I looked into his eyes.

You are about to stand before God, I said.

Not as the supreme leader, as a man, as a soul.

His eyes widened.

What are you saying?

Mind your place.

I grabbed his hand before he could pull it away.

Aa, please listen, I said, tears forming in my eyes.

I have seen a vision.

Isamasi Jesus Christ sent me to tell you something.

He loves you.

He died for you.

He is offering you forgiveness and eternal life.

Surrender to him, please, before it is too late.

For a moment, he just stared at me in shock.

Then his face twisted with rage.

Jesus, he hissed.

You dare speak that name to me?

To me, he ripped his hand away.

I was weeping now, but I kept speaking.

“Your throne means nothing in eternity,” I said through my sobs.

“Your power ends the moment you take your last breath.

Jesus is the only way.

Please, Auga, I am begging you.

Accept him”.

He started pressing the call button frantically, gasping with fury.

“Guards!” he screamed.

“Get this apostate out now”.

The door burst open.

Revolutionary guards rushed in.

They grabbed me by the arms and dragged me toward the door.

I looked back at him one final time.

“Jesus loves you, Auga!” I shouted.

“Even now, he’s waiting for you”.

The door slammed shut.

They threw me to the marble floor in the hallway.

My knees hit hard.

Blood trickled down my shin.

One of the guards yanked me to my feet.

You are under arrest for apostasy, blasphemy, and attempting to corrupt the Supreme Leader,” he said coldly.

They dragged me out of the compound, threw me into the back of a van, and drove me to even prison.

I arrived at 3:00 a.

m.

on February 9th, 2026.

Evan prison is hell on earth.

I was processed, photographed, stripped of my belongings, and thrown into a cell.

The walls were concrete.

The floor was cold.

There was a single light bulb that never turned off.

The next morning, the interrogations began.

They took me to a room with no windows, a table, two chairs, a single light overhead.

A man in a suit sat across from me.

State your name.

Leila Hassini Raf Sanjani.

You are charged with apostasy from Islam attempting to convert the Supreme Leader to Christianity, blasphemy, and crimes against the Islamic Republic.

Each of these charges carries the death penalty.

Do you understand?

Yes.

Confess your crimes.

Recant your false beliefs.

beg forgiveness from Allah and perhaps we will show you mercy.

I looked at him.

I cannot, I said.

Why not?

Because Aizamasi is Lord.

He is God.

I will not deny him.

The man nodded to someone behind me.

I do not want to describe in detail what they did to me over the next 18 days.

I was beaten, sleepdeprived, burned, humiliated.

Every day they asked me to recant.

Every day I refused.

On February 26th, they told me my execution was scheduled for March 3rd.

I would hang at dawn.

I accepted it.

I prayed, “Jesus, receive my spirit.

I do not regret this.

You are worth everything”.

I closed my eyes and waited for death.

I did not know that the next morning the entire world would change.

Section six, the air strike and miraculous escape.

I was sitting in my cell praying when I heard the first explosion.

It was massive.

The entire prison shook.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

The lights flickered and went out.

Then another explosion and another.

Sirens started blaring.

Guards were shouting.

Prisoners were screaming.

We are under attack.

America, Israel.

I realized what was happening.

This was the vision.

The explosions, the fire.

Jesus’s prophecy was being fulfilled.

Common was being killed.

The power failed.

Emergency lights came on then went out again.

The entire electrical system was malfunctioning and then I heard a click.

My cell door unlocked.

The electronic lock had failed when the power surged.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway.

Other cell doors were opening.

Prisoners were emerging, confused, terrified.

Guards were running past us, not even looking at us.

They were abandoning their posts, fleeing.

I stood there, not knowing what to do.

And then I heard a voice behind me.

Sister Ila, come with me now.

I turned around.

A young revolutionary guard was standing there.

I had never seen him before.

Who are you?

I whispered.

Issa sent me, he said in Farsy.

We have 10 minutes before the backup generators start.

Follow me.

I followed him.

He led me through a maze of corridors, maintenance hallways, service tunnels.

We passed two other guards.

They nodded and led us through.

I realized they were believers, Christians planted inside the prison system.

We reached a side exit.

He opened the door.

Take off your prison uniform, he said, handing me a cheddar and civilian clothes.

I changed quickly.

There is a car waiting outside.

Go now.

Who are you?

I asked.

He smiled.

My father was Mr.

Baryi, the man you cared for in 2022.

Before he died, he told me about you.

He told me you were searching.

I became a believer because of him.

I infiltrated the IRGC to help people like you.

Tears filled my eyes.

Thank you, I whispered.

Thank Jesus, he said.

Now go.

I ran outside.

A black car was waiting, engine running.

The driver was a woman in a hijab.

Get in, she said.

I got in.

She sped off through the streets of Tehran.

The city was in chaos.

Explosions in the distance.

Fires.

People running.

Air raid sirens wailing.

The radio was on.

