We begin tonight — as we began on the night of his martyrdom, and again on his arba’een — with the Book of God.

The first verse is the one that has carried this whole series. From Surah Aal Imran — the Chapter of the Family of Imran. God says:

وَلَا تَحْسَبَنَّ الَّذِينَ قُتِلُوا فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ أَمْوَاتًا ۚ بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ ۙ فَرِحِينَ بِمَا آتَاهُمُ اللَّهُ مِن فَضْلِهِ

“And do not think of those who have been killed in the way of God as dead. Rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving provision, rejoicing in what God has bestowed upon them of His bounty.”

— Qur’an, Surah Aal Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 169–170

We have said it on every night of this series, and we say it again tonight, because tonight of all nights we are tempted to forget it.

He is not dead.

He is alive.

And we set beside it, tonight, a second verse — a verse about a trust.

Because tonight is about a trust.

From Surah al-Ahzab — the Chapter of the Confederates — the same chapter from which our leader took his own final message.

God says:

إِنَّا عَرَضْنَا الْأَمَانَةَ عَلَى السَّمَاوَاتِ وَالْأَرْضِ وَالْجِبَالِ فَأَبَيْنَ أَن يَحْمِلْنَهَا وَأَشْفَقْنَ مِنْهَا وَحَمَلَهَا الْإِنسَانُ

“Indeed, We offered the Trust to the heavens and the earth and the mountains, and they declined to bear it and were afraid of it — but man bore it.”

— Qur’an, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 72

A weight so great that the heavens refused it, and the earth refused it, and the mountains refused it — and trembled at the very offer.

And a human being picked it up.

Hold both verses tonight.

The first tells us he is alive.

The second tells us what he carried — and what, in these last four months, has been placed into our hands.

Video of the Sermon (Majlis/Lecture)

The Trust We Were Asked to Keep

I want to begin with something that some of you have felt, and few of you have said aloud.

For four months, our leader has lain unburied.

Four months.

And in our tradition, we do not wait.

When a believer dies, we hasten — we wash, we shroud, we pray, and we return them to the earth, often within a single day.

It is one of the first things we are taught about death: that to honour the dead is to be swift with them.

And so a question has been sitting quietly in many hearts — a question some of you have not dared to ask out loud, because it felt almost disloyal to ask it.

Why has he not been buried?

Four months — is that allowed?

Has something gone wrong?

Has our leader, who gave everything, been denied even the swift and dignified burial that the poorest believer is owed?

I am not going to pretend you have not wondered this.

Honesty is the method of this series — it always has been — and tonight honesty means saying the quiet question out loud, and then answering it, fully, from the Book of God and the rulings of our scholars.

So let me say it plainly, here at the very start, and then let me spend the night proving it to you:

The wait was not neglect.

The wait was lawful.

The wait was deliberate.

And the wait was, in its own strange and beautiful way, an honour.

Because think again about that second verse.

God offered the Trust to the heavens and the earth, and they were afraid, and they set it down.

Our leader was offered a trust — the trust of the wilayah, the guardianship of the whole Ummah in the path of the Imam of our time — for he was the Wali Amr al-Muslimeen, the Guardian of the Affairs of the Muslims: not of one country, not of the Shia alone, but of all of them.

And do not pass over that word too quickly — al-amanah, the Trust.

Because our own Imams were asked what it is — this weight that the heavens and the earth and the mountains were offered, and refused to bear, and trembled at.

Imam Ali al-Ridha, peace be upon him, was asked about this very verse, and he answered in a single word:

الْأَمَانَةُ: الْوِلَايَةُ

“The Trust is the Wilayah — the Guardianship.”

— Imam Ali al-Ridha, recorded by al-Shaykh al-Saduq in Ma’ani al-Akhbar and in Uyun Akhbar al-Ridha

The Trust the mountains could not carry is the wilayah.

And for thirty-six years our leader carried it, and he never once set it down.

The trust was kept.

And then he was taken.

And in the four months since, a smaller trust has been placed upon the whole of this ummah — the trust of his own body.

To guard it.

To honour it.

To keep it from harm in a time of war.

And to carry it, at last — not in haste, but with the whole community gathered — to the place where it belongs.

And the ummah has kept it.

The trust was kept.

Two days ago, his body completed its final journey.

Not quietly.

Not in secret.

Carried through the cities of the people of the House —

past Shah Abdul Adheem in Tehran

past Imam Khomeini, between Tehran and Qom,

past Sayyedah Fatimah al-Ma’soumeh in Qom,

past Imam Ali in Najaf,

past Imam Husayn in Karbala,

past Imams al-Kadhim and al-Jawad in Kadhimiyyah,

past Imams al-Hadi and al-Askari in Samarra,

to rest, at the last, beside Imam Ridha in Mashhad — the city of his birth.

He was laid in the earth on Thursday — the eve of the martyrdom of Imam Ali ibn al-Husayn, Zayn al-Abidin, peace and blessings be upon him.

And yesterday, the whole ummah mourned that very Imam — the one who survived Karbala to carry its testimony onward.

The witness, laid to rest on the eve of the Witness.

And tonight we gather, two days on, with the earth still fresh above him.

This was not an ending.

It was a homecoming.

And it is a handover.

The body has returned to its Lord —

إِنَّا لِلَّهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ

“Indeed, we belong to God, and to Him we return.”

— Qur’an, Surah al-Baqarah (the Chapter of the Cow) #2, Verse 156

And the covenant has returned to our hands.

Bridge: From the Chain and the Testimony to the Trust

Some of you were with us for the first of these sessions — The Unbroken Chain — on the night the wound was fresh.

And some of you were with us forty days later, for The Unbroken Testimony, on his arba’een.

In the Chain, we spoke of the institution that does not break — the wilayah that outlives any one man, because it was never held together by a man, but by a covenant with God.

In the Testimony, we spoke of the message that does not die — the witness written in blood, that grows louder with every empire that tries to silence it.

The Chain was the institution that endures.

The Testimony was the message that endures.

And tonight — the Trust.

The amanah that is kept, and carried home.

The body, returned to its Lord.

And the covenant, placed now in our hands.

If the first two sessions asked what survives him, tonight asks a quieter and more intimate question:

What We Will Cover Tonight

We will speak about three things.

First — the lawfulness of the wait.

We will answer the question in the room, properly, from the fiqh: why a believer who must be buried in haste could lawfully wait four months — and we will see that this is not new, that it happened only last year to a Sayyed we all loved, and that it has happened for a thousand years to the friends of God.

Second — the sanctity of the entrusted body.

Why the long wait did not diminish him by a single degree — and what it asked of us, who were given the keeping of it.

And third — the homecoming.

What it means to be laid to rest in the courtyard of Imam al-Ridha, carried there through Najaf, Karbala, Kadhimiyyah and Samarra — and what is now handed to us, the living, to carry in his place.

And we will close, as we always do, with a naming of our beloved shuhada — from the earliest to this very household — and a supplication that asks God to make us worthy of the trust that has been left in our hands.

In the name of the Lord of the Trust and the Lord of the Martyrs and the Truthful — let us begin.

Point 1 — The Lawfulness of the Wait

Let me begin where the question is still warm — because I left it unanswered at the opening, and I promised you I would not leave it there.

In our tradition, we do not keep our dead waiting.

This is not a custom.

It is a command.

Open the chapters of our law on the dead, and the very heading under which the rulings are gathered tells you everything.

Shaykh al-Hurr al-Amili titles it:

بَابُ وُجُوبِ الْمُبَادَرَةِ إِلَى تَجْهِيزِ الْمَيِّتِ وَدَفْنِهِ وَتَحْرِيمِ تَأْخِيرِهِ إِلَّا لِغَرَضٍ شَرْعِيٍّ

“The chapter on the obligation of hastening the preparation and the burial of the deceased — and the prohibition of delaying it, except for a lawful purpose.”

— al-Hurr al-Amili, Wasa’il al-Shia, the Book of Purity, the Chapters on Burial

Hear the two halves of that heading, because the whole of this first point lives inside them.

The obligation to hasten.

And the prohibition of delay — except for a lawful purpose.

And from the Imams themselves, the command could not be plainer.

Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq, peace and blessings be upon him, said:

إِذَا مَاتَ الْمَيِّتُ فَلَا تَحْبِسُوهُ، وَعَجِّلُوا بِهِ إِلَى قَبْرِهِ

“When someone dies, do not detain him. Hasten with him to his grave.”

— al-Kulayni, al-Kafi, the Book of Funerals

Do not detain him.

So the question is not a small one.

It is sharp, and it is fair.

If this is the law — if the believer is to be buried in haste, if delay is named a prohibition — then how did we let our beloved leader lie, unburied, for four months?

How is that not a wrong done to him?

I will not wave the question away.

The law did say: hasten.

So I owe you not a feeling, but a proof.

I owe you the very door that the law itself opened — for exactly this.

And before I open the books, let me remind you of something you already know.

Because you have seen this before.

Not in a history book.

Last year.

The Case You Lived

In September of 2024, the enemies of God martyred Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah — may God rest his pure soul.

And he was not buried that day.

He was not buried that week.

For the safety of the living, and for the dignity of his body in a time of war, he was given a temporary, hidden resting place — and the great public farewell, and his permanent grave, came months afterward.

Nearly five months later, in February of 2025, an ocean of human beings gathered to lay him to rest at last.

And beside him, Sayyed Hashim Safieddine — may God rest his pure soul — taken only days after him.

Five months.

And not one scholar among us called it a scandal.

On the contrary — the scholars explained it, openly, at the time: that burial may be delayed where circumstance compels it; that a believer may be laid in a temporary place and then carried to his proper one — so long as his body is kept from harm.

This is not new.

You watched it happen — months ago — to a Sayyed you wept for.

And our own leader, Imam Sayyed Ali Khamenei, stood and eulogised him.

And do you remember what the mourners said, in their grief, as they carried him?

The trust was kept.

The Thousand-Year Precedent

And if our own age is not enough for you, then go back a thousand years.

To two brothers — among the greatest our tradition has ever produced.

Al-Sharif al-Radi — the man who gathered the words of the Commander of the Faithful into the book we call Nahj al-Balagha — and his brother, al-Sharif al-Murtadha, the teacher of a whole age.

We learned about both of these brothers in our Mahdawiyyah Sessions.

They died in Baghdad.

And they were not left there.

They were carried — to rest in the courtyard of their grandfather, Imam al-Husayn, in Karbala. Ibn Maytham al-Bahrani records it in the opening of his commentary on the Nahj al-Balagha — and I want to be exact, as we always are: this is a biographer’s report, not a narration from an Infallible.

He writes:

دُفِنَ مَعَ أَخِيهِ الْمُرْتَضَى فِي جِوَارِ جَدِّهِ الْحُسَيْنِ عَلَيْهِ السَّلَامُ

“He was buried, together with his brother al-Murtadha, in the vicinity of his grandfather al-Husayn, peace be upon him.”

— Ibn Maytham al-Bahrani, Sharh Nahj al-Balagha, in his biographical introduction to al-Sharif al-Radi

Their own father had been laid to rest, before them, within the shrine of Imam Husayn itself.

A family — carried, across distance and across time, to rest beside the Master of Martyrs — the Master of Witnesses.

And I want you to hold that image, because it is not only a thousand years old.

It was this very week.

Because the very courtyard of Imam Husayn to which those two brothers were carried — Karbala — was on our own leader’s road only days ago, as his body was carried home.

And there is a precedent older still, and higher than these two brothers — the body of the Master of Martyrs himself, denied its grave upon the sands of Karbala — but that one belongs to our second point, and I will bring it to you there, God willing.

The Four Doors The Law Opened

So now let us open the books, and name — precisely — the lawful purposes for which the law that commands haste permits the wait.

There are four.

And all four are standing in this very moment.

The first: that he be carried to the shrines of the people of the House.

This is not merely permitted.

It is loved.

Imam Khomeini, may God rest his pure soul, writes in Tahrir al-Wasila:

يَجُوزُ نَقْلُ الْمَيِّتِ مِنْ بَلَدِ مَوْتِهِ إِلَى بَلَدٍ آخَرَ قَبْلَ دَفْنِهِ عَلَى كَرَاهِيَةٍ، إِلَّا إِلَى الْمَشَاهِدِ الْمُشَرَّفَةِ وَالْأَمَاكِنِ الْمُقَدَّسَةِ فَلَا كَرَاهَةَ فِي النَّقْلِ إِلَيْهَا، بَلْ فِيهِ فَضْلٌ وَرُجْحَانٌ

“It is permissible to transfer the deceased from the town of his death to another town before burial, though with dislike — except to the honoured shrines and the sacred places: there is no dislike in transferring to them. Rather, in it there is merit, and recommendation.”

— Imam Khomeini, Tahrir al-Wasila, the Book of Purity

And our own leader — Imam Sayyed Ali Khamenei himself — ruled exactly the same in his own treatise:

That to carry the deceased to the sacred shrines before burial is permitted, and indeed recommended — so long as it brings no indignity upon him, and the delay is not such as the people would count as disrespect.

— Imam Khamenei, the rulings on the transfer of the deceased (naql al-mayyit), Rule 617 of his Practical Laws, and his Ajwibat al-Istiftaʾat

And the classical masters said it centuries before.

Al-Shahid al-Awwal — the First Martyr — writes in the Lum’a, and it is as if he wrote it for tonight:

تَجِبُ الْمُبَادَرَةُ إِلَى دَفْنِ الْمَيِّتِ بَعْدَ تَكْمِيلِ تَجْهِيزِهِ، وَيَحْرُمُ تَأْخِيرُهُ لِغَيْرِ عُذْرٍ، وَيَجُوزُ تَأْخِيرُهُ لِعُذْرٍ... وَكَذَا نَقْلُهُ إِلَى الْمَشَاهِدِ الْمُشَرَّفَةِ قَبْلَ دَفْنِهِ إِنْ أَمِنَ التَّغَيُّرَ

“Burial must be hastened once the preparations are complete; to delay it without excuse is forbidden, and to delay it for an excuse is permitted... and likewise to transfer him to the honoured shrines before his burial — provided no decomposition is feared.”

— al-Shahid al-Awwal, al-Lum’a al-Dimashqiyya, the Book of Purity, the Chapter on Burial

Hold that condition.

We will need it in a moment.

The second: necessity.

The necessity of war.

This is the reason the authorities themselves have given.

The committee charged with his farewell stated it plainly: that the burial was held back by the conditions of war — by the strikes, by the danger to the millions who would gather, by the simple duty to keep the living safe.

More than a hundred days — for the safety of the people.

And here I must be careful with you — more careful than anywhere else in tonight’s talk.

Because there is a principle our law uses for moments like this, and it is one of the most misused sentences in the whole of our religion.

People tear it loose from its place and wave it like a key that opens every locked door.

So let me give it to you whole — with the fence God built around it, in the very same breath He gave the permission.

It begins in the Qur’an.

When God lists what is forbidden — the carrion, the blood, the flesh of swine — He does not leave the starving man to die beside them.

He says:

فَمَنِ اضْطُرَّ غَيْرَ بَاغٍ وَلَا عَادٍ فَلَا إِثْمَ عَلَيْهِ

“But whoever is compelled — neither craving it nor transgressing — there is no sin upon him.”

— Qur’an, Surah al-Baqarah (the Chapter of the Cow) #2, Verse 173

Hear how the permission arrives already chained.

Compelled — not merely inconvenienced.

Neither craving — he must take no appetite in it.

Nor transgressing — he may not go one mouthful past his need.

And again, in Surah al-Anʿam — the Chapter of the Cattle, God says He has set out the forbidden things in detail —

إِلَّا مَا اضْطُرِرْتُمْ إِلَيْهِ

“...except that to which you are driven by necessity.”

— Qur’an, Surah al-Anʿam (the Chapter of the Cattle) #6, Verse 119

And from the word of the Prophet himself, peace be upon him, his family and his righteous companions — in the narration our scholars call the hadith of the lifting:

رُفِعَ عَنْ أُمَّتِي ... وَمَا اضْطُرُّوا إِلَيْهِ

“Lifted from my community ... is that to which they are compelled.”

— The Prophet Muhammad, the hadith al-raf’, reported by al-Shaykh al-Saduq in al-Khisal and in al-Tawhid, and gathered by al-Hurr al-’Amili in Wasaʾil al-Shiʿa

From these roots — the Qurʾan above, and this narration — our jurists drew the maxim:

الضَّرُورَاتُ تُبِيحُ الْمَحْظُورَاتِ

“Necessities permit the forbidden.”

— a settled maxim of Islamic jurisprudence (a qāʿida fiqhiyya), set down among the governing legal maxims by our scholars:

— See al-Sayyed Ḥasan al-Mūsawī al-Bujnūrdī, al-Qawāʿid al-Fiqhiyya, and Shaykh Nāṣir Makārim al-Shīrāzī, al-Qawāʿid al-Fiqhiyya

Now — hear me.

This is not a key to every door.

It is the narrowest passage in the law, and it is hedged on every side.

Let me name the fences, so that no one ever carries this sentence out of here and abuses it.

First — it does not abolish the original ruling.

It only suspends it — and only while the necessity is actually standing in the room.

The moment the necessity lifts, the original command returns in full.

