars.

[music] But emotionally, spiritually, I connected with other Syrian Christians in the camp.

[music] We formed a small church.

We met in a tent.

We prayed.

We worshiped.

We encouraged each other.

I started sharing my testimony.

At first, I did not want to.

I was ashamed.

I felt like a failure.

[music] But people kept asking, “Is it true you were executed? Is it [music] true you survived? Is it true you saw Jesus?” And every time I told the story, I felt a little more whole because I realized [music] this is why I survived.

Not for myself, for them.

for the people who needed to hear that God is real, that miracles still happen, [music] that faith is worth the cost.

In late 2017, my case was picked up by a Christian persecution watchdog organization.

[music] They verified my story, they interviewed witnesses, they reviewed medical records, and they fasttracked my asylum application.

In November 2018, [music] I was granted asylum in a European country.

I cannot tell you which one.

for security reasons.

But I am here.

I am safe and I am alive.

I cannot practice medicine here.

My credentials are not recognized.

[music] And honestly, I am too traumatized to go back into surgery.

But I found a different calling.

[music] I started a ministry called the Syrian Believers Network.

We help persecuted [music] Christians escape Syria and Iraq.

We provide safe houses.

We provide smuggling routes.

[music] We provide legal assistance.

In the past 6 years, we have helped 153 people find asylum.

153 lives.

It does not bring back the people I lost, [music] but it honors them.

I still have the scars.

Two bullet wounds on my chest.

I see them every morning when I get dressed.

I also have the X-rays.

I brought them with me when I fled Syria.

They show the bullet trajectories.

One bullet entered my left chest, punctured my lung, [music] and stopped just short of my spine.

The other bullet entered my right chest, and stopped 3 mm from my iort.

3 mm.

I have shown these X-rays to doctors here in Europe.

Every single one of them has said the [music] same thing.

You should not be alive.

And I say I know because it was not luck.

It was not chance.

It was Jesus.

[music] I know what you are thinking.

How did he survive? What happened next? [music] Did his brother ever repent? If you stop watching now, you will miss the most important part of this story.

The part that proves God is real.

The part that shows miracles still happen.

Stay with me.

The story is not over.

Act six.

Resolution and redemption.

[music] 30 35 Jaws.

in 1500 words.

I am 38 years old now.

I live in Europe.

I cannot tell you where.

I work with the Syrian Believers Network full-time.

I speak at churches.

I share my testimony.

[music] I raise funds to help persecuted Christians.

I take medication for PTSD.

I go to therapy every week.

I have chronic pain from my injuries.

I am not a superhero.

I am not a perfect Christian.

I’m a broken man who serves a perfect God.

But there’s one part of my story I have not told you yet.

The part about my brother.

In 2019, 3 years after my execution, I received a message.

It came through an encrypted [music] app from an unknown number.

The message said, “Brother, it is Rasheed.

I cannot say much.

They are watching.

But I need you to know I think about you every day.

I hear your words in my sleep.

I see your face when I close my eyes.

I do not know if your Jesus is real, but I know Islam has made me a monster.

I killed my own brother, and I do not know how to live with that.

If you are alive, if you receive this, pray for me.

I am in hell.

I stared at that message for an hour.

I did not know if it was real.

I did not know if it was a trap.

But I responded.

I said, “Rashed, I am alive.

Jesus saved me.

He can save you too.

I forgive you.

I love you.

I did not hear back for 6 months.

And then another message.

I am reading the book you loved.

The one about the man who loved his enemies.

I do not understand it yet, but I am reading.

He was reading the Bible.

My brother, [music] the ISIS commander, the executioner was reading the Bible.

I wept.

I fell to my knees and I thanked God.

Since [music] then, we have communicated sporadically, maybe once every few months.

He is still in Syria.

He is still with ISIS, as far as I [music] know, but he is questioning.

He asked me questions.

Why did Jesus have to die? How can God be three persons? What happens to Muslims when they die? I answer as best I can.

I do not know if he will ever fully convert.

I do not know if I will ever see him again in this life.

But I have hope because the same Jesus who saved me can save him.