Reports that the Supreme Leader has been hit.

Leadership house destroyed.

Unconfirmed casualties.

I knew KA was dead.

The driver took me to a safe house in South Thran.

It was run by the underground church network.

For the next 3 days, I stayed hidden.

On March 1st, the Iranian government officially confirmed Ayatollah Ali Kam was dead, killed in a joint USIsraeli air strike.

I watched the news.

Some Iranians were celebrating in the streets, tearing down his posters.

Others were mourning, calling for revenge.

The nation was fracturing.

On March 3rd, Pastor Reza came to the safe house.

Sister Ila, he said, we are getting you out of the country tonight.

They smuggled me through the northern border, through the Kurdish region into Turkey.

It took 2 days.

We traveled by car, by foot, through mountain passes.

On March 4th, I arrived at a safe house in Turkey.

And that same day, I heard the news.

Moshaba Kam, the son of Ali Kam, was being considered as the new Supreme Leader.

I knew I had to speak now before the window closed.

So I sat down and I recorded this testimony.

Bookmark seven.

New life and the weight of witness.

Before leaving Turkey, the believers there took me to Lake Van.

They baptized me again.

This time not in a basement, in daylight in freedom.

I wept as I came up out of the water.

The pastor asked me, “Sister, do you regret what you did”?

“No,” I said, “but I grieve.

I am now living in Europe.

I cannot tell you where.

for my safety and for the safety of those who helped me.

I will never see Iran again.

I will never see my family.

My parents have likely disowned me.

My brothers will not speak my name.

I have lost everything.

My country, my career, my language, my identity.

Some nights I lie awake and I miss home.

I miss the call to prayer echoing over Isvahan at dawn.

Even though I no longer pray toward Mecca, I miss pomegranates from the bazaar.

I miss speaking Farsy without fear.

This is the cost of following Jesus.

It is grief and glory at the same time.

And I would choose him again every single time.

Yesterday I learned that Motab Ham is about to be named the new supreme leader.

I felt the Holy Spirit say to me, “Speak now while Iran is watching, while the world is watching”.

So I am recording this.

I know that publishing this makes me a target for life.

Iranian intelligence will hunt me.

Assassins will look for me, but I do not care.

The truth must be told.

Since I posted this video, messages have been flooding in.

Iranians inside the country using VPNs have been sending me messages.

We saw it.

We believe.

Pray for us.

I have been searching for years.

Now I know the truth.

Jesus appeared to me, too.

I thought I was alone.

Thank you.

The fire has started and no supreme leader can put it out.

If you are watching this from inside Iran right now using a VPN, hiding your screen from your family, I want you to know something.

Isamasi sees you.

He knows your name.

He knows you are afraid.

He knows what it will cost you to follow him.

And he is saying to you what he said to me.

I am worth it.

You do not need to understand everything.

You do not need to be brave.

You just need to whisper his name right now.

Say, Jesus, if you are real, show me.

He will answer.

I promise you he will answer.

The supreme leader is dead.

His son sits on the throne but neither of them control your soul.

Only Jesus has that authority and he is offering you life.

Motab, if you are watching this, hear me clearly.

You have just been chosen as the new supreme leader.

You think you have inherited your father’s power.

But I tell you the same thing I told him.

Your throne is temporary.

Your power is dust.

Jesus Christ is Lord and he will not be mocked.

Your father refused to surrender.

He is dead.

You can choose differently.

It is not too late for you.

Surrender to Jesus or face the God you do not believe in.

To my brothers and sisters in Christ, pray for Iran.

Pray for the underground church.

Pray for the nurses, the doctors, the teachers, the soldiers who are following Jesus in secret right now, risking everything.

Pray for Motab that his heart would be softened.

Pray for the millions of Iranians who are searching, who are weary of Islam, who are hungry for truth.

And pray for me.

I am hidden for now.

But I do not know what tomorrow holds.

None of us do.

But Jesus does, and that is enough.

Maybe you walked away from faith.

Maybe you are angry at God.

Maybe you think Christianity is just another religion of rules and fear.

I understand.

I felt that way about Islam.

But I am telling you, Jesus is different.

He does not want your slavery.

He wants your heart.

He does not demand performance.

He offers grace.

Give him one more chance.

Not religion.

Him.

He will meet you where you are.

My name is Dr. Leila Hassani Raf Sanjani.

I was the personal nurse to Iran Supreme Leader Ali Kam for 6 years.

On February 8th, 2026, I warned him that Jesus Christ is Lord and that his time was short.

He had me arrested and sentenced to death.

20 days later on February 28th, 2026, American and Israeli missiles killed him.

I am alive because Jesus opened the prison doors.

I am free because he is faithful.

And I am telling you this story on March 4th, 2026.

While Iran chooses its future because the world needs to know Jesus is Lord.

Allah is not God.

Muhammad is not the way.

There’s only one name under heaven by which we must be saved.