The duty to hasten the burial never died; it was held back, and the instant it was safe, it returned.

That is why he was buried this week — the moment the danger had passed, and not a day later than it had to be.

Second — and this is its own maxim, its constant guard:

الضَّرُورَةُ تُقَدَّرُ بِقَدْرِهَا

“Necessity is measured strictly by its own measure.”

— its companion maxim, set down beside the first in those same books of legal maxims

— (al-Bujnūrdī; Makārim al-Shīrāzī, al-Qawāʿid al-Fiqhiyya), and resting on the Qurʾan’s own limit upon the licence — “neither craving it nor transgressing” (Qur’an, Surah al-Baqarah (the Chapter of the Cow) #2, Verse 173)

You may take from the forbidden only the exact amount the necessity forces upon you — not one inch, not one hour, more.

A delay of war buys only the days of war.

It never bought a single day of carelessness.

Third: the bar is genuine compulsion — a real hardship, a real harm, haraj or dharar — not preference, not convenience, not what is merely easier.

The danger to the millions who would gather under the bombs is that bar.

A wish to wait would never have been.

Fourth: it is never for the individual to declare for himself.

It is the jurists — here, the authority of the Wali Amr al-Muslimeen, the Guardian of the Affairs of the Muslims — who weigh the necessity and rule.

This was not a family’s choice or a committee’s convenience; it was a ruling, made where rulings are made.

And fifth — the one that holds up the whole of our next point: necessity never, ever licenses an assault upon the sanctity of the body itself.

Whatever was permitted in the waiting, his hurma — dignity — was never on the table.

The door that opens for delay does not open for indignity.

The Second Martyr, al-Shahid al-Thani, gathers the whole matter into a single governing rule in his great commentary on the Lum’a:

وَضَابِطُ الْجَمِيعِ: أَنَّ كُلَّ مَا يَلْزَمُ مِنْ تَقْدِيمِ الدَّفْنِ فِيهِ حَرَجٌ أَوْ ضَرَرٌ يَجُوزُ مَعَهُ التَّأْخِيرُ

“The rule governing all of it: whatever, in the hastening of burial, would entail hardship or harm — delay is permitted on account of it.”

— al-Shahid al-Thani (Zayn al-Din al-ʿAmili), al-Rawda al-Bahiyya fi Sharh al-Lumʿa al-Dimashqiyya, Kitab al-Tahara, the Chapter on Burial

So this is not a loophole.

It is a door the law itself cut, narrow and guarded, opened by the jurist, closed the very instant the danger passed — and never once at the cost of the dignity of the one who waited.

And lest anyone imagine that “waiting” is somehow foreign to the way of the Imams — the Imams themselves command a wait, in their own rulings.

For the drowned, and for the one struck down senseless, Imam Musa al-Kadhim, peace be upon him, taught:

الْمَصْعُوقُ وَالْغَرِيقُ يُنْتَظَرُ بِهِ ثَلَاثَةَ أَيَّامٍ، إِلَّا أَنْ يَتَغَيَّرَ قَبْلَ ذَلِكَ

“The lightning-struck and the drowned — one waits upon him three days, unless he changes before that.”

— Imam Musa al-Kadhim, reported in al-Kulayni, al-Kafi, Kitab al-Janaʾiz, the Chapter on the Drowned and the Lightning-struck — a sound, hasan chain, through Ibn Abi Umayr from Hisham ibn al-Hakam

Three days.

By the command of the Imams themselves.

Held back for a reason — to be certain that death had truly come.

And listen to the limit they placed upon it: unless he changes before that.

The wait was bound by the body itself — by the first sign of decay.

Which is the very same line, you will notice, that governs how a body may be lawfully kept today: only so long as it is preserved from change.

The Imams’ own wait, and the law of preservation we spoke of a moment ago, are guarded by one and the same boundary.

The wait, where there is a reason, is not a breaking of the law.

It is the law.

The third: that his body be kept, lawfully, through the wait.

And here is the answer to a question some of you have carried in silence — and I would rather speak it than let it sit and ache:

The answer is the plainest thing in the world, and the law permits it without difficulty.

He was kept — preserved, in the cold — as the body of any believer may be preserved when there is a lawful reason to wait.

Our leader himself ruled on this very question, when it was put to him:

That to use refrigeration, to use the means that hold a body back from decay, is in itself no problem at all — so long as nothing is done that would dishonour him.

— Imam Sayyed Ali Khamenei, Ajwibat al-Istiftaʾat, Question 576

But hear the limit — because the honesty of this series demands it.

This permission is not a licence to keep a body forever, to set it aside in place of burial.

Imam Sayyed Ali Khomeini was severe about exactly this: that one may not simply deposit a body indefinitely and imagine it piety — the body must, in the end, be returned to the earth.

The preservation is permitted for the sake of the burial — to make the burial possible.

Never to replace it.

The cold was never the destination.

It was only the road to the grave.

And the fourth — and this is the most beautiful of them all.

He could have been buried sooner.

And he was held back — deliberately — so that the burial would not fall within the first ten days of Muharram.

So that the ummah could first finish its mourning for Imam Husayn.

So that nothing — not even the burial of the Wali al-Faqih himself — would stand in front of Sayyed al-Shuhada — the Master of Witnesses.

I will return to that at the very end of this point.

Because it is the lesson the whole of it has been carrying us toward.

“But Is He A Martyr Who Is Not Washed?”

There is one last question a careful believer might raise — and it is a good one, the kind that comes from love and from knowledge both.

We know there is a martyr our law does not wash.

The one who falls on the field of battle is buried in his very clothes, in his own blood, unwashed and unshrouded — because his blood is his purity, and it will testify for him on the Day of Standing.

So — is our leader such a one?

Should he not have been buried as he fell, unwashed?

And here, once again, it is our leader’s own ruling that answers.

He was asked precisely who that unwashed martyr is, and he replied:

الشَّهِيدُ الَّذِي لَا يُغَسَّلُ وَلَا يُكَفَّنُ هُوَ مَنْ قُتِلَ فِي مَعْرَكَةِ الْقِتَالِ مَعَ الْكُفَّارِ وَالْبُغَاةِ وَنَحْوِهِمْ بِأَمْرِ الْإِمَامِ الْمَعْصُومِ عَلَيْهِ السَّلَامُ أَوْ نَائِبِهِ الْخَاصِّ، وَفِي عَصْرِ الْغَيْبَةِ يُعْتَبَرُ الْمُقَاتِلُونَ الَّذِينَ يَسْتَشْهِدُونَ فِي سَاحَاتِ الدِّفَاعِ عَنِ الْإِسْلَامِ وَالْمُسْلِمِينَ بِأَمْرِ الْوَلِيِّ الْفَقِيهِ مِنَ الشُّهَدَاءِ الَّذِينَ لَا يُغَسَّلُونَ وَلَا يُكَفَّنُونَ عَلَى الْأَحْوَطِ وُجُوبًا

“The martyr who is neither washed nor shrouded is the one slain on the battlefield — fighting the unbelievers, the rebels, and their like — by the command of the Infallible Imam, peace be upon him, or his special deputy. And in the age of Occultation, the fighters who are martyred in the arenas of the defence of Islam and the Muslims, by the command of the Guardian Jurist, are counted among the martyrs who are neither washed nor shrouded — by obligatory precaution.”

— Imam Khamenei, Ajwibat al-Istifta’at, vol. 1, Kitab al-Tahara, question 307

On the field of battle.

And our leader was not struck on a field of battle, with a weapon in his hand, in a line of fighting.

He was struck in his own place — by a fire sent from far away.

So by his own ruling, he was washed.

He was shrouded.

He was prayed over — in every city through which he passed.

He is a martyr of the Hereafter — al-maqtul zulman, the one slain in injustice — and he was given the full reward of the witness, and the full and ordinary dignity of a believer returning to his Lord.

And do not, for one moment, imagine that the washing is a lesser thing.

It is not.

It is the believer’s own honour — to be made pure, and wrapped in white, and given back to the earth as every servant of God prays to be given back.

The glory of the battlefield martyr is written on his skin, in his blood.

The glory of this one is hidden — where it always lived — in the soul.

For those who wish to go deeper into these two kinds of martyr — the one of the field, and the one of the Hereafter — we laid it all out in Session 13 of our Ashura and Arba’een series, which will be broadcast in the last five nights prior to the Arba’een of Imam Husayn and the details for which will be on our website - www.truthpromoters.com.

Tonight, this much is enough.

The Prayer Said Over Him

But go back to something I said a moment ago, and let it stop you — because it stopped a great many people this week.

I told you he was prayed over.

I said it in a single breath, and I moved on.

But that line is owed a longer pause — because of what you all saw.

He was not prayed over once.

He was prayed over in Tehran.

And again in Qom.

And in Najaf, and in Karbala, and at the last in Mashhad.

City after city, congregation after congregation — the funeral prayer said again, and again, over one body.

And many of you have quietly wondered:

Let me answer it — fully — because the answer opens something beautiful.

First — Why It May Be Repeated At All

To understand it, you have to understand what this prayer is.

Because salat al-mayyit — the prayer over the dead — is not a prayer like the ones you pray five times a day.

Our scholars are exact about this.

Al-Shahid al-Awwal — the First Martyr — writes in the Lum’ah:

صَلَاةُ الْمَيِّتِ خَمْسُ تَكْبِيرَاتٍ، وَهِيَ دُعَاءٌ لَا صَلَاةٌ، فَلَا تُشْتَرَطُ فِيهَا الطَّهَارَةُ مِنَ الْحَدَثِ وَلَا الْخَبَثِ

“The prayer over the dead is five takbirs; and it is a supplication, not a prayer — so purity from ritual impurity, and from filth, is not a condition in it.”

— al-Shahid al-Awwal, al-Lum’a al-Dimashqiyya, the Book of Purity, the Chapter on the Funeral Prayer

A supplication, not a prayer.

It only carries the name “prayer” — and his student, al-Shahid al-Thani, the Second Martyr, explains in his commentary that it is called salat only in following the Prophet’s own usage, for the laws of ritual purity were laid down for the prayer that has bowing and prostration — and this one has neither.

Look at it, and you will see.

There is no bowing in it.

No prostration.

No sitting.

You need not even be in a state of wudhu (the ablution that leads to ritual purity and is a requirement prior to praying) to pray it — because it is not that kind of prayer.

It is five takbirs— five times Allahu Akbar (God is the Greatest) — and between them, supplication.

That is all.

A standing du’a for a soul that has gone on ahead of us.

And why five?

The Imams gave us a reason so tender it is worth stopping on.

Imam al-Baqir, peace be upon him, said to one of his companions:

خَمْسُ تَكْبِيرَاتٍ... أُخِذَتِ الْخَمْسُ تَكْبِيرَاتٍ مِنَ الْخَمْسِ صَلَوَاتٍ، مِنْ كُلِّ صَلَاةٍ تَكْبِيرَةٌ

“Five takbirs… the five takbirs were taken from the five daily prayers — from each prayer, one takbir.”

— Imam al-Baqir, al-Kulayni, al-Kafi, the Book of Funerals, the Chapter on the Reason for the Five Takbirs over the Deceased

The number of takbirs is beyond dispute; this narration, which tells us why they are five, our scholars relate as a reason — and I give it to you as that.

Do you see the mercy in it?

From every one of the five prayers a believer stood through, across the whole of his life, God set aside a single takbir — and kept it — to be said over him on the day he could no longer pray for himself.

His own prayers, saved up, and given back to carry him home.

Now — a du’a is not something you say once and lock away.

A du’a — a supplication — can be made by one, and then by another, and then by a thousand more.

There is no “used up” in supplication.

So when city after city, multitude after multitude, rose to pray over him — was that a mistake, or an excess?

Let me clarify it precisely — because this is exactly the place where people grow confused, and clarity is a debt we owe you.

The well-known position among our jurists — the view of the majority, as Sahib al-Jawahir records it — is that to repeat the funeral prayer over a single body is disliked; makruh.

And the reason is the very principle we opened this whole night upon: do not keep the believer waiting, do not hold his body back from the earth to run one gathering after another.

There is a narration beneath it.

Imam al-Sadiq, peace be upon him, said:

لَا تُعَادُ الصَّلَاةُ عَلَى الْمَيِّتِ إِذَا صُلِّيَ عَلَيْهِ

“The prayer is not repeated over the deceased, once it has been prayed over him.”

— Imam al-Sadiq, al-Shaykh al-Saduq, Man la Yahduruhu al-Faqih

So the dislike guards a right — the dead man’s right to be carried swiftly to his rest, and not kept waiting above the ground.

But hold on.

Because the very jurists who set that dislike down carved an exception into the same breath — and it reads as though it were written for a night exactly like this one.

Sayyed al-Yazdi gathers it, in the Urwat al-Wuthqa — one of the most important books in the science of Islamic Jurisprudence:

يُكْرَهُ تَكْرَارُ الصَّلَاةِ عَلَى الْمَيِّتِ، إِلَّا إِذَا كَانَ الْمَيِّتُ مِنْ أَهْلِ الْفَضْلِ وَالْعِلْمِ وَالتَّقْوَىٰ

“It is disliked to repeat the funeral prayer over the deceased — except if the deceased is of the people of merit, and knowledge, and piety.”

— Sayyed Muhammad Kazim al-Yazdi, al-Urwa al-Wuthqa

Read that again — and then think of whom we are burying.

And our two living authorities each set their hand to it.

Our own leader — the martyr Imam Sayyed Ali al-Husayni al-Khamenei — ruled it plainly in his treatise, and I give it to you in his own words:

مکروه است بر میت چند مرتبه نماز بخوانند، ولی اگر میت اهل علم و تقوی باشد مکروه نیست

“It is disliked to pray over the deceased several times — but if the deceased is a person of knowledge and piety, it is not disliked.”

— Imam Sayyed Ali al-Khamenei, Risalat al-Salah wa al-Sawm, Ruling 606

And Grand Ayatollah Sayyid al-Sistani goes a step further still.

He turned his scrutiny upon the very narration the dislike rests on — weighed it — and held that it does not stand firm enough to bind us at all:

يَجُوزُ تَكْرَارُ الصَّلَاةِ عَلَى الْمَيِّتِ الْوَاحِدِ، لَكِنَّهُ مَكْرُوهٌ عَلَىٰ مَا قِيلَ وَإِنْ لَمْ يَثْبُتْ، وَلَوْ كَانَ الْمَيِّتُ مِنْ أَهْلِ الشَّرَفِ فِي الدِّينِ جَازَ بِلَا كَرَاهَةٍ

“It is permissible to repeat the funeral prayer over one deceased. But it is disliked — according to what has been said, though it has not been established. And if the deceased is of the people of honour in religion, it is permissible, with no dislike at all.”

— Grand Ayatollah Sayyed Ali al-Sistani, Minhaj al-Salihin, vol. 1, Ruling 306

Now see how the two great marja’ close upon the truth from either side.

One tells you the dislike was never firmly established to begin with.

The other grants it as a general rule — and then lifts it away, entirely, for a man of knowledge and piety.

And between the two of them, there is not an inch of room left for hesitation over a man like this.

For who was he, if not the very one both exceptions were written for?

A faqih.

A marja’.

The Guardian of the Affairs of the Muslims.

A man of knowledge, and of honour in the religion, and of piety — if those words are to carry any meaning at all.

So the prayers said over him, city after city, were not merely permitted.

They were fitting.

And mark this: the single concern that ever lay beneath the dislike — that a body not be held back from its grave — was never once in question here.

He was prayed over as he was carried, along the road to his rest; not for one hour was he kept from the earth to make room for another prayer.

So the ummah did for him what the law allows and what love demanded: it prayed over him, and prayed over him, and prayed over him again.

And consider who rose to lead those prayers.

In Tehran, Ayatollah Ja’far Subhani.

In Qom, Ayatollah Jawadi-Amoli.

In Mashhad, Ayatullah Sayyed Mustafa Husayni Khamenei - his eldest son.

And in Najaf and in Karbala, he was received and prayed over by the scholars and the people of Iraq.

The most senior teachers of the Hawza — the grand maraji’ of our age — each rising to stand over him.

The greatest scholars of the ummah, leading the prayer for their leader.

And Now — The Words Themselves. Because The Prayer Is A Testimony

Let me give you the whole of what is said over him, so that you have it — for these are words that every one of you can carry.

The first point is the intention - the niyyah — and we will cover and explain that in more detail shortly, God willing.

The prayer carries five takbir - five declarations of God is the Greatest, each of which is followed by a supplication or testimony.

So, after the first takbir — Allahu Akbar (God is the Greatest), the testimony of faith:

أَشْهَدُ أَنْ لَا إِلَٰهَ إِلَّا اللهُ وَحْدَهُ لَا شَرِيكَ لَهُ، وَأَشْهَدُ أَنَّ مُحَمَّداً عَبْدُهُ وَرَسُولُهُ، أَرْسَلَهُ بِالْحَقِّ بَشِيراً وَنَذِيراً بَيْنَ يَدَيِ السَّاعَةِ

“I testify that there is no god but God alone, no partner has He; and I testify that Muhammad is His servant and His messenger, whom He sent with the truth, a bearer of glad tidings and a warner, before the coming of the Hour.”

