Zahra Asadollahi, researcher in issues of West Asia
First Take
The Imam Khomeini (ra) Musalla felt like a beehive, buzzing with life. For kilometers in every direction, the air was filled with the sound of prayers and invocations. Women, both on foot and in vehicles, quietly recited their prayers, deep in reflection. You could see the resolve on the faces of the men, their brows furrowed with determination to support God's cause, answer the call of the Leader, and stand by their brothers in Lebanon and Palestine.
With every step they took, it was as if they were rehearsing their commitment to march into battle with all their strength.
An elderly street cleaner, tasked with keeping the roads around the Musalla clean, had a keffiyeh around his neck, and nearby, another old man, draped in a burial shroud, was burning incense.
From miles away, the roads had been closed to cars because of the huge crowds, forcing people to walk. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the sound of religious chants, and the sight of Hezbollah and Palestinian flags... everyone making their way toward the Leader, eager to learn their duty.
In the distance, a poet’s voice drifted from the Musalla, mourning the loss of Martyr Sayyid Hassan Nasrallah. His poem seemed to say, “We have lost someone dearer than life itself.” I glanced around; those listening to the loudspeaker were visibly moved, choking back tears as their eyes glistened with emotion.
The Musalla had truly become like a giant beehive, filled inside and out with whispered prayers to God—a beehive stretching for miles.
Second Take
My companion and I were walking toward the Musalla, both taking deep breaths. He started to speak, and so did I, but I let him go first. "It feels like we're walking on the wings of angels, doesn't it?" he said. I nodded, thinking, "That's exactly what I was about to say..."
But then I thought to myself, this is only preparation. We'll truly be walking on the wings of angels when, like that Lebanese brother a few hundred meters ahead, we find ourselves facing the fire of the most savage and criminal forces in history and cry out: “We stand with you, O Imam Hussein.”
We’ll truly walk on the wings of angels when, like that Lebanese sister, who along with her mother and grandmother raised warriors for God's cause, they are handed a blood-soaked body wrapped in a white shroud and are told: "This is your son, brother, and husband, tall and handsome, but now drenched in blood."
Walking on the wings of angels—angels who carry God's message of approval and good news for the oppressed—comes at a cost. It’s the sacrifice we make to keep the movement alive. And in return, those angels, with their soft and delicate wings, come to offer us comfort and peace...
Third Take
Ahead of us, a group of young men—some, I guessed, were Iranian and others Arab—were joking and laughing as they walked toward the Musalla. Their banter reminded me of the kind Hezbollah fighters would make before heading into Istishhadi operations. It was the same lightheartedness shared by Imam Khomeini's companions on the eve of their missions against Saddam’s regime, that savage much like Israel. It also echoed the jokes of the unmatched companions of Imam Hussein (AS) on the night of Ashura, when their faces were lit with the joy of meeting God.
One of them said, “Guys, becoming an anonymous martyr is so much more beautiful...” and the others burst into joyful exclamations that seemed to soar toward the sky. I was struck by it—what is it that you young men of the 21st century are searching for? Instead of spending your time on vacations in European or American countries, you’re so closely tied to the idea of martyrdom that your eyes light up, and your voices brim with energy when the subject of this sweet, incomparable gift from God comes up.
I thought to myself, as long as these young men—and others like them—are so eager to support their brothers and sisters in Lebanon, Palestine, and beyond, and are so in love with martyrdom, how could there ever be room for defeat or retreat?
Fourth Take
I’ve attended many gatherings like this, but this one was truly exceptional—both in terms of the sheer size of the crowd and the intensity of their energy. The only other time I’ve experienced something similar was at the funeral procession for Lieutenant General Qasem Soleimani. It was an immense, endless crowd of people with unwavering determination.
We found a spot just outside the Musalla and sat down. Haj Meysam Motiee was reciting in honor of Sayyid Hassan Nasrallah, praising the faith and endurance of our Lebanese brothers, while millions of people were rhythmically beating their chests. For a moment, I stopped and simply listened. The sheer force of the crowd’s voices was overwhelming! I paid closer attention, and without exaggeration, the ground beneath me shook with each beat of their chests. Wide-eyed, I turned to my companion, and when he nodded in agreement, I realized it wasn’t my imagination—the ground was actually trembling. In disbelief, I pulled out my phone and typed: “The ground is shaking...”
Fifth Take
A man dressed in traditional attire had come to Tehran with his family for the prayer. He wore loose black pants and a white shirt, which I think was typical of the people from western Iran. He sat with his wife and children, waiting for the Leader to arrive. The children were making noise, but as soon as the Leader appeared, they fell completely silent, listening intently. At first, I thought their parents had quieted them, but when I saw their focused faces, hanging on every word, I realized they had calmed down on their own—no one had told them to.
Before the prayer, the father gently said to his daughter, “My dear girl, don’t stay in the sun, it’ll ruin your face, my love...” He said those exact words, and they struck a chord deep within me. Watching a father’s protective care for his three-year-old daughter under the harsh sun sent my thoughts spiraling to a darker place... to the memories of young girls, past and present, in Dahiya and Gaza, and the burdens they bear.
Sixth Take
For years, we have lived and thrived in the protective embrace of God’s safe haven. We have witnessed the Leader’s courage and remarkable ability to shift the tides of battle against the enemy. But this time, it feels different. It really does.
Oh, dear Leader! In the face of such threats, you’ve chosen to come to the Musalla instead of managing the situation from a secure location? You even announced your arrival two days in advance?
Even if you planned to come, you held a memorial for your commander, Sayyid Hassan Nasrallah, and calmly sat in front of the cameras reciting the Quran? You arrived this morning—that’s one thing; you led the Friday prayer—that’s another; you even performed the afternoon prayer yourself, yet still, that’s not all. Why did you take the time to recite your post-prayer supplications there? Couldn't you have gone somewhere safe to pray the afternoon prayer and offer your supplications?
No, we still don’t truly know you.
If we did, we would understand that being there for the wives and children of the Lebanese is far more important than facing thousands of threats or following security protocols.
If we truly understood you, we would realize you are so dedicated to being a pillar of support for the world's free people that you have no fear for your own life.
We do not know you, dear Leader of us all... Only Haj Qasem, Abu Mahdi, and Nasrallah truly understand who you are.
(The above is Zahra Asadollahi's personal account of her participation in the Friday Prayer led by Imam Khamenei which was held on Oct. 4, 2024)
