Don

Faezeh Sassanikha
Machine Translation Edited by Mandana Karimi

2026-8-20

On the morning of Monday, July 27, 2026, we arrived in the city of Najaf Ashraf. Before entering Najaf, we saw Iraqi people walking from different cities towards Karbala. Some of them had a flag with the photo of our martyred leader on their backpacks, and some of the processions had a photo of the leader posted in front of them.

In Najaf, we settled in a house near the 175th pillar, inside the city and on the walking path. The youngest child in the family was martyred in the war with ISIS.

The girls really liked to talk about the situation in Iran and the US attack on Iran. That evening, we discussed this issue together. In the middle of the conversation, I asked them: "How did you feel when you heard the news of Ayatollah Khamenei's martyrdom?"

One of the girls said: "On the morning of the 11th of Ramadan, when I turned on my mobile phone's internet, I realized what had happened." I started crying. We felt strange. We didn’t feel Ramadan this year at all. We weren’t thinking about iftar or suhoor. We just wanted these days to end sooner.”

The rest of the family members were also in the same mood. They told us that they wore black clothes for forty days in mourning the martyrdom of our martyred leader. Schools were also affected by this incident and even teachers had reduced the volume of lessons.

Everyone said: “To help Iran and Lebanon, we donated our gold to the shrine of Imam Ali (AS) and attended the funeral of Sayyiduna al-Qa’id.”

I asked them: “What do you think was the reason for the large attendance of Iraqis at the funeral of the Iranian leader?”

They all said: “If our country’s prime minister had passed away, we wouldn’t have held such a funeral for him. The Iranian leader was brave. Iranians are heroes. Iran is the hope of the Shiites of Iraq, Lebanon and all Shiites.” Zeinab, the eldest daughter of the family, said with particular emphasis: “I only invite Iranians to come to my house during Arbaeen.” She said it in a way that made me feel that an Iranian was no longer just a pilgrim to her; he was a hero, and she was honored to host him.

That night after dinner, we headed towards the shrine of Amir al-Mu’minin Ali (peace be upon him). The house was far from the shrine and we had to get in a car. Along the way, many photos of the martyred leader and Ayatollah Seyyed Mojtaba Khamenei could be seen on the windows of private and military cars, both expensive and cheap.

The driver dropped us off near the Wadi al-Salam cemetery. We got on another car that transported pilgrims for free and got off near a square around the shrine.

We reached a relatively wide street around the shrine. Two or three of my friends who had arrived in Iraq on the day of the Imam’s funeral were reminded of that day when they saw that street. One of them said to me: “Do you see this street? After the funeral of the master, there was a mountain of shoes and slippers that had come off from the crowd and were left here!”

Another of them remembered an Iraqi man who was crying like someone who had lost his dearest person or all his possessions.

Behind the windows of many shops, you could see photos of our martyred leader and Hajj Agha Mojtaba. It was unbelievable. If we removed the time and place, it would look more like Iran than Iraq.

We entered the courtyard. Iranians were walking here and there with red flags of our martyred leader’s bloodlust. We stayed in the shrine for a few hours. Around 3 am, I was walking in the portico of Hazrat Ruqayyah (PBUH) when three Iraqi girls, about 10 or 12 years old, caught my attention.

They were standing next to the wall, in the path of pilgrims. They would ask anyone who passed by them, “Are you Iranian?” If they answered yes, they would hug and kiss them or make a heart sign with their hands. Then they would clench their fists and say, “Brave Iran, destroy Israel.” Finally, they would stamp their feet firmly on the ground; meaning, we will crush Israel.

We left the shrine in the morning. In one of the processions near the house, two young girls, one about 20 years old and the other about 15 years old, were standing. On their Arabic tents were the pictures of our martyred leader, and they were inviting pilgrims in Persian to come and have breakfast and Iranian or Iraqi tea from their procession.

A little further on, I saw a young Iraqi woman who had attached a picture of Hajj Agha Mojtaba Khamenei to her child’s stroller.

The atmosphere in Iraq seemed completely different from previous years. I guessed that this year's hiking route would be completely different from last year. With this thought in mind, I was eager to embark on this path as soon as possible.

On Tuesday night, we left Najaf with the intention of walking towards Karbala. Before leaving, the girls stood by the door and saw us off. One of the girls, with tears in her eyes, said to me, “Don’t leave us in the dark about your condition.”