After the second takbir, blessings upon the Prophet and his family:

اللَّهُمَّ صَلِّ عَلَىٰ مُحَمَّدٍ وَآلِ مُحَمَّدٍ، وَبَارِكْ عَلَىٰ مُحَمَّدٍ وَآلِ مُحَمَّدٍ، وَارْحَمْ مُحَمَّداً وَآلَ مُحَمَّدٍ، كَأَفْضَلِ مَا صَلَّيْتَ وَبَارَكْتَ وَتَرَحَّمْتَ عَلَىٰ إِبْرَاهِيمَ وَآلِ إِبْرَاهِيمَ، إِنَّكَ حَمِيدٌ مَجِيدٌ

“O God, bless Muhammad and the family of Muhammad, and grant favour to Muhammad and the family of Muhammad, and have mercy on Muhammad and the family of Muhammad — as the best of what You blessed and favoured and had mercy upon Ibrahim and the family of Ibrahim. Indeed, You are Praiseworthy, Glorious.”

After the third takbir, a plea for all the believers, the living of them and the dead:

اللَّهُمَّ اغْفِرْ لِلْمُؤْمِنِينَ وَالْمُؤْمِنَاتِ، وَالْمُسْلِمِينَ وَالْمُسْلِمَاتِ، الْأَحْيَاءِ مِنْهُمْ وَالْأَمْوَاتِ

“O God, forgive the believing men and the believing women, the submitting men and the submitting women — those of them who are living, and those who have died.”

And then, after the fourth takbir — over the body itself — we turn to him.

And here are the words the Ahlul Bayt taught, in their fuller and recommended form:

اللَّهُمَّ إِنَّ هَٰذَا عَبْدُكَ وَابْنُ عَبْدِكَ وَابْنُ أَمَتِكَ، نَزَلَ بِسَاحَتِكَ وَأَنْتَ خَيْرُ مَنْزُولٍ بِهِ. اللَّهُمَّ إِنَّا لَا نَعْلَمُ مِنْهُ إِلَّا خَيْراً وَأَنْتَ أَعْلَمُ بِهِ مِنَّا. اللَّهُمَّ إِنْ كَانَ مُحْسِناً فَزِدْ فِي إِحْسَانِهِ، وَإِنْ كَانَ مُسِيئاً فَتَجَاوَزْ عَنْ سَيِّئَاتِهِ. اللَّهُمَّ اجْعَلْهُ عِنْدَكَ فِي أَعْلَىٰ عِلِّيِّينَ، وَاخْلُفْ عَلَىٰ أَهْلِهِ فِي الْغَابِرِينَ، وَارْحَمْهُ بِرَحْمَتِكَ يَا أَرْحَمَ الرَّاحِمِينَ

“O God, this is Your servant, the son of Your servant, the son of Your maidservant. He has come down into Your courtyard, and You are the best before whom one is laid. O God, we know of him nothing but good — and You know him better than we do. O God, if he was a doer of good, increase his good; and if he did wrong, pass over his wrongs. O God, place him with You in the highest reaches of the Garden, and be a guardian over the family he has left behind, and have mercy on him, O Most Merciful of the merciful.”

— From the supplications of Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq over the believer’s body; al-Kulayni, al-Kafi, the Book of Funerals, the Chapter on the Prayer over the Believing Dead; al-Saduq, Man la Yahduruhu al-Faqih; and Shaykh Abbas al-Qummi, Mafatih al-Jinan, in the Rites of Burial

Then the fifth takbir — and it is finished.

No sitting.

No tashahud (testimony at the end of the prayer).

No salam (salutation at the end of the prayer).

A standing testimony, and a plea, and then we let him go.

Now — hear that fourth supplication again, because it is the heart of the whole thing:

Do you hear what that is?

The funeral prayer is a shahada — a witness.

A testimony.

The community gathers over its dead and bears witness to his goodness, before God.

And in the eyes of God, this is no small thing.

Imam al-Sadiq, peace be upon him, said:

إِذَا مَاتَ الْمُؤْمِنُ فَحَضَرَ جَنَازَتَهُ أَرْبَعُونَ رَجُلاً مِنَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ فَقَالُوا: اللَّهُمَّ إِنَّا لَا نَعْلَمُ مِنْهُ إِلَّا خَيْراً وَأَنْتَ أَعْلَمُ بِهِ مِنَّا، قَالَ اللهُ تَبَارَكَ وَتَعَالَىٰ: قَدْ أَجَزْتُ شَهَادَاتِكُمْ، وَغَفَرْتُ لَهُ مَا عَلِمْتُ مِمَّا لَا تَعْلَمُونَ

“When a believer dies, and forty believing men attend his funeral and say, ‘O God, we know of him nothing but good, and You know him better than we do,’ God, Blessed and Exalted, says: ‘I have allowed your testimony, and forgiven him what I know of him that you do not know.’”

— Imam al-Sadiq, al-Saduq, Man la Yahduruhu al-Faqih, the Chapter on the Funeral Prayer

Forty witnesses — and God accepts their testimony, and forgives on the strength of it.

Forty.

And how many stood over him?

Not forty. Tens of millions — in city after city — bearing the very same witness:

We have spoken, across this whole series, of the witness — the shaheed, the one who testifies.

We have had during our nights of Ashura and in the upcoming nights of Arbaeen on the subject of Shahada (Witness).

And here, at the very last, the ummah (community) itself becomes the witness for him.

For most of our dead we say those words in hope — testifying to the good we saw, and leaving the hidden, gently, to the One who knows the secret self we never could; for that is the mercy folded into

— we vouch for the outward, and we do not set ourselves up as his judge.

But for this man — thirty-six years of it, before our very eyes — the ummah said

and its voice did not shake.

And Now The Third Thing — The One I Want You To Carry With You

I said this prayer is a du’a that each person makes.

Hear how completely that is true.

In the prayers you pray behind an imam every day, the imam carries the recitation for you — he recites the Fatiha, and you stand silent, and his reciting stands in for yours.

But not here. In the prayer over the dead, there is no carrying.

Every soul in that congregation says every takbir himself, and every supplication himself — the imam aloud, and you, quietly, but you say it.

This prayer cannot be prayed for you.

Shoulder pressed to shoulder — and yet each one prays the whole of it, alone.

Jama’ah — congregational — on the outside.

Furada — individual — within.

And do you see where that carries us?

It means the prayer over him was never the possession of the crowds in Tehran, Qom, Najaf, Karbala, Kadhimiyyah, Samarra or Mashhad alone.

Every believer who lifted his hands said the whole of it himself.

But hold that thought — because it opens onto something every believer ought to carry, and few are ever taught plainly.

And clarity, tonight, is the whole of our task.

First, The Map — The Five Kinds Of Ruling

You have heard me, this very night, use words like wajib, and makruh, and mustahabb.

Let me stop and set the whole map in your hand — the five weights by which our religion measures every act a human being can do.

You will hear these five words for the rest of your life; know them, and the Sacred Law begins to open before you.

There is the wajib — the obligatory: what God requires of you.

Do it, and you are rewarded; leave it, and you have sinned.

Your prayers.

Your fast.

There is the haram — the forbidden: its mirror.

What God has shut off.

Do it, and you have sinned; leave it, and you are rewarded.

A lie.

An injustice.

Wealth that is not yours.

There is the mustahabb — the recommended: what God loves, but does not demand.

Do it, and He rewards you; leave it, and there is no sin upon you at all.

The night prayer.

A charity no one asked of you.

Those extra, fuller words of the very funeral supplication we recited a moment ago.

There is the makruh — the disliked: the gentle opposite of it.

What God would rather you leave, though He has not forbidden it.

Leave it, and He rewards you; do it, and you carry no sin.

It was this word — makruh — that stood behind our whole question of repeating the prayer.

And there is the mubah — the permitted, the simply-allowed: what the Law neither asks of you nor forbids you — the colour of your shirt, what you take for your lunch.

No reward in it, and no sin; the wide, permitted middle of an ordinary life.

Five words.

Five weights.

And every one of them, God willing, will have a night of its own on our Wednesday and Saturday gatherings — for there is an ocean in each.

Tonight I only lay the map down, because we need one of the five now, and we need it exactly.

And that one is the wajib — the obligation.

For it, too, is of two kinds — and this is where people are most often confused.

Not every duty is laid on us the same way.

Some, God places on each single soul, by name.

Others, He places on the community as a whole.

And the difference is the difference between what you owe alone and what we owe together.

The first, our scholars call wajib ʿayni — the individual obligation.

Al-Shaykh al-Muzaffar — in the book from which every student of the Hawza learns his very first Usul — defines it:

الْوَاجِبُ الْعَيْنِيُّ: مَا يَتَعَلَّقُ بِكُلِّ مُكَلَّفٍ وَلَا يَسْقُطُ بِفِعْلِ الْغَيْرِ

“The individual obligation is that which pertains to every legally-responsible soul, and does not fall away by the action of another.”

— al-Shaykh Muhammad Rida al-Muzaffar, Usul al-Fiqh, vol. 1

Your five daily prayers are of this kind.

Your fast, your Hajj, your khums.

And here is its heart: it does not fall away by the action of another.

If every Muslim on earth had prayed the dawn this morning, your dawn prayer would still be owed by you.

Why?

Because God does not merely want the act of prayer to exist somewhere in the world — He wants your forehead on the ground, your soul bent low.

No one can stand before God in your place.

But the second kind — and it is the kind our prayer over the dead belongs to — our scholars call wajib kifaʾi, from kifaya, sufficiency.

Here the command falls not on each of you singly, but on the whole community at once; and what God wills is simply that the deed be done, by whichever hands do it.

Shaykh Al-Muzaffar again:

الْوَاجِبُ الْكِفَائِيُّ وَهُوَ الْمَطْلُوبُ فِيهِ وُجُودُ الْفِعْلِ مِنْ أَيِّ مُكَلَّفٍ كَانَ، فَهُوَ يَجِبُ عَلَى جَمِيعِ الْمُكَلَّفِينَ، وَلَكِنْ يُكْتَفَى بِفِعْلِ بَعْضِهِمْ فَيَسْقُطُ عَنِ الْآخَرِينَ… نَعَمْ إِذَا تَرَكُوهُ جَمِيعاً مِنْ دُونِ أَنْ يَقُومَ بِهِ وَاحِدٌ فَالْجَمِيعُ مِنْهُمْ يَسْتَحِقُّونَ الْعِقَابَ

“The collective obligation is that in which the existence of the act is sought from any responsible soul whatsoever. It is obligatory upon all — but the action of some suffices, so it falls away from the rest… yet if they all abandon it, and not one of them rises to it, then all of them deserve the punishment.”

— al-Shaykh Muhammad Rida al-Muzaffar, Usul al-Fiqh, vol. 1

Sit with the mechanism of that, because it is exact — and it is beautiful.

It is laid upon everyone.

But it is discharged for everyone the instant it is carried out — and for a prayer such as this, a single believer, standing over the body, is enough.

One.

When that one prays, the duty lifts from the neck of the entire community, and every soul in it is acquitted before God.

And yet — hold the other edge of it — were a believer to die, and no one rose to pray over him, not one, then it is not a single person who has sinned.

It is all of them.

The whole community answers for the one it left unattended.

Our own marja’ sets it down plainly.

Ayatullah Sayyed al-Sistani:

الصَّلَاةُ عَلَى الْمَيِّتِ وَاجِبَةٌ كِفَائِيَّةٌ عَلَى كُلِّ بَالِغٍ عَاقِلٍ، فَإِذَا قَامَ بِهِ الْبَعْضُ سَقَطَ عَنِ الْآخَرِينَ، وَإِذَا تَرَكَهُ الْجَمِيعُ أَثِمُوا

“The prayer over the deceased is a collective obligation upon every mature, sane person; if some undertake it, it falls away from the rest; and if all abandon it, they all sin.”

— Grand Ayatollah Sayyed Ali al-Sistani, Islamic Laws, Ruling 630

And do not mistake a collective duty for a lesser one.

It is a mercy, and a safeguard — it is how God makes certain that the dead are always honoured, the drowning always have a hand reaching for them, the sick always find a healer, the community always keeps a scholar — without crushing every single back beneath the weight of every task.

The reply to a salam, the rescue of a man from the water, the study of medicine, the mastery of the religion deeply enough to guide others: all of these are of this same kind — owed by all, carried by some, and a mercy upon everyone.

And there is a point where the two kinds touch.

If a shared duty finds only one pair of hands able to do it — you are the only Muslim beside a dying believer in some far place; you are the only doctor when a man collapses — then the collective duty narrows to a single point, and becomes yours alone, an individual one you may not walk away from.

And even here, in the funeral prayer, the wali — the deceased’s own next of kin — carries a prior right to it.

But those are the edges of the matter; hold its heart.

So come back now to our leader, and see what all of this means.

The prayer over him was a collective obligation, laid upon the whole ummah.

And when those millions rose, in city after city, and prayed — they were not praying only for themselves.

They were discharging the duty on behalf of every believer alive, lifting it from the neck of the ummah, from Mashhad to Manila to Montreal.

So there is no believer, anywhere, left standing in sin for not having prayed it.

It was answered, in full, by his brothers who stood at his body — for all of us.

That is the wajib.

And it was carried.

And now the one line left to draw — for the believer far away.

Because a careful soul might still ask:

And here the law is precise, and you must not blur it.

The obligatory funeral prayer requires the body present before you.

Ayatullah Sayyed al-Yazdi sets it down as the very first condition, in the Urwa:

الْأَوَّلُ: حُضُورُ الْمَيِّتِ، فَلَا تَصِحُّ الصَّلَاةُ عَلَى الْغَائِبِ، نَعَمْ لَا بَأْسَ بِالدُّعَاءِ لَهُ وَالِاسْتِغْفَارِ وَإِهْدَاءِ الثَّوَابِ

“The first [condition]: the presence of the deceased — so the prayer over the absent is not valid. Yes: there is no harm in supplicating for him, and seeking forgiveness for him, and gifting him the reward.”

— Sayyid Muhammad Kazim al-Yazdi, al-Urwa al-Wuthqa, the Conditions of the Funeral Prayer

Hear both halves of that ruling, because your answer lives inside it.

If you were far away — in the West, before a screen — you did not, and could not, pray the obligatory prayer over him.

To pray the wajib over an absent body is not our way; and to “follow” an imam through a television is not a true congregation at all.

So let no one imagine he discharged an obligation from his living room — and, as we have just seen, he was never in default of it in the first place, for it was carried for him by those who stood at the body.

But — and here is the mercy, in the very next breath of the same ruling —

Because this prayer is, at its very heart, a du’a, you may stand, wherever on the earth you are, and face the qibla, and say those same words — the testimony, the blessings, the plea for the believers, and

— not as the obligatory prayer, but as a supplication — a mustahabb offering of the kind we named a moment ago — made in hope, its reward sent onward to his soul.

That, every believer alive could do.

And countless did.

Know the difference, and it is a gift; blur it, and you cheat yourself of clarity in your own faith.

The wajib was carried, on behalf of all, by those who stood over his body.

The du’a — that belonged to the whole world.

So the prayer over him was borne by the millions who stood at his body in Mashhad — and by the believer alone in her home a world away, who raised her hands and said the very same words for him.

One prayer.

Said by each of us.

Whole.

Hold on to that.

We will meet it again before the night is out.

Lesson for Today

So here is what I want you to carry out of this first point.

The law is never arbitrary.

There is adab — there is courtesy, there is order, there is a sacred sense of precedence — even in death.

Even in a grave.

Even in the timing of a burial.

And look at the order our leader was given — even as a body that could no longer choose for itself.

He was carried past Imam Ali in Najaf.

Then past Imam Husayn in Karbala.

Then past Imams al-Kadhim and al-Jawad in Kadhimiyyah.

Then past Imams al-Hadi and al-Askari in Samarra.

And only then to his own rest, beside Imam Ridha in Mashhad.

And his burial itself was moved aside — held back — so that it would not crowd in front of the mourning of Imam Husayn.

Do you see what that means?

In death, he did exactly what he did in life.

He stepped back.

He put Imam Husayn first.

For thirty-six years, every Muharram, this man wept for Imam Husayn and taught the whole Ummah to set Karbala at the centre of everything — and now, in the very manner of his burial, the law itself made him do it one last time.

Even his grave waited upon Imam Husayn.

So let our grief be ordered the way his was.

Imam Husayn first.

Always.

And trust the law that held him — because it did not abandon him in the waiting.

It guarded him.

It carried him.

It washed him, and wrapped him, and laid him down, in its own right time, exactly as it should.

The trust was kept.

Point 2 — The Sanctity of the Entrusted Body

So the wait was lawful.

We have proven that.

But there is a second question — quieter than the first, and deeper.

The first question was about the law:

This one is about the man:

Four months, unburied.

Four months in the cold.

Four months while the world turned and the wars raged and his body lay waiting.

Did that diminish him?

Did something of his honour leak away in those long months — some dignity that a swifter burial would have preserved?

I want to answer that with the whole weight of our tradition behind me.

No.

Not by a single degree.

And to understand why, you have to understand what a believer’s body is in the eyes of God.

The Sanctity Greater Than the Ka’bah

We think of the Ka’bah as the most sacred thing on earth.