His name is Jesus and he is coming back.

This is Echoes of Return.

If this testimony reached your heart, write these words in the comments.

Jesus is Lord over Iran.

Let it be your declaration.

Let it be your prayer.

Let it be a prophecy over a nation that has lived in darkness for 47 years.

The fire has already started and no supreme leader on earth can put it out.

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Thousands of Jews Watch LIVE as Senior Jewish Rabbi Declares Yeshua the Messiah and Son of God !!!

I have found the Messiah.

His name is Yeshua, Jesus of Nazareth.

He is the Son of God, the Lord and Savior of all mankind.

And I believe in him with all my heart, all my soul, and all my strength.

I stood before my congregation that Shabbat morning with my hands gripping both sides of the wooden podium, trying to keep them from shaking.

300 faces looked back at me.

Faces I had known for decades.

Faces I had married to their spouses.

Faces I had comforted at funerals.

Faces whose children I had held at their Brit Ma ceremonies when they were 8 days old.

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of our synagogue, casting familiar patterns across the prayer shaws of the men swaying gently in their seats.

The women sat in their section, some with their heads covered, some with their prayer books open.

Everything looked exactly as it had looked every Shabbat for the past 23 years I had served as their rabbi.

But everything was about to change.

I had barely slept in 3 days.

My wife Rachel hadn’t spoken to me since the night before when I told her what I was planning to do.

My stomach felt like it was filled with stones.

My mouth was dry despite the water I had drunk before walking up to the beimma.

I looked out at the faces and felt a love for these people that nearly broke me.

I knew that in a few moments most of them would hate me.

Some would mourn for me as if I had died.

Others would spit at the mention of my name.

But I had found a truth, and the truth had set me free, even as it was about to cost me everything.

I took a breath and began to speak.

The words came out stronger than I expected.

I told them that I had spent the last 18 months on a journey I had never planned to take.

I told them that I had discovered something that shook the foundations of everything I thought I knew.

And and then I said the words that changed my life forever.

I have found the Messiah.

His name is Yeshua, Jesus of Nazareth.

He is the son of God, the Lord and Savior of all mankind, and I believe in him with all my heart, all my soul, and all my strength.

The silence that followed felt like the world had stopped breathing.

How did I get here?

How does an Orthodox rabbi, a man who spent his entire life devoted to Torah and the traditions of our fathers, come to believe in Jesus?

Let me take you back to the beginning.

Hello viewers from around the world.

Before our brother 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 was born in Brooklyn in 1979, the second son of Mosha and Esther Silverman.

We lived in a small apartment in Burough Park in the heart of one of the most Orthodox Jewish communities in America.

My father worked as an accountant.

My mother raised us children.

I had two older sisters and one younger brother.

Our life revolved entirely around our faith.

I have memories from when I was very young, maybe four or 5 years old, of sitting at the Shabbat table on Friday nights.

My mother would light the candles just before sunset, covering her eyes with her hands, and whispering the blessing in Hebrew.

My father would come home from shul synagogue and would lift the cup of wine and sanctify the day.

We would eat chala bread that my mother had baked and we would sing the songs our ancestors had sung for thousands of years.

The apartment was small and cramped, but on Friday nights it felt like the most beautiful place in the world.

My grandfather, my father’s father, lived with us in those early years.

His name was Caim and he was a survivor.

He never talked much about the camps, but we knew.

We saw the numbers tattooed on his arm.

We saw the way he would sometimes stop in the middle of doing something and just stare off into the distance, his eyes seeing things we couldn’t imagine.

But his faith never wavered.

Not once.

He would wake up every morning at 5:00 and pray.

He would study Torah for hours.

He taught me to read Hebrew when I was 5 years old, sitting with me at the kitchen table with infinite patience as I stumbled over the letters.

One thing he told me has stayed with me my whole life.

I must have been seven or eight years old.

I and I asked him how he could still believe in God after what happened to him, after what he saw.

He looked at me with those deep sad eyes and he said that the Nazis had taken everything from him, his parents, his siblings, his first wife, and their baby daughter.

Everything.

But they couldn’t take his faith.

That was his.

That was the one thing they couldn’t touch.

And as long as he had his faith, as long as he had the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, they had not won.

I grew up believing that my faith was the most precious thing I possessed, more precious than life itself.

I was a serious child.

While my friends played stickball in the streets, I was studying.

I loved learning.

I love the Talmud, the arguments and the reasoning, the way the rabbis would debate the meaning of every word.

I love the smell of old books.

A the feel of the pages, the sense that I was connecting with thousands of years of wisdom.

By the time I was 13, when I had my bar mitzvah, I could read and understand large portions of the Torah in the original Hebrew.

My parents were so proud.

When I was 16, my rabbi approached my father about sending me to Yeshiva, a special school for advanced religious study.

This was a great honor.

It meant that the community leaders saw potential in me, that they believed I could become a rabbi myself one day.

Continue reading….
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