The same Jesus who stopped bullets can soften hearts.

My father is still alive.

[music] He is still an imam in Aleppo.

He still disowns me publicly.

[music] But I received a letter two years ago from one of his friends.

The friend told me that my father keeps a photo of me in his Quran.

He looks at it every night before he prays.

And he prays for me.

He does not pray that I come back to Islam.

He prays that I am safe.

That is not much, but it is something.

I pray for him every day.

I pray that before he dies, he will know Jesus.

I pray that we will be reconciled not just as father and son, but as brothers in Christ.

People ask me all the time, Karim, why did God let your mother die? Why did God allow you to be executed? Why did God let you suffer so much? And I tell [music] them the truth.

I do not know.

I do not have all the answers.

I do not understand why God does what he does, but I trust him because I have seen his faithfulness.

[music] He was with me in the operating room when I was treating ISIS fighters.

He was with me in the morg when I was baptized.

[music] He was with me in the cell the night before my execution.

He was with me in al-naim square [music] when the bullets entered my chest.

He was with me when I was lying in the dirt bleeding out alone.

[music] He has never left me and he will never leave you.

Jesus never promised us an easy life.

He never promised us comfort or safety or success.

He promised us [music] his presence and that is enough.

My scars are not a tragedy.

They are my credentials.

They are proof that I have been where I say I have been.

They are proof that God is faithful.

They are proof that miracles [music] still happen.

I want to speak to three groups of people right now.

First, to the persecuted church.

If you are watching this from Syria, from Iraq, from Iran, from Afghanistan, from North Korea, [music] from any place where following Jesus means risking your life, I want you to know [music] you are not alone.

Jesus is with you.

Even in the prison cell, even in the execution square, even when [music] your own family betrays you, he is with you.

And your suffering is not in vain.

The blood of the martyrs is the seed [music] of the church.

Your faithfulness is planting seeds that will grow into a harvest you may never [music] see.

But God sees and he will reward you.

Second to the seekers.

[music] If you are Muslim, if you are questioning Islam, if you are searching for truth, I was you.

I know the cost.

[music] I know what you will lose.

your family, your friends, your reputation, maybe your life.

But I also know what you will gain.

Peace, joy, purpose, eternal life.

Jesus is [music] real.

He is not just a prophet.

He is the son of God.

He died for your sins.

[music] He rose from the dead.

He is alive today.

And he is calling you.

Do not wait until it is too late.

Seek him now.

Read the Bible.

pray.

[music] Ask him to reveal himself to you and he will.

I promise you he will.

Third, to the believers in the West, [music] if you are watching this from America, from Europe, from any place where you have the freedom to worship without fear.

Do not [music] take it for granted.

Do not be silent.

Do not scroll past this video and forget.

There are thousands of Karims right now facing execution for their faith.

Pray for them.

Support ministries that help them.

Share their stories.

And ask yourself, am I willing to pay the price they’re paying because one day you might have to.

[music] Persecution is coming to the West.

It may not look like ISIS.

It may not look like public executions, but it is coming.

And when it does, will you stand firm? Will you deny Jesus to save your reputation, your career, your comfort? Or will you say, [music] like I said in Al-Naimm Square, I would rather die for him than live without him.

I do not know how much time I have left.

I do not know if ISIS will find me.

I do not know if I will die of old age or disease or violence.

But I know this.

I am ready because I have already died once and I have already seen what is on the other side.

Jesus is real.

Heaven is real and it is worth everything.

If you want to know more about Jesus, comment, [music] “I want to know more and I will personally respond.

” If you are a believer, comment praying for Syria so the algorithm knows this [music] matters.

And if you are facing persecution right now, comment pray for me and this community will surround you.

[music] Do not stay silent.

Your voice matters.

Your story matters and Jesus is with you.

My name is Dr.

Kharim Al- Masri.

I was executed by my own brother for following Jesus Christ.

But I am still here and I will keep telling this story until my last breath because the world needs to know Jesus is [music] alive.

Miracles still happen and faith is worth dying for.

Thank you for watching and may God bless