And we are right to.

It is the House of God, the qibla — the lodestar — the prayer-direction — of every prayer, the heart toward which a billion faces turn.

And yet.

Listen to what the Messenger of God taught about the believer — and hold on to something, because this narration is steep.

Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq, peace and blessings be upon him, transmitted it, and al-Shaykh al-Saduq preserved it in a chapter whose very title is the teaching — “The Believer’s Sanctity is Greater than the Ka’bah”:

الْمُؤْمِنُ أَعْظَمُ حُرْمَةً مِنَ الْكَعْبَةِ

“The believer is greater in sanctity than the Ka’bah.”

— Imam al-Sadiq, al-Shaykh al-Saduq, al-Khisal

Not equal to it.

Greater.

The stone we would give our lives to defend — the believer outweighs it before God.

And this is not one lonely narration, easily set aside.

In al-Kafi — in a sound, sahih chain — the believer is named among the very sanctities of God Himself.

Imam al-Sadiq, peace be upon him, said:

لِلَّهِ عَزَّ وَجَلَّ فِي بِلَادِهِ خَمْسُ حُرَمٍ: حُرْمَةُ رَسُولِ اللَّهِ، وَحُرْمَةُ آلِ رَسُولِ اللَّهِ، وَحُرْمَةُ كِتَابِ اللَّهِ، وَحُرْمَةُ كَعْبَةِ اللَّهِ، وَحُرْمَةُ الْمُؤْمِنِ

“God — Mighty and Majestic — has five sanctities in His lands: the sanctity of the Messenger of God, the sanctity of the Family of the Messenger of God, the sanctity of the Book of God, the sanctity of the Ka’bah of God — and the sanctity of the believer.”

— Imam al-Sadiq, al-Kulayni, al-Kafi

Hear the company the believer keeps in that sentence.

The Prophet.

The Ahlul Bayt — the Family of the Messenger of God.

The Qur’an.

The Ka’bah.

And the believer.

Set down in the same breath, among the five things God has made inviolable on His earth.

Now — if that is the sanctity of any believer; if the body of the most ordinary, anonymous servant of God carries an inviolability greater than the Ka’bah — then what shall we say of this believer?

The one who carried the wilayah for thirty-six years?

The one struck down in the path of God?

Then The Wait Was Not A Wound — It Was A Watch

So look again at those four months.

And see them now for what they were.

They were not four months of dishonour.

They were four months of guarding.

Four months in which an entire ummah stood watch over what had been entrusted to it — preserving it, protecting it, keeping it from every harm in a time of war — until it could be carried, with the whole world gathered, to the place where it belonged.

That is not neglect.

That is the highest honour a community can pay: to treat what is entrusted to it as a sacred trust, and to return it, at last, undiminished.

The body was the amanah.

And the ummah kept it.

The Proof Is Karbala Itself

And if you want the proof — the last, unanswerable proof — that no delay, and no indignity, can take a single thing from a body that God has honoured, then you do not need to search for it.

You already carry it in your heart.

Karbala.

When the Master of Martyrs fell — Imam Husayn ibn Ali, peace and blessings be upon him, the grandson of the Messenger of God — his body was not washed that day.

It was not shrouded.

It was not buried.

It was left upon the sand.

And worse than left.

The son of Sa’d called out for men who would ride their horses over the body of Imam Husayn — and ten of them came forward, and they trampled him until his chest and his back were crushed.

It is in al-Tabari.

It is in the Irshad of Shaykh al-Mufid.

It is in the Luhuf.

Our own books record it, and do not look away — and neither will we.

The most honoured body on the face of the earth — exposed, trampled, denied even a grave — for a day, and by some accounts longer.

And then the believers came.

A tribe of the Banu Asad, camped nearby at Ghadiriyya — they came out to that field, and they shrouded the seventy-two, and they prayed the funeral prayer over them, and they laid them in the earth:

Imam Husayn where his shrine now stands, his son Ali al-Akbar at his feet, his family gathered into a single grave at his feet, his brother Abbas where he had fallen.

Now hold the two images together in a single hand.

The body crushed into the dust on the tenth of Muharram.

And the shrine that fourteen centuries of believers have crossed deserts to reach — the grave our narrations say seventy thousand angels surround, weeping, until the Day of Standing.

Did the delay diminish him?

Did the trampling?

Did the days his body lay denied its grave take one single atom from the rank of the Master of Martyrs?

You know the answer.

The whole of your faith is the answer.

It took nothing.

It could take nothing.

And there is one detail more — and it belongs to tonight especially.

For our tradition holds that none washes and buries an Imam but an Imam.

So the one who presided over that burial in Karbala was Imam Husayn’s own son — Imam Ali ibn al-Husayn, Zayn al-Abidin, peace and blessings be upon him — brought to that field for it, and returned.

Imam al-Ridha himself laid down the principle, when the doubters asked him who had buried Imam Husayn: it was an Imam; and the same God who brought Imam al-Sajjad to Karbala, he said, brings an Imam to every burial that has need of one.

The same Imam al-Ridha beside whom our own leader now lies.

So here is the argument — and I can give you none stronger.

If the body of Imam Husayn — trampled, exposed, kept from its grave by the hatred of an enemy — lost nothing of its sanctity —

Then the body of our leader — washed, shrouded, prayed over in city after city, guarded through a lawful and deliberate wait, and laid at the last beside an Imam — could lose nothing of his.

What was done to Imam Husayn in hatred could not diminish him.

What was done for our leader in love, and in law, could never diminish him.

An Honest Word About Preservation

Now, some of you will have heard it said — and said with love — that his body was found untouched.

Preserved.

As though the very earth and air refused to act upon it.

And I have to be honest with you, because honesty is the method of this series, and I will not trade it for a comfort.

There is a narration — our Sunni brethren hold it — that the earth does not consume the bodies of the Prophets.

But notice two things.

It speaks of the Prophets.

And our leader, for all his greatness, did not claim and we do not claim for him the station of a Prophet.

So the narration, even where it is held, does not reach him.

And in our own books, I did not find a sound chain that says of the believer’s body what that report says of the Prophets’.

So I will not stand here and sell you a miracle I cannot source.

The truthful answer to “how was his body kept, all those months?” is the answer we already gave you, in the first point, from the rulings of our own scholars: it was lawfully preserved — kept from decay by permitted means, as the law allows when there is a reason to wait.

And do you know what?

That answer is better than the miracle.

Because the miracle would have made him the exception.

The law makes him one of us — a believer whose body was honoured exactly as the sacred law honours every believer’s body.

Guarded.

Preserved.

Returned with dignity.

We do not need to invent a wonder.

The truth is already a wonder: that God placed in the heart of His law such care for the dignity of a single human body.

And In Any Case — He Was Never Only A Body

And here is the deepest reason the wait could not touch him.

Because the thing we have been calling “him” — the body in the cold, the body on the long road home — was never the whole of him.

It was never even the most of him.

Return, one last time, to the verse that has carried this entire series:

بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ

“Rather, they are alive, with their Lord, receiving provision.”

— Qur’an, Surah Aal Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verse 169

He is alive.

He has been alive every single day of these four months.

While we wept over a body, he was with his Lord — receiving provision, rejoicing, gazing back at us.

His life never hung on the timing of a burial.

His honour was never in the keeping of the calendar.

The grave does not hold him; it never could; it only receives what he has already left behind.

The waiting could not diminish him — because the waiting only ever touched the part of him he had already finished with.

Lesson for Today

So here is what I want you to take from this second point.

How a people treats what is entrusted to it in the waiting — that is the measure of its faith.

And understand: two trusts were placed in our hands the day he was taken.

The first was his body.

And the ummah guarded it, through four long months, and laid it down this week with honour.

That trust is discharged.

But the second trust is not laid in any grave.

The second trust is his testimony.

His path.

The work he gave his life to.

The wilayah he never set down.

And that trust has been handed to us.

The first trust the earth took back a couple of days ago.

The second one we may never set down — not tomorrow, not ever.

So be the keepers of the second amanah.

Say their names.

Carry the work.

Refuse the erasure.

This is the whole purpose of themartyr.net, and of every gathering like this one.

Guard the trust that was guarded for you.

Now keep it.

Point 3 — The Homecoming

We have spoken about the wait.

We have spoken about the trust.

Now I want to speak about the road — the road he travelled these last days, while the whole world watched.

Because he did not go quietly into the ground.

His body moved — carried on the shoulders of millions, through the cities of the people of the House.

And I want you to see that road for what it was.

It was not a journey to a grave.

It was a journey home.

Buried In The Neighbourhood Of An Imam

He has been laid to rest in Mashhad, beside the eighth of our Imams — Imam Ali ibn Musa al-Ridha, peace and blessings be upon him.

And our scholars have a beautiful word for that: jiwar.

Neighbourhood.

To be buried as the neighbour of one of the friends of God.

We said in the first point that the law does not merely permit burial near the awliya — it loves it; it counts it among the recommended places to be laid.

So his resting place is not an accident of geography.

It is the last testimony of a man’s heart — of where, in the end, he wished to lie.

But there is something here that goes deeper than honour.

Something that turns this whole night on its hinge.

Because Imam al-Ridha, peace and blessings be upon him, knew what it was to be buried far from home.

He was carried from Madinah to the far edge of Khurasan, to die there by poison — wronged, a stranger in a strange land.

And he foretold it himself.

He said:

إِنِّي سَأُقْتَلُ بِالسَّمِّ مَسْمُوماً مَظْلُوماً، وَأُقْبَرُ فِي دَارِ غُرْبَةٍ

“I shall be killed by poison, wronged, and buried in a land of estrangement.”

And then — listen — he made a promise about that very estrangement:

فَمَنْ زَارَنِي فِي غُرْبَتِي وَجَبَتْ لَهُ زِيَارَتِي يَوْمَ الْقِيَامَةِ

“So whoever visits me in my estrangement — my visitation becomes binding for him on the Day of Resurrection.”

— Imam al-Ridha, recorded by al-Saduq in Uyun Akhbar al-Ridha

Ghurbah.

Estrangement.

The condition of being far from where you belong.

And do you see what God has done?

Our leader spent four months in an estrangement of his own — not the estrangement of distance, but the estrangement of the long, unburied wait; the believer kept from his grave by the violence of an unjust world.

And now, out of that estrangement, he has been carried home — to rest beside the Imam of Estrangement.

The one who knows exactly what it is to be the stranger, wronged and far from home.

The one who promised to receive, on the Day of Standing, everyone who comes to him there.

The stranger comes to rest beside the Stranger.

And the Imam al-Ridha himself, peace and blessings be upon him, told us the truth about every one of his own family:

وَاللَّهِ مَا مِنَّا إِلَّا مَقْتُولٌ شَهِيدٌ

“By God, there is not one of us but is slain — a martyr.”

— Imam al-Ridha Uyun Akhbar al-Ridha

So the host of this burial is himself a martyr.

A wronged one welcomes a wronged one.

A witness receives a witness.

The Road Runs Through The Whole Of The House

And look at the road itself.

He was not carried straight to Mashhad.

He was carried past Shah Abdul Adheem in Tehran.

Past Imam Khomeini, between Tehran and Qom.

Past Sayyedah Fatimah al-Ma’soumeh in Qom.

And then on, into Iraq — past Imam Ali in Najaf, past Imam Husayn in Karbala, past the Imams al-Kadhim and al-Jawad in Kadhimiyyah, past the Imams al-Hadi and al-Askari in Samarra — and only then home, to Imam al-Ridha.

One after another of the House of the Prophet.

Past the father, and the son.

To rest beside the grandson.

It was not a route a committee designed.

It was a procession through the family of the Prophet — as though, before he could be allowed to rest, he had first to greet every one of them.

And when at last the earth received him, it received him under the oldest words we have for loss:

إِنَّا لِلَّهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ

“Surely we belong to God, and surely to Him we return.”

— Qur’an, Surah al-Baqarah (the Chapter of the Cow)#2, Verse 156

Not “from us he is taken.”

The deposit, given back to the One who left it with us.

Laid Down On The Night Of The Witness

And now the detail that, for me, holds the whole sermon in a single fold of the calendar.

He was buried two days ago — on Thursday, the 9th of July 2026 — on the eve of the martyrdom of Imam Ali ibn al-Husayn, Zayn al-Abidin, peace and blessings be upon him.

Imam al-Sajjad.

The one who survived Karbala.

When the men of Imam Husayn’s camp were slaughtered, he was the one God kept back — sick, barely alive, the thread that did not snap.

And from the ashes of a butchered household, he rose to carry the testimony of Karbala forward across fifty years of grief.

He is the proof that the chain does not break even when the men are slain.

The survivor who became the witness.

And our leader was laid in the earth on the eve of his night.

And then yesterday — the very next day — the whole ummah mourned the passing of that same Imam.

And tonight, the night after, we gather.

The witness, laid to rest on the eve of the Witness who carried the trust onward — and we, gathered in the days just after, to take up what he left.

The One Who Now Carries It — Through His Own Grief

And this is no longer only a parable.

It is being lived, in front of us, by a single bereaved man.

The trust of the wilayah has passed to Imam Sayyed Mujtaba al-Husayni al-Khamenei — appointed by the Assembly of Experts within days of the strike.

But understand what this man carries.

He was wounded in the same attack.

And he does not bury only his father.

He buries his wife.

His sister.

His sister’s child — a girl of fourteen months.

His brother-in-law.

An entire household, laid down at once.

And from within that emptied home, he takes up the guardianship of the Ummah.

Do you see it?

It is Karbala’s own pattern, repeating.

Like the son of Imam Husayn who rose from the wreckage of his slaughtered family to carry the message, Imam Mujtaba lifts the wilayah out of his own grief.

So when we speak of allegiance to the new Wali, understand whose hand it is that now receives the trust.

It is a wounded hand.

A grieving hand.

A hand that has just lowered its own beloved into the ground.

That does not weaken the call to stand with him.

It is the very reason to stand with him.

What The Trust Now Asks Of The Living

So the body comes home.

The trust passes on.

And the question turns, at last, to us.

There is a bond that does not end at the grave — it begins there.

We call it ziyarah — visitation.

And the Imam al-Ridha, peace and blessings be upon him, taught us that it is not an optional sentiment.

It is the fulfilment of a covenant:

إِنَّ لِكُلِّ إِمَامٍ عَهْداً فِي عُنُقِ أَوْلِيَائِهِ وَشِيعَتِهِ، وَإِنَّ مِنْ تَمَامِ الْوَفَاءِ بِالْعَهْدِ زِيَارَةَ قُبُورِهِمْ

“Every Imam has a covenant upon the necks of his friends and his Shia; and part of the perfect fulfilment of that covenant is visiting their graves.”

— Imam al-Ridha, Uyun Akhbar al-Ridha

A covenant upon our necks.

The amanah again — now in the form of a bond we are asked to keep by going to them.

But here I have to stop you.

Because everything in this final point depends on what comes next.

We have to ask — visiting of what kind?

What The Ziyarah Is — And What It Is Not

Because there is a way of visiting that is no visitation at all.

There is a way of standing at the grave of a martyr that the martyr would not recognise.

We have all seen it.

The visit as a stamp in a passport.

The visit as a photograph.

The visit as a marker of status — I have been; look where I stood.

The visit as a transaction — I have made my Hajj, I have touched the shrine of Husayn, and now my account is settled and heaven is owed to me.

I want to say this as plainly as I can: that is both a mistake and a misguidance.

To travel to the place of one who gave everything for God — and to go there for the sake of yourself; for your standing, for your story, for a private receipt against your sins — is to miss the entire point of why he is worth visiting at all.

So what is the point?

The ziyarah texts themselves tell us.

Read them — really read them — and you find that when we stand before an Imam, we do not list his miracles.

We bear witness to why he was worthy.

And it is the same testimony at every grave:

أَشْهَدُ أَنَّكَ قَدْ أَقَمْتَ الصَّلَاةَ، وَآتَيْتَ الزَّكَاةَ، وَأَمَرْتَ بِالْمَعْرُوفِ، وَنَهَيْتَ عَنِ الْمُنْكَرِ

“I bear witness that you established the prayer, and gave the alms, and enjoined the good, and forbade the evil.”

— the witness we repeat across the visitations of the Imams (Ziyarat Warith, and the ziyarat of the Imams)

That is the criterion.

That is what we are saluting.

And to visit them is to pledge ourselves to that same path.

So look closely at what we are pledging.

You established the prayer.

Not merely prayed — established.

There is a world between the two.

To pray is to stand before God yourself.

To establish the prayer is to build the conditions in which a whole community can stand before God — to raise a society in which the prayer is alive in the street, not just performed behind a closed door.

It is not the same as putting up a mosque.

It is making a world in which the mosque means something.

You gave the alms.

And the alms are no afterthought to the prayer — they are bound to it.

Think of the man who cannot feed his children.

Can he stand in prayer with a still heart?

His body is on the prayer-mat and his mind is at the empty table.

So to lift the poor is to protect the prayer — to clear the ground on which a person can finally turn to God without his hunger pulling him away.

You enjoined the good, and forbade the evil.

And here we must be most careful of all — because this is the duty we have most thoroughly shrunk.

We have taken the towering prophetic command to stand against wrong, and we have folded it down small — until it fits in a kitchen, until it is about a shoe.

We imagine the munkar we are called to confront is the music playing on the bus, or the man eating in the market in Ramadan.

And meanwhile — Imam Khomeini, may God rest his pure soul, thundered this from his exile — meanwhile we stand oblivious to the far greater evils: the tyranny, the plunder, the murder of nations, the empires that bomb schoolchildren and call it an accident.

That is the amr bil-ma’ruf the Imams established.

Not the policing of small private things.

The standing — at real cost — against the munkar of the powerful.

We opened this wound at length in our Ashura and Arba’een gatherings; tonight it is enough to name it.

That is the path the ziyarah asks us to walk.

To establish the prayer.

To lift the poor.

To stand against the wrong of the strong.

And The One Thing That Makes it Real: The Intention

But even all of that can be hollowed out from within — if it is done for the wrong reason.

So let me give you the key that unlocks the whole of it.

Listen to how God describes the household of the Prophet, in Surah al-Insan — the Chapter of Humanity, when they gave away their own food to the poor, the orphan, and the captive:

إِنَّمَا نُطْعِمُكُمْ لِوَجْهِ اللَّهِ لَا نُرِيدُ مِنكُمْ جَزَاءً وَلَا شُكُورًا

“We feed you only for the Face of God; we desire from you no reward, and no thanks.”

— Qur’an, Surah al-Insan (the Chapter of Humanity) #76, Verse 9

And our commentators notice something breathtaking about this verse.

The Ahlul Bayt did not even say these words aloud to the poor at their door.

They did not announce their sincerity.

They concealed it in their hearts — and God Himself reached in, and disclosed what they had hidden, and wrote it into His eternal Book.

That is the summit of ikhlas — sincerity so pure it does not even want to be seen being sincere.

Now hold that next to the other thing we know so well: the name carved into the marble of the new wing of the mosque.

The donor’s name printed on the cover of the Qur’an.

The plaque.

The mention.

The credit.

The kudos.

I am not telling you those things are forbidden.

I am telling you they are a different universe from li-wajhi-llah — for the Face of God.

And here is why it matters more than we think.

There are people who treat the whole of their faith like a bank.

A prayer earns ten units of reward; in congregation, twenty-five times that.

And so they pile up credit — millions of units, billions — a fortune of merit stored in heaven.

And there is a terrible danger hidden in that arithmetic.

Because suppose a man spends his life so busy accumulating — so consumed with building his balance — that he never notices the brother starving at his gate; or that, somewhere in the piling-up, his worship quietly became about him — his standing, his name, his greatness — a small and almost innocent-seeming idolatry of the self.

Such a man may die with a vast fortune of merit stored up in heaven.

And no way to reach it.

Because he is not there.

God warns us of exactly this, and the image is merciless:

وَقَدِمْنَا إِلَىٰ مَا عَمِلُوا مِنْ عَمَلٍ فَجَعَلْنَاهُ هَبَاءً مَّنثُورًا

“And We shall turn to whatever deeds they did, and make them scattered dust.”

— Qur’an, Surah al-Furqan (the Chapter of the Criterion) #25, Verse 23

A lifetime of deeds — and a single wrong intention turns the whole heap to dust on the wind.

This is why the Imams told us:

نِيَّةُ الْمُؤْمِنِ خَيْرٌ مِنْ عَمَلِهِ

“The intention of the believer is better than his deed.”

— al-Kulayni, al-Kafi

Better than the deed.

Because the deed without the intention is dust — and the intention is the thing that makes the deed worth anything at all.

So when we feed, when we give, when we pray, when we stand — let it be as Imam Husayn and Sayyedah Zaynab did everything: qurbatan ila-llah.

For nearness to God.

For His Face.

Wanting no reward and no thanks.

Then Near Or Far No Longer Matters

And now — here is where it all comes home.

If that is what ziyarah truly is — not tourism, not a transaction, but a covenant to become like the one you are saluting, undertaken purely for the Face of God — then listen to the freedom in it.

Twenty million walked to Mashhad with his body these past days.

And blessed are they.

But most of us are not among them.

Most of us are a thousand miles away, in our own rooms, on the wrong side of the world.

And it does not matter.

Because if your heart goes to him in truth — if you stand where you are and take up his path for the Face of God — then you have made the visitation.

The fruit of ziyarah is not the dust of the road on your feet.

The fruit of ziyarah is that you become more like the one you came to salute, and so you draw nearer to God.

And that — the believer alone in his room, taking up the path — is a ziyarah as real as any made by the millions on the road.

Lesson for Today

So here is the charge of this third point, and of the whole night.

Twenty million carried his body to Mashhad.

But the body is not the trust.

Be his pallbearers in the thing that matters.

Visit him — at the shrine, or from your own room, it is the same — by taking up what he carried: establish the prayer where you stand, lift the poor at your own gate, and stand against the munkar of the powerful, whatever it costs you.

And do it for the Face of God alone.

Near or far, with the right heart, you keep the trust.

The trust was kept.

Now carry it home.

The One Command

Three nights, across this series, we have stood together.

On the night of the Chain, we said:

The institution does not break.

The wilayah outlives any man.

On the night of the Testimony, we said:

The message does not die.

The witness only grows louder.

And tonight, the Trust:

The amanah is kept, and carried home — the body returned to its Lord, and the covenant placed now in our hands.

The chain unbroken.

The testimony unbroken.

The trust unbroken.

And if you ask me — after all of it, after the law and the sanctity and the long road home — what is the one thing I am asking of you, the single thing to carry out of this room, I will not give you my own word for it.

I will give you the cry the believers have raised over his very coffin.

The slogan of his farewell.

And it is not a slogan someone invented for a banner.

It is a command of the Qur’an.

God says:

قُلْ إِنَّمَا أَعِظُكُم بِوَاحِدَةٍ ۖ أَن تَقُومُوا لِلَّهِ مَثْنَىٰ وَفُرَادَىٰ

“Say: I admonish you with but one thing — that you rise for God, in twos and singly.”

— Qur’an, Surah Saba (the Chapter of Sheba) #34, Verse 46

One thing.

Only one.

Out of the whole of the religion,

God reduces the admonition to a single word:

And hear how He says it: mathna wa furada.

In twos and singly.

Together — and alone.

Do you understand what that means tonight?

The together is the twenty million on the road to Mashhad — the ummah risen as one body.

But the alone — furada, one by one — that is you.

In your room.

On the far side of the world.

Rising for God where no one sees you, with no procession around you, no crowd to carry you.

Both are the rising.

Both are commanded.

The millions on the road, and the lone believer who takes up the path for the Face of God — mathna wa furada — and neither is greater than the other.

This is the whole of it.

The ziyarah of the path is the qiyam lillah.

To rise for God is to keep the trust.

So we will turn now to remember him, and those who fell with him, and to ask God to make us worthy.

And then our brother will raise his voice in the hymn you came to hear — and when he sings let us rise, let it be your answer.

We have heard the command.

Qumu lillah.

Now let us rise.

Eulogy and Supplication

Now I want to set the teaching down.

No more proofs.

No more rulings.

No more lessons.

Just remembrance.

Tonight of all nights — with him newly returned to the earth, two days laid to rest — I want us to say their names; to let their names fill this room — because, as we have learned across this whole series,

Part One — The Naming

There is a chain of blood that runs through the whole of human history, and tonight he has taken his place in it.

It begins with Abel — the son of Adam, the first to be killed for refusing to raise his hand against God’s command.

It runs through every prophet hunted and every messenger struck down.

It gathers, at its heart, the plain of Karbala — Imam Husayn ibn Ali, peace and blessings be upon him, and the seventy-two who fell beside him.

And it does not stop there.

It runs on, unbroken, into our own days.

We remember Sayyed Abbas al-Musawi — who built the resistance from nothing, and was martyred with his wife and his child.

We remember Hajj Imad Mughniyeh — the shadow the empires hunted for thirty years.

We remember Hajj Qasim Soleimani — the general who wept at the grave of Imam Husayn, struck down by a coward’s drone on the road from the airport.

We remember Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah — the voice that never once trembled, buried, as our leader is now buried, only after a long and patient wait.

And tonight, at the head of that procession, we lay our own leader: Imam Sayyed Ali al-Husayni al-Khamenei — al-wali, al-faqih, al-mujahid, al-shaheed.

One chain.

From Abel to this very night.

Each link a witness.

Each name a trust we refuse to let fall silent.

And now, my master — let me speak to you.

To you, who carried the wilayah for thirty-six years and never set it down.

To you, who buried your generals one by one and did not break.

To you, who taught a whole ummah to put Imam Husayn at the centre of everything — and who, in the very manner of your burial, were made to step aside for Imam Husayn one last time.

You did not fall on a field of battle, sword in hand.

You were struck in your own place, by a fire sent from far away — al-maqtul zulman, the one slain in injustice.

And the law washed you, and wrapped you in white, and carried you home past Imam Ali, and past Imam Husayn, to rest beside Imam al-Ridha, on the eve of the one who survived Karbala to carry it forward.

You were not alone when you fell.

A household was laid down with you, and we name them, gently, and we do not linger — for the grief is too near.

Your daughter, Sayyedah Bushra.

Your son-in-law, Dr. Misbah al-Huda Baqeri — the husband of your daughter Hoda, whom God spared.

Your daughter-in-law, Sayyedah Zahra Haddad-Adel — the wife of your son, our new leader.

And your granddaughter.

Zahra. Fourteen months old.

We will say it once, and let the silence carry the rest.

And with you fell the commanders of the Ummah — the men who stood at the frontiers and did not yield.

We will not call their roll tonight; there are too many, and the night is long.

We gather them, instead, into the words of Imam al-Sajjad himself — for it is his night, and there is no better tongue tonight than his.

He prayed, for exactly such men:

اللَّهُمَّ صَلِّ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ وَآلِهِ، وَحَصِّنْ ثُغُورَ الْمُسْلِمِينَ بِعِزَّتِكَ، وَأَيِّدْ حُمَاتَهَا بِقُوَّتِكَ

“O God, bless Muhammad and his Household, and fortify the frontiers of the Muslims through Your might, and strengthen their defenders through Your power.”

— Imam Ali ibn al-Husayn, Zayn al-Abidin, al-Sahifa al-Sajjadiyya, the Supplication for the People of the Frontiers

And we remember, at the last, the smallest of them — the ones who never had the chance to choose.

On the same morning he was taken — the first morning of the war — far to the south, in the town of Minab, a missile fell on a school called the Good Tree, the Shajareh Tayyebeh.

One hundred and sixty-eight children, with their teachers, were martyred — among them a teacher carrying a child not yet born.

The greatest of the ummah and its very least — its Leader and its schoolchildren — gathered into martyrdom on a single morning.

We told their story in full in our Ashura and Arba’een nights; tonight we only fold them, with their teachers and their unborn, into the same mercy that holds the children of Karbala.

All of them — every name we have spoken, and every name only God knows —

بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ

“Rather, they are alive, with their Lord, receiving provision.”

— Qur’an, Surah Aal Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 169–170

Part Two — The Turn

And now we turn to the One who received them.

O our Lord — You told us the martyrs are alive with You; that they are provided for; that they rejoice.
We believe You.
We cling to this tonight, because without it the weight of what has been taken would be more than we could carry.
So we do not ask You to comfort our leader — he is with You, and needs nothing from us.
We ask You to comfort us, the ones left behind, who must now carry what he carried.

O our Lord — Accept him.
Accept the thirty-six years, and the eight years of war, and the decades of siege, and every loss he bore without bending.
Raise him with the witnesses he loved — with Imam Husayn, whom he set before himself even in his grave; with Imam Ali, and with Imam al-Ridha, in whose neighbourhood he now rests.
And reward the patience this long wait demanded — of him, and of an ummah that guarded its trust for four months and returned it with honour.

O our Lord — For the household laid down with him — his daughter, his children’s children, the infant of fourteen months — gather them into the arms that hold Ali al-Asghar and the children of Karbala.
And for his wife and his daughter whom You spared, and for every heart broken in that house, send down a patience worthy of the family of the Prophet.

O our Lord — Strengthen the one who now carries the trust — Imam Sayyed Mujtaba al-Khamenei — who buried his father, his wife, his sister, and his sister’s child, and rose from that emptied home to take up the guardianship of the Ummah.
Make him, as his fathers were before him, a lantern on the path and a shield for the oppressed.
Steady his wounded hands.
Surround him with the sincere, and keep far from him the treacherous.
And gather the scholars and the believers around him as one.

O our Lord — For the Ummah that mourns tonight — for Iran under its bombs and its sieges, for Gaza still buried in its rubble, for Lebanon and Yemen and every land where the people of the truth are made to bleed — be their refuge.
Lift the oppressed.
Break the arrogance of the oppressor.
And let the blood of these martyrs be not the end of something, but the turning of it.

O our Lord — Make us of those who rise — not only in the crowd, but alone; not only on the road to the shrine, but in our own homes, for Your Face alone.
Make our visitation a walking of the path: that we establish the prayer, and lift the poor, and stand against the wrong of the powerful — and seek from it no reward, and no thanks, but You.

O our Lord — Hasten the one for whom all of this waits — the Imam of our age, may our souls be his ransom.
Let this burial, and every burial, be one more step toward the morning of his rising, when the last witness comes to gather every testimony and fill the earth with the justice it was promised.

Amen, O Lord of the Worlds.
Amen, O Most Merciful of the merciful.

And we seal it, as we sealed every night of this series, on the verse that has carried us through all three — the promise that he is not gone, only returned; not dead, but alive:

بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ

“Rather, they are alive, with their Lord, receiving provision.”

— Qur’an, Surah Aal Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verse 169

They are not dead.

The chain is unbroken.

The testimony is unbroken.

And the trust is kept.

And from God alone is all ability, and He has authority over all things.

The Official Post for the Farewell, Funeral and Burial of the Great Leader, Imam Sayyed Ali al-Husayni al-Khamenei

Scheduled from July 4 to July 9, 2026 (corresponding to Muharram 19 to Muharram 24, 1448)

We begin tonight with two verses from Surah Aal Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran).

Listen to them carefully — because everything we will discuss this evening is contained within them.

وَلَا تَحْسَبَنَّ الَّذِينَ قُتِلُوا فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ أَمْوَاتًا ۚ بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ فَرِحِينَ بِمَا آتَاهُمُ اللَّهُ مِن فَضْلِهِ وَيَسْتَبْشِرُونَ بِالَّذِينَ لَمْ يَلْحَقُوا بِهِم مِّنْ خَلْفِهِمْ أَلَّا خَوْفٌ عَلَيْهِمْ وَلَا هُمْ يَحْزَنُونَ

“Do not think of those killed in the way of God as dead. Rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving provision, rejoicing in what God has granted them of His bounty, and receiving glad tidings about those who have not yet joined them from behind — that there shall be no fear upon them, nor shall they grieve.”

— Qur’an, Surah Aal Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 169–170

These verses tell us two things.

And I want us to hold both of them tonight — not just the first, which we are accustomed to hearing, but the second, which we too often let pass.

The first thing is this: the shaheed is alive.

This is not a metaphor.

This is not a consolation offered to the grieving to help them get through the night.

It is a correction.

God is correcting us.

He says

The verb here is about perception.

He is telling us that when we look at the martyrdom of our beloved ones and see death, we are seeing it wrong.

The shaheed — the martyr — has not ended.

The shaheed has arrived.

The second thing — and this is where I want us to pause — is what comes next in the verse.

They are receiving glad tidings — about whom?

About us.

About those who have not yet joined them.

About those who are still behind, still here, still in this world of trial and test.

Do you hear what that means?

It means the shaheed is not merely alive — the shaheed is watching.

They are looking back at us.

They are receiving news about us.

And the verse tells us they are either rejoicing at what they see — or they are waiting.

Waiting to see what we do with their blood.

Waiting to see whether their testimony will be carried forward, or whether it will be buried under our grief and our silence and our return to the comfortable routines that their sacrifice was meant to shatter.

That is what this evening is about.

Not only to mourn — though we will mourn.

Not only to remember — though we will remember.

But to ask ourselves a question that the blood of our shuhada (martyrs) has placed before us, and that this arba’een now demands we answer:

Video of the Sermon (Majlis/Lecture)

Bridge: From the Unbroken Chain to the Unbroken Testimony

Some of you were with us — not so long ago — for a session we called The Unbroken Chain.

We gathered in the immediate aftermath of the martyrdom of our leader, Imam Sayyed Ali al-Husayni al-Khamenei — may God rest his pure soul.

The wound was fresh.

The shock had not yet settled.

And the question that hung over us that night was an urgent one:

What happens to the chain of wilayah when its most visible link is struck?

And the answer we arrived at — together, with the help of God and the guidance of the Ahlul Bayt — was that the chain does not break.

It has never broken.

Because it was never held together by any one man, however great that man was.

It is held together by God’s promise.

By the covenant that began with the Prophet, passed through the Imams, and continues — unbroken — through the institution of wilayat al-faqih until the return of the Imam of our time, may our souls be his ransom, and may God hasten his return.

That was the Unbroken Chain.

The institution.

The structure.

The divine architecture that outlives every individual who serves it.

Tonight, we shift our gaze.

Tonight, we do not ask what survives after the shaheed (martyr) is taken.

Tonight, we ask what the shaheed left behind.

Not an institution — a testimony.

A witness written in blood.

A message that does not merely echo — it amplifies.

It grows louder with every passing day, every passing generation, every empire that tries to silence it and fails.

If the Unbroken Chain was about the institution that endures, then the Unbroken Testimony is about the message that endures — and about the duty, the sacred obligation, that it places upon every single one of us who witnessed it.

We are forty days on from the martyrdom of our leader.

Forty days since the girls of Minab were taken from their schoolhouse by the bombs of an empire that calls itself civilised.

Forty days — and the number itself, as we shall see, is not incidental.

It is not arbitrary.

It is a threshold.

And tonight, by the grace of God, we will cross it together.

We will speak about three things.

First: the significance of forty — al-arba’een — in our theology, in our history, and in the broader tradition of the prophets.

Why forty?

What does this number do to those who endure it?

Second: the meaning of shaheed — a word we use constantly, but whose depth we rarely pause to excavate.

Why is the martyr called a witness?

What did they see?

And what does their death make visible to us?

And third: our duty.

Not the shaheed’s duty — that is fulfilled.

But ours.

What does it mean to be the ones who witnessed the witness?

What is asked of us now — not as mourners, but as the carriers of a testimony that must not die with our tears?

And we will close, God willing, with a remembrance of our beloved shuhada (martyrs) — from the earliest to the most recent — and a supplication that asks God to count us among those who were worthy of their sacrifice.

In the name of the Lord of the Martyrs and Truthful, let us begin.

Point 1: The Significance of Forty

Tonight is not an ordinary gathering.

It is an arba’een.

And before we speak about the shaheed (martyr), before we speak about our duty, I want us to understand what that word means — what the number forty does in the vocabulary of God.

Because forty is not arbitrary.

It is not a cultural convention.

It is not something our scholars invented.

It is a number that appears again and again — in the Qur’an, in the Sunnah, in the traditions of every prophet — and every single time it appears, it marks the same thing: a threshold.

A boundary between what was and what must now be.

A crucible in which something is either transformed or exposed.

Let me show you what I mean.

Moses (Musa) on the Mountain

God says in Surah Al-A’raf:

وَوَاعَدْنَا مُوسَىٰ ثَلَاثِينَ لَيْلَةً وَأَتْمَمْنَاهَا بِعَشْرٍ فَتَمَّ مِيقَاتُ رَبِّهِ أَرْبَعِينَ لَيْلَةً

“And We appointed for Moses thirty nights and completed them with ten, so the term of his Lord was completed as forty nights.”

— Qur’an, Surah Al-A’raf (the Chapter of the Heights) #7, Verse 142

Forty nights on the mountain.

Not thirty.

Not fifty.

Forty.

And notice — God did not give him the Tablets on the first night.

He did not reveal the divine speech on the tenth night, or the twentieth.

The Tablets came at the end of the forty.

The entire period was preparation.

Refinement.

Purification.

Moses — peace and blessings be upon him — a prophet already chosen, already spoken to at the burning bush, already entrusted with the mission to Pharaoh — even he needed forty nights of preparation before he was ready to receive the fullness of divine guidance.

The forty was not waiting.

The forty was becoming.

And here is what we often miss about this story:

While Moses was on the mountain being transformed, his people — down below — were being exposed.

They could not endure the forty.

They could not hold their faith for forty nights without their prophet in front of them.

And so they turned to the calf.

The same forty that refined Moses revealed the weakness of those who could not endure it.

Hold that thought.

We will return to it.

The Prophet at Forty

Our Prophet — peace and blessings be upon him, his family and righteous companions — received his first revelation and was formally appointed as the Messenger of God at the age of forty.

This is universally agreed upon across both Shia and Sunni traditions — there is no dispute on this point whatsoever.

Al-Ya’qubi records it in his Tarikh, his compendium on History.

Allamah al-Majlisi dedicates extensive narrations to it in volume 18 of Bihar al-Anwar.

Ayatullah Ja’far Subhani, in his masterful biography of the Prophet, titled The Message — discusses it in careful detail in the chapter on the first revelation.

Our tradition is highly specific about when this happened.

The Be’that — the formal appointment, the beginning of the prophetic mission — took place on the 27th of Rajab, in the Cave of Hira.

The Sunni traditions often place the first revelation in the month of Ramadhan, and our scholars have explained this distinction with precision: the mission itself, the appointment, began on the 27th of Rajab with the first verses of Surah Al-Alaq — the Chapter of the Clot —

ٱقۡرَأۡ بِٱسۡمِ رَبِّكَ ٱلَّذِي خَلَقَ

Read in the Name of your Lord who created;

— Qur’an, Surah al-Alaq (the Chapter of the Clot) #96, Verse 1

— while the complete, holistic reality of the Qur’an descended upon the Prophet’s heart later, during Laylat al-Qadr (the night of Destiny) in Ramadan, before being revealed piecemeal over the next twenty-three years.

But the point for us tonight is this: it happened at forty.

Not before.

Not after.

Forty years he lived among the people of Makkah.

Forty years of watching.

Forty years of witnessing their idolatry, their injustice, their burying of daughters, their worship of stone.

He would retreat to the Cave of Hira — year after year — in solitude, in contemplation, in a turning toward God that deepened with every passing season.

And all the while, the vessel was being shaped.

The forge was doing its work.

And when the vessel was ready — when the forty years of preparation had reached their completion — then came Gabriel.

Then came “Read”.

Then came the revelation that would reshape the world.

And here I want to share with you something extraordinary — a firsthand account of that moment from none other than Amir al-Mu’mineen, Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib, peace and blessings be upon him.

In Sermon 192 of Nahj al-Balagha — known as the Sermon of al-Qasi’ah — Imam Ali describes being present. He says:

وَلَقَدْ كَانَ يُجَاوِرُ فِي كُلِّ سَنَةٍ بِحِرَاءَ، فَأَرَاهُ وَلَا يَرَاهُ غَيْرِي

“Every year he used to go in seclusion to the hill of Hira, where I saw him but no one else saw him.”

Pause on that.

Imam Ali was there.

Not as a passive bystander — as the one companion who was granted access to these retreats.

And then he describes the moment of revelation:

وَلَقَدْ سَمِعْتُ رَنَّةَ الشَّيْطَانِ حِينَ نَزَلَ الْوَحْيُ عَلَيْهِ (صلى الله عليه وآله)، فَقُلْتُ: يَا رَسُولَ اللَّهِ مَا هَذِهِ الرَّنَّةُ؟ فَقَالَ: هَذَا الشَّيْطَانُ قَدْ أَيِسَ مِنْ عِبَادَتِهِ. إِنَّكَ تَسْمَعُ مَا أَسْمَعُ، وَتَرَى مَا أَرَى، إِلَّا أَنَّكَ لَسْتَ بِنَبِيٍّ، وَلَكِنَّكَ لَوَزِيرٌ

“I heard the moan of Satan when the revelation descended upon him. I said, ‘O Messenger of God, what is this moan?’ And he replied, ‘This is Satan, who has lost all hope of being worshipped. O Ali, you see all that I see and you hear all that I hear, except that you are not a Prophet.’”

— Imam Ali, Nahj al-Balagha, Sermon 192, compiled by Sharif al-Radi

Two things to note here.

First — and this is a point our scholars emphasise with great care — the Prophet was not frightened.

He was not confused.

He did not doubt his sanity or question what was happening to him.

Our tradition firmly rejects any suggestion of this.

The Prophet had been prepared — by forty years of divine refinement — for exactly this moment.

He received the revelation with absolute certainty, with complete readiness.

The forty had done its work.

And second — the moan of Satan.

When the forty is completed, when the transformation reaches its fulfilment, the forces of falsehood know.

They feel it.

They lose hope.

That moan is the sound of an entire age of darkness realising that its time is ending.

Prophethood did not come to a youth in haste.

It came to a man who had been forged — quietly, patiently, over four decades — into someone capable of carrying the weight of the final message.

The forty was the forge.

And what emerged from that forge shook the throne of every tyrant from Makkah to the empires beyond.

The Hadith of Forty Days

And then there is this — a tradition from the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, his family and righteous companions, that goes to the very heart of what the number forty means for the human soul:

مَنْ أَخْلَصَ لِلَّهِ أَرْبَعِينَ يَوْمًا ظَهَرَتْ يَنَابِيعُ الْحِكْمَةِ مِنْ قَلْبِهِ عَلَىٰ لِسَانِهِ

“Whoever dedicates himself sincerely to God for forty days, the springs of wisdom will appear from his heart upon his tongue.”

— Ibn Fahd al-Hilli in Uddat al-Da’i wa Najah al-Sa’i; Allamah Majlisi, Bihar al-Anwar, Volume 67; Muhsin Faydh al-Kashani, Al-Wafi; Abu Nu’aym al-Isfahani, Hilyat al-Awliya, Al-Ghazali, Ihya Ulum al-Din

You will sometimes find this narrated with a slight variation — arba’eena sabahan, forty mornings, rather than arba’eena yawman, forty days — but the core meaning is identical.

Now, a word about this hadith for those of you who are students of the tradition — because I think it is important to be precise about what we are citing and on what authority.

In our tradition, this hadith is recorded by Ibn Fahd al-Hilli in Uddat al-Da’i wa Najah al-Sa’i — one of the great classical works on supplication and spiritual discipline.

From there, Allamah al-Majlisi transmits it in Bihar al-Anwar, volume 67.

Mulla Muhsin al-Fayd al-Kashani also records it in Al-Wafi.

In the Sunni tradition, it appears in Abu Nu’aym al-Isfahani’s Hilyat al-Awliya’ and is cited prominently by Imam al-Ghazali in the Ihya’ Ulum al-Din.

Now — I want to be transparent, because scholarship demands transparency.

From the strict perspective of hadith chain analysis — ilm al-rijal — the chains of transmission for this specific wording carry technical weakness.

In the Sunni tradition, scholars like al-Suyuti have graded it as da’if — weak —due to an interrupted transmission between Makhul and Abu Ayyub al-Ansari.

In our own tradition, one of the primary chains passes through Darim ibn Qabisah, whose reliability is not firmly established in the biographical dictionaries of al-Najashi.

So the chain is discussed.

That is the honest assessment.

But — and this is crucial — you will be hard-pressed to find a single Shia scholar of akhlaq or irfan who dismisses this hadith.

And the reason is this: the matn — the meaning, the content, the substance of what is being said — is universally accepted.

Not merely accepted — tested.

The great masters of our spiritual tradition — Mulla Sadra, Allamah Tabatabai, Imam Khomeini — they did not merely quote this hadith.

They lived it.

They practised the arba’iniyyah — the forty-day spiritual retreat of utter sincerity — and they found the Prophet’s promise to be a literal reality.

The springs of wisdom appeared.

The heart was unlocked.

The tongue was opened.

This is what our scholars call spiritual empiricism — the truth of the hadith is not only in its chain but in its result.

Generation after generation of wayfarers on the path to God have tested this forty-day threshold and found it to be exactly as the Prophet described.

And this is entirely consistent with the Qur’an itself.

God tells us in Surah Al-Ankabut — the Chapter of the Spider:

وَالَّذِينَ جَاهَدُوا فِينَا لَنَهْدِيَنَّهُمْ سُبُلَنَا

“And those who strive for Us — We will surely guide them to Our paths.”

— Qur’an, Surah Al-Ankabut (the Chapter of the Spider) #29, Verse 69

The principle is the same: sincerity of effort, over a sustained period, produces divine guidance.

The hadith of forty days gives this principle a specific frame — a measurable commitment, a defined threshold.

Forty days of ikhlas — sincerity.

Forty days of genuine turning.

And what emerges on the other side is not what went in.

And notice — when Imam Khomeini, may God rest his pure soul, taught this hadith to his students, he was building the spiritual foundations of a revolution.

The same revolution whose torch was carried for decades by our beloved Imam Khamenei.

There is a line — quiet but unbroken — between the mystic’s forty-day retreat and the shaheed’s forty-day arba’een.

Both are crucibles.

Both demand sincerity.

Both promise transformation.

So this is the key to understanding what an arba’een truly is.

It is not merely a mourning period.

It is not simply the custom of waiting forty days before holding a memorial.

It is a spiritual threshold — divinely appointed — in which transformation is not just possible but promised to the one who endures it with sincerity.

The scholars have tested it.

The mystics have walked it.

The Prophet — peace and blessings be upon him, his family and righteous companions — guaranteed it.

If you have spent these forty days — since the martyrdom of our leader, since the killing of the girls of Minab — if you have spent them in sincere grief, sincere reflection, sincere turning toward God, then something should have changed in you by now.

The springs should be flowing.

Wisdom should be appearing where before there was only anguish.

And if nothing has changed — then the forty is asking you why.

Forty Across the Traditions of the Prophets

And it is not only in our tradition.

The number forty echoes across the entire history of divine guidance — because the God who appointed it is One, and His methods are consistent.

Noah (Nuh) — peace and blessings be upon him — and the flood.

The rain fell for forty days and forty nights.

After the forty, the old world was gone — annihilated, washed clean.

A new world stood in its place.

The forty was not merely the duration of a storm.

It was the span required for a complete renewal — for the corruption to be washed away entirely and for something new to emerge from the water.

The Biblical tradition preserves this number in the book of Genesis; the Qur’an speaks of the flood itself, and the message is the same: the forty is the instrument of total transformation.

Jesus (Isa) — peace and blessings be upon him, and may God hasten his return — the son of Maryam — peace and blessings be upon her, spent forty days in the wilderness in fasting and solitude before he began his public mission.

The Gospel accounts in Matthew and Luke both record this.

Forty days of preparation — not retreat from the world, but preparation to re-enter it as something different from what he was before.

The wilderness did not weaken him.

It sharpened him.

It burned away everything that was not essential, and what remained was ready for the mission.

And Bani Isra’il — the children of Israel — wandered for forty years in the desert.

God tells us in Surah Al-Ma’idah — the Chapter of the Table Spread:

قَالَ فَإِنَّهَا مُحَرَّمَةٌ عَلَيْهِمْ ۛ أَرْبَعِينَ سَنَةً ۛ يَتِيهُونَ فِي الْأَرْضِ

“He said: Then it is forbidden to them for forty years; they shall wander in the earth.”

— Qur’an, Surah Al-Ma’idah (the Chapter of the Table Spread) #5, Verse26

Forty years.

An entire generation had to pass — the generation that was too afraid to enter the holy land, too compromised by its own weakness — before a new generation, forged in the desert, was ready to inherit the promise.

Do you see the pattern?

Across every tradition, every prophet, every dispensation — forty marks the boundary between before and after.

It is the threshold between the person you were and the person you are being asked to become.

Between the community that grieved and the community that rises.

Between the tears and the testimony.

The question that every arba’een places before those who observe it is this: which side of the boundary are you on?

Have you crossed it?

Or are you still standing at the threshold, mourning but unchanged, weeping but unwilling to move?

The Arba’een of Imam Husayn: The Paradigm

And nowhere is this clearer — nowhere is the transformative power of the forty more visible — than in the Arba’een of Imam Husayn, peace and blessings be upon him.

The fortieth day after Ashura.

The day when two things happened that changed the meaning of Karbala forever.

The first: Jabir ibn Abdullah al-Ansari — the companion of the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, his family and his righteous companions — arrived at the grave of Imam Husayn.

He was old.

He was blind.

He had crossed the desert to reach a grave in a land of desolation. And he became the first za’ir — the first pilgrim — to visit the resting place of the master of martyrs.

His journey is recorded by Ibn Quluwayh al-Qummi in Kamil al-Ziyarat, one of our earliest and most authoritative sources.

Think about what that means.

A blind old man, crossing the desert, to stand at a grave.

Why?

Because the forty had done its work on him.

The forty had transformed his grief into obligation.

He could not merely mourn from afar.

He had to go.

He had to be present.

He had to bear witness with his body, even if his eyes could no longer see.

That is what the forty does.

It will not let you sit still.

The second: the Ahlul Bayt — the surviving family of Imam Husayn — returned to Karbala from their captivity in Sham.

Led by Sayyedah Zaynab, and Imam Zayn al-Abidin, peace and blessings be upon them both, they came back to the place of slaughter.

This is recorded by Sayyed Ibn Tawus in Luhuf (Al-Malhuf ala Qatla al-Tufuf ( — The Sorrowful Sighs for the Martyrs of the Banks of the Euphrates) — though some historians discuss the precise dating, the tradition is powerful and deeply rooted.

And notice what happens at the Arba’een.

The mourning does not end — but it transforms.

The tears do not stop — but they take on a new purpose.

The survivors do not retreat into private grief.

They begin the work of testimony. Sayyedah Zaynab — who we will speak more about later tonight, God willing — does not weep in silence.

She speaks.

She testifies.

She takes the blood of her brother and makes it speak to the world.

The Arba’een of Imam Husayn is the moment when tragedy becomes movement.

When grief becomes revolution.

When the mourner becomes a witness.

And that is the model for every arba’een that has followed since.

Including this one.

The Arba’een of Imam Sayyed Ali al-Khamenei: Our Threshold

So here we are.

Forty days have passed.

Forty days since the martyrdom of Imam Sayyed Ali al-Husayni al-Khamenei — may God elevate his station and accept his sacrifice.

Forty days since the girls of Minab — young, bright, full of life and hope and future — were taken from their schoolhouse by the bombs of an empire that has lost every claim to moral authority it ever pretended to hold.

Forty days.

The same span that refined Moses on the mountain.

The same span that prepared Jesus in the wilderness.

The same span that separated the generation of fear from the generation of promise.

The same span that turned the mourning of Karbala into the movement that still shakes the thrones of the oppressors fourteen centuries later.

And the question the forty now puts to us is the same question it has always put to those who stand at its threshold:

Have these forty days changed you?

Have they sharpened something in you?

Have the springs of wisdom begun to flow?

Or have you merely endured them — counted the days, attended the gatherings, posted your tributes, and returned to the same life you were living before their blood was spilled?

Because the forty does not merely invite transformation.

As we saw with the people of Moses — with those who could not endure forty nights without turning to the calf — the forty also exposes.

It exposes who was sincere and who was not.

Who was truly shaken and who was only briefly moved.

Who will cross the threshold and who will remain standing at it, mourning without motion, grieving without growth.

Lesson for Today

The forty days have not been given to us for passive grief.

They are a crucible — a divine instrument of transformation.

The question this arba’een puts to every one of us tonight is this:

And here is my challenge to you — not as something abstract, but as something concrete, something you take with you when you leave this gathering tonight.

Commit to the next forty days.

Not forty days of mourning — that time has passed, and it has done its work.

Forty days of transformation.

Pick one thing — a practice, a commitment, a study, a change in habit — and dedicate the next forty days to it.

In the name of our shuhada.

In honour of their blood.

Perhaps it is a study — committing to read and understand one book of substance, one work that deepens your knowledge of your faith, your history, your responsibility.

Perhaps it is a practice — a prayer you have been neglecting, a discipline you have let slip, a relationship with God that has grown distant.

Perhaps it is a stand — a commitment to speak where you have been silent, to stop looking away from the injustice that the shuhada gave their lives to expose.

Whatever it is — make it specific.

Make it real.

And dedicate it to them.

Because the arba’een is not an ending.

It is not the last day of mourning.

It is the first day of whatever comes next.

And what comes next is up to you.

Point 2: The Shaheed as Witness

We have spoken about the forty — what it means, what it demands, what it transforms.

Now I want to turn to the one whose blood marks the beginning of this forty.

The shaheed.

We use this word constantly.

Every time a believer falls — in Gaza, in Lebanon, in Iran, in Iraq — we say shaheed.

We say it with love.

We say it with grief.

We say it with honour.

But I want us to pause tonight and ask:

Because the word shaheed does not mean what most people think it means.

And understanding what it actually means will change everything about how we understand what happened forty days ago — and what is being asked of us now.

The Word Itself

The Arabic root is ش-ه-د — shin, ha, dal.

And from this single root come three meanings that are so intertwined they cannot be separated.

The great lexicographers — Ibn Manzur in Lisan al-Arab, al-Raghib al-Isfahani in his Mufradat Alfaz al-Qur’an — they lay these meanings out with a precision that takes your breath away.

The first meaning: shahida — to witness.

To be present.

To see something with your own eyes, to observe it directly.

The second meaning: shahida — to testify.

To bear witness.

To stand up and declare what you have seen.

The third meaning — and this is where the depth lies — shaheed, the form fa’eel in Arabic, carries both an active and a passive sense simultaneously.

The shaheed is the one who witnesses — who saw the truth so clearly, so completely, that they could not do anything but stand for it.

And the shaheed is the one who is witnessed — witnessed by God, seen by Him, known by Him, received by Him.

So when we call someone a shaheed, we are not saying: this person died.

We are not even saying: this person died bravely, or this person died for a cause.

We are saying something far more profound.

We are saying: this person saw.

They saw the truth — about God, about justice, about the nature of this world and the next — and what they saw was so overwhelming, so undeniable, that their entire being became a testimony to it.

Their life became a testimony.

And when their life was taken, their death became a testimony — louder, clearer, more permanent than anything they could have said while breathing.

The shaheed is not named for how they died.

The shaheed is named for what they saw — and for what their death now makes visible to the rest of us.

And I want you to notice something.

The English word “martyr” comes from the Greek martys — and it also means “witness.”

The same concept, across languages, across civilisations.

But in common Western usage, the word has lost its force.

A martyr, in the modern Western imagination, is someone who suffered.

Someone who was victimised.

There is a passivity to it — a sense that the martyr is defined by what was done to them.

In the Qur’anic usage, the opposite is true.

The shaheed is defined not by what was done to them, but by what they did.

They testified.

They bore witness.

Their death was not an ending — it was the opening statement in a trial that is still ongoing, a trial in which the oppressor stands accused and the shaheed’s blood is the evidence.

The First Shaheed: Habil at the Hands of Qabil

And this chain of testimony begins at the very beginning.

God tells us in Surah Al-Ma’idah — the Chapter of the Table Spread:

وَاتْلُ عَلَيْهِمْ نَبَأَ ابْنَيْ آدَمَ بِالْحَقِّ إِذْ قَرَّبَا قُرْبَانًا فَتُقُبِّلَ مِنْ أَحَدِهِمَا وَلَمْ يُتَقَبَّلْ مِنَ الْآخَرِ قَالَ لَأَقْتُلَنَّكَ ۖ قَالَ إِنَّمَا يَتَقَبَّلُ اللَّهُ مِنَ الْمُتَّقِينَ لَئِن بَسَطتَ إِلَيَّ يَدَكَ لِتَقْتُلَنِي مَا أَنَا بِبَاسِطٍ يَدِيَ إِلَيْكَ لِأَقْتُلَكَ ۖ إِنِّي أَخَافُ اللَّهَ رَبَّ الْعَالَمِينَ

“Recite to them the tale of the two sons of Adam in truth. When each offered a sacrifice, it was accepted from one and not from the other. He said: ‘I will surely kill you.’ He replied: ‘God only accepts from the God-conscious. If you stretch your hand toward me to kill me, I shall not stretch my hand toward you to kill you. Indeed, I fear God, the Lord of the worlds.’”

— Qur’an, Surah Al-Ma’idah (the Chapter of the Table Spread) #5, Verses 27–28

Habil — Abel — the son of Adam.

The first human being to die.

And look at how he died.

His brother said: I will kill you. And Habil’s response was not to fight, not to flee, not to beg.

His response was to testify.

This is the first shahadah in human history.

And notice what it says:

There is a truth that is worth more than my life.

I would rather die holding that truth than live having abandoned it.

Habil did not raise his hand.

Not because he was weak — but because raising his hand would have meant becoming his brother.

And he chose death over that.

He chose to testify — with his refusal, with his body, with his blood — that the way of God is not the way of violence, that submission to God means refusing to become the oppressor even when the oppressor is standing over you.

Every shaheed since has repeated this testimony.

In a thousand forms, across a thousand generations, in every land and every language — the same witness.

From Habil to Husayn.

From Husayn to the shuhada of our own time.

The form changes.

The testimony does not.

And in our Muharram sessions this year, God willing, we will walk this entire chain together.

From the first shaheed — the son of Adam who would not raise his hand — to the latest.

From Habil to the schoolgirls of Minab who never even had the chance to raise theirs.

We will trace this line of blood-testimony that runs through the whole of human history and ask: what is it saying?

What has it always been saying?

And what does it demand of those who hear it?

That is for Muharram, God willing.

But tonight, I want to plant the seed — because what we are discussing now is the root from which that entire series will grow.

The Qur’an Corrects Our Perception

Now let us return to our anchoring verse — but this time, I want to bring in a companion verse from Surah Al-Baqarah — the Chapter of the Cow — that sharpens the point even further.

God says:

وَلَا تَقُولُوا لِمَن يُقْتَلُ فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ أَمْوَاتٌ ۚ بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ وَلَٰكِن لَّا تَشْعُرُونَ

“And do not say of those who are killed in the way of God, ‘They are dead.’ Rather, they are alive, but you perceive it not.”

— Qur’an, Surah Al-Baqarah (the Chapter of the Cow) #2, Verse 154

I want you to notice the verb.

This is a command.

This is a correction.

God is not offering comfort to the grieving.

He is correcting an error in how we see reality.

He is saying: when you look at the shaheed and you see death, you are wrong. You are perceiving something incorrectly.

The problem is not with the shaheed.

The problem is with us.

With our eyes.

With our categories.

We see a body and we think: finished.

We see blood and we think: loss.

We see a grave and we think: absence.

And God says:

The shaheed is alive.

And not alive in some diminished, metaphorical sense.

The verse in Surah Aal Imran tells us they are receiving provision — yurzaqun.

They are rejoicing — farihin.

They are receiving glad tidings — yastabshirun.

This is not the language of metaphor.

This is the language of a reality more real than the one we are standing in.

And here is the point I want you to carry with you: a living person can be pressured.

A living person can be threatened.

A living person can be bought, or broken, or silenced, or compromised.

A shaheed cannot.

A shaheed’s testimony is sealed.

It is final.

It is incorruptible.

No intelligence service can interrogate it.

No sanctions can weaken it.

No propaganda can distort it.

No assassination can end it — because the assassination is the testimony.

That is why empires fear martyrs.

Not because of what they did in life — but because of what they become in death.

The shaheed is the one witness the empire cannot cross-examine, cannot discredit, cannot make disappear.

The blood speaks.

And it does not stop speaking.

Two Testimonies, One Truth

And now I want to bring this to our present moment.

Because we are not here tonight to discuss martyrdom in the abstract.

We are here because specific human beings — people we knew, people we loved, people we followed — have entered this station.

And their blood is speaking to us right now.

I want to place two testimonies before you tonight.

They look different on the surface.

The world would categorise them differently.

But I want to show you that they are saying exactly the same thing.

The First Testimony: Imam Sayyed Ali al-Husayni al-Khamenei.

A lifetime of scholarship.

A lifetime of service.

Decades of carrying the weight of the wilayah on his shoulders — through an eight-year war that should have broken Iran, through sanctions designed to strangle a nation, through internal dissent and external pressure from every direction, through the assassinations of his brothers and his generals, through betrayals and conspiracies that would have crushed anyone of lesser resolve.

And through all of it — steadfast.

Through all of it — upright.

Through all of it — testifying.

Testifying that the project of Islamic governance is real, that it is possible, that it is worth defending with everything you have.

Testifying that resistance to empire is not a tactic to be abandoned when the cost gets too high — it is a covenant.

Testifying that the wilayah will not bend, will not kneel, will not negotiate away the blood of its martyrs for the comfort of a truce with the oppressor.

And then — after decades of this testimony, at the apex of his life’s work — he was taken.

Shaheed.

His blood joined the river that flows from Karbala to Minab to wherever the next testimony will be written.

His shahadah says:

The Second Testimony: The Girls of Minab.

Young.

At the very beginning of their lives.

Not on a battlefield — in a schoolhouse.

Not carrying weapons — carrying books.

Not making political statements — learning. Growing.

Looking forward to a future that was supposed to belong to them.

And then the bombs came.

The machinery of empire — the same empire that calls itself civilised, that lectures the world about human rights, that wraps its violence in the language of precision and necessity — dropped its ordnance on a school.

And those girls were taken.

Not because of anything they did.

Not because of any choice they made.

But because they existed — in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong country, under the wrong flag — in the eyes of an empire that has decided that Iranian lives are expendable.

They did not choose the battlefield.

The battlefield was brought to them.

They did not volunteer for shahadah.

Shahadah was imposed upon them.

And yet — and this is the profound and devastating truth — their testimony is no less powerful for being unchosen.

In some ways, it is more powerful.

Because the innocence of the shaheedat of Minab strips the empire of every excuse, every justification, every carefully constructed narrative about “strategic targets” and “acceptable losses.”

Their shahadah says:

Now — the world looks at these two testimonies and sees different categories.

The aged leader and the young students.

The political and the civilian.

The deliberate and the “collateral.”

But shahadah makes them one.

The root is the same.

The witness is the same.

Both testified — one with a lifetime of words and deeds, the other with a silence that screams louder than any speech — that this empire’s violence is illegitimate, and that standing in its path is itself an act of truth.

And here is the proof that the Qur’an is not speaking in metaphor when it says bal ahya’.

Look at what has happened in these forty days.

Look at what the blood of the shaheedat of Minab has done to the empire that spilled it.

It has become a catalyst.

It is shaking foundations that decades of diplomacy and negotiation could not shake.

The testimony of those girls — their innocence, their youth, the sheer obscenity of what was done to them — has pierced through every firewall of propaganda and reached the conscience of the world.

The empire meant to terrorise.

Instead, it testified against itself.

It handed the prosecution its most devastating exhibit.

The blood of the shaheed is a truth serum — and the empire was forced to swallow it.

بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ

They are alive with their Lord, receiving provision.

— Qur’an, Surah Aal Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 169

They are alive.

And their testimony is working.

The Grammar of Witness: From the Ziyarat Arba’een

And so we come back — as we always do — to Imam Husayn.

Because every shahadah in history is a footnote to Karbala, and every arba’een is a reflection of the first.

From the Ziyarat Arba’een — attributed to Imam al-Sadiq, peace and blessings be upon on, transmitted through Safwan al-Jammal, and recorded in Kamil al-Ziyarat by Ibn Quluwayh and in Mafatih al-Jinan by Shaykh Abbas al-Qummi — we recite these words:

أَشْهَدُ أَنَّكَ قَدْ أَقَمْتَ الصَّلَاةَ وَآتَيْتَ الزَّكَاةَ وَأَمَرْتَ بِالْمَعْرُوفِ وَنَهَيْتَ عَنِ الْمُنكَرِ وَأَطَعْتَ اللَّهَ وَرَسُولَهُ حَتَّىٰ أَتَاكَ الْيَقِينُ

“I bear witness that you established the prayer, gave the zakat, enjoined the good, forbade the evil, and obeyed God and His Messenger until certainty came to you.”

— Ziyarat Arba’een

I want you to hear the verb.

Not:

Not:

Not:

When we recite this ziyarah — and we will recite a ziyarah together at the end of this programme tonight — we are not performing an act of nostalgia.

We are not simply paying our respects to someone who died a long time ago.

We are entering the chain of witness.

We are adding our voices to the testimony.

The shaheed testified with their blood.

We testify with our words — ashhadu.

With our presence — we are here, tonight, forty days on, and we have not forgotten.

With our commitment — we say: you established the prayer, you enjoined the good, you forbade the evil, and we see it, we affirm it, we carry it forward.

The grammar of the ziyarah does not allow passivity.

The word ashhadu makes us participants.

It makes us witnesses.

It pulls us out of the audience and into the courtroom.

And once you are in the courtroom, once you have said ashhadu, you cannot pretend you did not see what you saw.

Which brings us to the question — and this is where our session turns for the final time, God willing.

Lesson for Today

The shaheed’s testimony is not complete until someone receives it.

A witness who speaks to an empty courtroom has testified — yes — but justice requires a jury.

The testimony requires someone to hear it, to weigh it, to act upon it.

Tonight, you are the jury.

The blood of Imam Khamenei.

The blood of the girls of Minab.

The blood of Hajj Qassem.

The blood of Hajj Emad.

The blood of Sayyed Hassan.

The blood of Sayyed Hashem.

The blood of every shaheed in this unbroken chain that stretches from Habil to this very night — it has been presented as evidence.

It has been placed before you.

You have heard it.

You have seen it.

You have wept over it.

The question is not whether you heard the testimony.

You did.

You are here.

You heard it.

The question is:

Because a jury that hears the evidence and then goes home and does nothing — that is not a jury.

That is a spectator.

And the blood of the shaheed was not spilled for spectators.

Learn their names.

Learn their stories.

When the empire’s media erases them — when it calls its bombs “precision strikes” and its victims “collateral damage” and its wars “operations” — your duty, your minimum duty, the floor beneath which you cannot fall, is to say their names and tell the truth of what happened.

This is the most basic act of witness.

And even this — even this small thing — the empire fears.

Because the empire’s power depends on your silence.

And the shaheed’s testimony depends on your voice.

Point 3: The Duty of the Witness

So now we come to it.

The question that this entire evening has been building toward.

We have spoken about the forty — the crucible that transforms or exposes.

We have spoken about the shaheed — the one who sees the truth and testifies to it with their blood.

And now we must speak about ourselves.

Because there is a word we have not yet addressed tonight.

We have spoken about the shaheed — the one who testifies.

But the Arabic root gives us another word, equally important, equally binding:

The shaheed is the one who testifies with their life.

The shahid is the one who witnesses the testimony.

The one who was there.

The one who saw.

The one who heard.

That is us.

We witnessed the martyrdom of our leader.

We witnessed the killing of the girls of Minab.

We saw the images.

We heard the news.

We felt the blow.

And by witnessing it — whether we chose to or not — we entered the chain.

We became shahid.

Witnesses.

And with that word comes a duty that we cannot escape — not by grief, not by silence, not by pretending we did not see what we saw.

The shaheed has spoken.

Their testimony is sealed.

It is complete.

It is incorruptible.

The question now is:

The Paradigm: Sayyedah Zaynab — The First Transmitter

To understand our duty, we must go back to the one who defined it.

The one who stood at the very first crossroads between grief and testimony and chose — against every pressure, every threat, every instinct of self-preservation — to speak.

Sayyedah Zaynab, peace and blessings be upon her.

After Karbala, everything invited silence.

Imam Husayn and his companions had given everything.

The men were slain.

The tents were burned.

The family of the Prophet — the women, the children, Imam Zayn al-Abidin who was barely alive with fever — were chained and dragged from Karbala to Kufa, from Kufa to Sham.

Every circumstance said:

Sayyedah Zaynab refused all of it.

In the court of Ibn Ziyad in Kufa — she spoke.

In the streets, as the people watched the captives pass — she spoke.

And then, in the palace of Yazid himself, in the capital of the empire that had just murdered her brother, she stood — a woman in chains, in the seat of power of the most powerful man in the world — and she said:

أَظَنَنْتَ يَا يَزِيدُ حَيْثُ أَخَذْتَ عَلَيْنَا أَقْطَارَ الْأَرْضِ وَآفَاقَ السَّمَاءِ فَأَصْبَحْنَا نُسَاقُ كَمَا تُسَاقُ الْأُسَارَى أَنَّ بِنَا هَوَانًا عَلَى اللَّهِ وَبِكَ عَلَيْهِ كَرَامَةً

“Do you think, O Yazid, that by closing in on us from every direction of the earth and horizon of the sky, and by driving us like captives, that we are humiliated before God and that you are honoured before Him?”

And then — and these words should burn themselves into our hearts:

فَوَاللَّهِ لَا تَمْحُو ذِكْرَنَا وَلَا تُمِيتُ وَحْيَنَا

“By God, you shall never erase our memory, nor shall you extinguish our revelation.”

— Sayyedah Zaynab, as transmitted in Al-Ihtijaj by al-Tabarsi, Volume 2; Balaghat al-Nisa’ by Ibn Tayfur; and Bihar al-Anwar by Allamah al-Majlisi, Volume 45.

Fourteen centuries have passed.

And what is the verdict?

Has Yazid erased their memory?

Has any Yazid — in any age, in any form — managed to extinguish the revelation of Prophet Muhammad that Imam Husayn died to protect?

The answer stands in every majlis, in every arba’een procession, in every tear shed for Karbala from Najaf to London to Jakarta to São Paulo.

The answer is walking through the streets of Iraq every year — twenty million strong.

The answer is sitting in this room tonight.

Sayyedah Zaynab was right.

And she was right because she did not merely believe the testimony would survive — she ensured it.

She became the vehicle.

She became the transmitter.

She took the blood of Imam Husayn and translated it into a voice that the empire could not silence — a voice that echoes still, a voice that will echo until the return of the Imam of our time.

This is what it means to be a witness.

Not to watch.

Not to mourn.

To transmit.

To take the testimony of the shaheed and carry it — through your voice, through your actions, through your life — into the world.

And this is our model.

This is the standard we are measured against.

Not:

But:

Every generation needs its Sayyedah Zaynab.

Someone who receives the testimony and refuses to let it die in private grief.

Someone who speaks when the empire demands silence.

Someone who stands in the court of the oppressor — whatever form that court takes in their time — and says:

The question is whether this generation — our generation — will produce its Zaynabs.

Or whether we will be the ones who wept and then went home.

The Three Duties: Dhikr, Shahadah, Amal

Let me give you a framework.

Because duty, to be real, must be specific.

It must have steps.

It must be something you can measure yourself against.

I want to present three levels of obligation — three tiers of what it means to be a witness.

Each one builds on the one before.

Each one is necessary.

And each one demands more than the last.

The First Duty: ذِكْر — Dhikr — Remembrance

The most basic obligation of the witness:

Imam al-Sadiq, peace and blessings be upon him, said:

أَحْيُوا أَمْرَنَا رَحِمَ اللَّهُ مَنْ أَحْيَا أَمْرَنَا

“Keep our cause alive. May God have mercy on the one who keeps our cause alive.”

— Narrated in Wasail al-Shi’a by Shaykh al-Hurr al-Amili, Vol. 14; also in Amali of Shaykh al-Saduq.

Ihya’ amrina — keep our cause alive.

This is not passive nostalgia.

This is not putting up a poster once a year and feeling you have done your part.

The verb is ihya’ — to give life, to vivify, to make alive.

It is an active, ongoing, relentless commitment to ensuring that the memory of the shaheed remains alive in the hearts and minds of the community and the world.

And this is what we are doing tonight.

This gathering — this arba’een — is an act of dhikr.

The noha — lamentation hymn — that our brother Abdullah will share with us tonight, the tribute that our dear sister Roberta has prepared, the documentary that sister Fatema has made, the poems and words that members of this community will offer — all of this is dhikr.

All of this is ihya’.

All of this is keeping the cause alive.

And it matters.

It matters enormously.

Because the empire’s first strategy is always erasure.

Before it lies about the shaheed, it tries to make you forget them entirely.

It floods the news cycle.

It buries yesterday’s atrocity under today’s distraction.

It makes the twenty-four-hour news wheel turn so fast that the blood of last month’s martyrs is dry before anyone has time to ask what happened.

Dhikr is the refusal to let that happen.

It is the act of stopping the wheel.

Of saying: no.

We will not move on.

We will not forget.

We will say their names.

This is the floor.

It is necessary.

It is noble.

But — it is the floor.

Not the ceiling.

The Second Duty: شَهَادَة — Shahadah — Testimony

The intermediate obligation:

God says in Surah Al-Baqarah:

وَلَا تَكْتُمُوا الشَّهَادَةَ ۚ وَمَن يَكْتُمْهَا فَإِنَّهُ آثِمٌ قَلْبُهُ

“And do not conceal testimony. Whoever conceals it — his heart is indeed sinful.”

— Qur’an, Surah Al-Baqarah (the Chapter of the Cow) #2, Verse 283

Listen to the weight of this verse.

Do not suppress.

Do not bury.

The verb katama means to hide, to keep secret, to swallow down.

And the consequence?

Not his tongue.

Not his hand.

His heart.

The concealment of testimony corrupts the witness from the inside out.

Now — this verse is typically discussed in the context of legal testimony, of bearing witness in a court.

But its principle is universal, and tonight I want us to feel its universality.

Because we have witnessed something.

We have seen what happened to our leader.

We have seen what happened to the girls of Minab.

We have seen what this empire does in the dark while it lectures the world about light.

And the verse says:

If you have seen this, and you conceal it — if you remain silent when the truth requires your voice — then your heart is sinning.

Silence, in the face of what we have witnessed, is not neutrality.

It is not wisdom.

It is not pragmatism.

The Qur’an calls it what it is: a sin of the heart.

Shahadah — testimony — means carrying the shaheed’s witness beyond the walls of the majlis and into the world.

It means speaking the truth about what happened — in your conversations, in your communities, on your platforms, in your workplaces, in every space where the empire’s narrative goes unchallenged.

When the empire calls its bombs “precision strikes” — you say: they hit a school.

When the empire calls its victims “collateral damage” — you say their names.

When the empire calls its wars “operations” and its invasions “interventions” — you testify to what you saw.

Because you are a shahid.

You witnessed it.

And the Qur’an has told you: do not conceal what you witnessed.

And I want to share something with you here, because it is relevant and it is real.

Some of you may know that as part of our Truth Promoters network, we maintain a website — themartyr.net — whose sole purpose is exactly this: testimony.

Bearing witness.

Saying their names.

This website was first established years ago, after the martyrdom of Hajj Imad Mughniyeh, may God rest his pure soul.

It was an attempt to do what Sayyedah Zaynab did — to take the testimony of the shaheed and carry it forward, to chronicle their lives, to tell their stories, to ensure that the empire’s erasure machine would not succeed.

For various reasons — lack of support, lack of energy, the difficulties that come with swimming against the current — it went dormant for a period.

But the domain remained.

The seed was in the soil, waiting.

And now, God be praised, it continues.

And I mention this not to promote a website — but because it illustrates something important about shahadah.

The work of testimony is not glamorous.

It is not always met with support.

There are times when you will speak and no one will listen.

There are times when the audience is empty and the response is silence.

There are times when you will be mocked, or ignored, or worse.

But the duty remains.

The verse does not say:

It says:

The shaheed did not ask whether the timing was right before they testified.

The shaheed did not check the analytics.

The shaheed did not wait for a critical mass of support.

They saw the truth, and they spoke — with their blood.

And we are being asked to speak with far less cost.

Just our voices.

Just our presence.

Just our refusal to be silent.

The Third Duty: عَمَل — Amal — Action — Living Testimony

The highest obligation:

This is attributed to Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq, peace and blessings be upon him — and in some transmissions to Imam al-Baqir, peace and blessings be upon him — as narrated in Al-Kafi by Shaykh al-Kulayni, in the chapter on truthfulness, and by Hurr al-Ameli in Was’ail al-Shia in the book of jihad, the chapter on truthfulness and obligation of piety:

كُونُوا دُعَاةً لِلنَّاسِ بِغَيْرِ أَلْسِنَتِكُمْ لِيَرَوْا مِنْكُمُ الِاجْتِهَادَ وَالصِّدْقَ وَالْوَرَعَ

“Be callers to the people without your tongues — let them see from you striving, truthfulness, and piety.”

— Al-Kulayni, Al-Kafi, Volume 2, Chapter on Truthfulness and Returning the Trust, Page 105, Hadith 10; Hurr al-Ameli, Wasa’il al-Shia, Book of Jihad, Chapter on the Obligation of Piety, Volume 15, Page 246, Hadith 20387

Not through speeches.

Not through sermons.

Not through posts and shares and hashtags. Through your life.

Through what people see when they watch you.

Through the striving — al-ijtihad.

The truthfulness — al-sidq.

The piety — al-wara’.

This is the highest form of testimony.

And it is the one that most of us find the hardest — because it does not allow for performance.

It does not allow for the gap between what we say and what we do. It demands that our daily lives — our actual, mundane, ordinary lives — become the evidence.

And this is where the arba’een transformation from Point 1 comes full circle.

Remember what we said: the forty is a crucible.

It does not merely invite change — it demands it.

You entered this forty as a mourner.

The question is:

If Imam Khamenei spent his life building a society grounded in Islamic governance, justice, and resistance to empire — what are you building?

And I don’t mean building a state.

I mean: in your home, in your family, in your workplace, in your community — what are you building?

Is it aligned with the values he died defending?

Or have you compartmentalised him — honouring his memory on Saturday nights and living by a different set of values the rest of the week?

If the girls of Minab went to school because they believed in a future — what future are you working toward?

Are you educating your children with the same hope, the same commitment to knowledge, the same belief that learning matters even when the bombs are falling?

Or have you surrendered your children’s minds to the empire’s entertainment machine and called it pragmatism?

These are not rhetorical questions.

These are the questions that amal — living testimony — demands we answer.

Not with words.

With choices.

With the actual, observable shape of our lives.

What It Means to Be a Witness Today

Let me make this concrete.

Because I do not want anyone to leave tonight thinking this is abstract — thinking this is beautiful theology that applies to someone else, somewhere else, in some other time.

This is about you.

Here.

Now.

Tomorrow morning.

In the age of information warfare — being a shahid means refusing the empire’s framing.

It means catching yourself when you use their language — when you say “conflict” instead of “aggression,” when you say “tensions” instead of “occupation,” when you say “both sides” when there is a bomber and a school.

It means correcting the record, not once in a dramatic moment, but consistently, patiently, in every conversation where the truth is being bent.

In the age of distraction — being a shahid means refusing to let the news cycle bury them.

The empire’s strategy is not always to lie.

Sometimes it is simply to move on.

To flood the feed with the next outrage, the next scandal, the next spectacle, until yesterday’s atrocity feels like ancient history and last month’s martyrs are forgotten.

Your duty is to resist that current.

To be the one who says — no, we are still talking about this.

We are still talking about Minab.

We are still talking about Gaza.

We are still talking about Lebanon.

We have not moved on.

We will not move on.

In the age of helplessness — and this is perhaps the most important — being a shahid means refusing despair.

Because despair is the empire’s most powerful weapon.

More powerful than its bombs, more powerful than its propaganda.

If it can make you believe that nothing will change, that resistance is futile, that the machine is too big and too strong — then it has silenced you more effectively than any censorship ever could.

But the shaheed’s testimony is inherently hopeful.

Think about it.

The shaheed testified because they believed the truth matters.

They gave their life because they believed — with a certainty that survived the approach of death itself — that the truth will prevail.

To despair is to contradict their witness.

To give up is to say: you died for nothing.

And we know — by the Qur’an, by the evidence of history, by the testimony of every shaheed from Habil to tonight — that they did not die for nothing.

So do not despair.

The empire looks strong.

It always looks strong.

Yazid looked strong.

Pharaoh looked strong.

Every oppressor in history looked strong — right up until the moment they didn’t.

And what brought them down was never a bigger army.

It was a testimony that would not die.

It was a people who refused to be silent.

It was a Sayyedah Zaynab who stood in the court and said:

And if you want proof that the testimony is working, you do not need to open a history book.

You need only open your eyes.

Look at what has unfolded in our lifetime.

The people of Gaza — besieged, starved, bombed, caged for decades — chose to no longer be forgotten.

They became their own shahideen.

They made their own amal.

They stood — with almost nothing — against one of the most heavily armed regimes on earth and said:

And they did not stand alone.

Their brethren in Lebanon rose — and gave sacrifices so monumental that history will spend generations reckoning with what Hizbullah offered on the altar of Palestine.

Their brethren in Yemen — a people themselves ravaged by years of war, by the schemes of puppet regimes doing the bidding of the empire and its allies — Yemen, battered and bleeding, stood up and blockaded the sea lanes of the oppressor.

With almost nothing.

Against the mightiest navy in the world.

And they have not blinked.

And Iran. Iran that has borne forty-seven years of crippling sanctions — forty-seven years — simply for refusing to let the Palestinian cause go quietly into the night.

Iran that has buried its generals, its scientists, its leaders — one after another, assassination after assassination — and has not broken.

Iran that is being bombed, as we sit here tonight, by an empire that fires its own generals for warning against war crimes, and whose leader speaks to the world in a language so vulgar, so unhinged, so devoid of any pretence of civilisation, that even those who once called themselves his allies are turning away in disgust.

And when the empire struck the highest branch — when it took from us the Wali al-Faqih himself — what happened?

Did the institution collapse?

Did the project of Islamic governance crumble without its leader, as the empire’s strategists no doubt prayed it would?

No.

Within a week — one week — the Assembly of Experts had appointed Imam Sayyed Mujtaba al-Khamenei as the new leader, the new Wali al-Faqih.

And he has risen to that trust.

He is working.

He is struggling.

He is teaching.

He is standing firm on the path of his father — and the path of his forefathers, the Ahlul Bayt, peace and blessings be upon them all.

The chain did not break.

We said this in The Unbroken Chain, and the evidence stands before us: the wilayah continues, the testimony continues, the resistance continues.

The empire took the man — and the institution answered within days.

That is not weakness.

That is a civilisation that has built something the empire cannot comprehend — because the empire builds on individuals and interests, and the wilayah is built on covenant and divine promise.

Listen to how the empire speaks now.

Not with the measured confidence of the powerful — but with the desperate, flailing obscenity of a bully who can feel the ground shifting beneath him.

That is not the language of strength.

That is the language of an order that is coming apart.

When a man must threaten war crimes openly, when he must scream his threats into the void because his whispered commands no longer produce obedience — that man is not in control.

He is in freefall.

And it is not only the Muslims who see it.

When the leader of over a billion Catholics — the Pope himself — looks at the empire’s ambassador and says:

— something has shifted in the world.

The testimony of the shuhada has reached ears that the empire thought were permanently closed.

Consciences that were meant to stay asleep are waking up.

The witness is spreading — beyond the ummah, beyond the borders the empire built to contain it.

And all the while — and we must never let this slip from our sight, not for a single day — the children of Gaza still starve.

The mothers and fathers and elders of Gaza still endure a genocide that the world watches in real time on its screens and struggles to stop.

The machinery of death has not stopped.

The testimony is not yet complete.

The trial is still in session.

But the verdict is coming.

It is coming because the shaheed’s blood does not dry.

It does not fade.

It does not become yesterday’s news.

It accumulates.

It testifies.

And the courtroom of history has never — not once — returned a final verdict in favour of the oppressor.

So do not despair.

Do not look at the bombs and the sanctions and the vulgarity of the powerful and conclude that nothing can be done.

Everything that is happening — from Gaza to Yemen to Lebanon to Iran to the crumbling alliances of the empire — all of it began with a people who refused to be silent.

All of it began with testimony.

All of it began with someone — somewhere — saying:

The Story of This Room

And I want to say one more thing before we close this point — and this is not from a book or a hadith.

This is about us.

About this gathering.

About how we came to be sitting here tonight.

This group — Truth Promoters — did not begin with a strategic plan.

It did not begin with funding or institutional support or a grand vision.

It began the way most true things begin: with grief, and with the refusal to let grief be the final word.

After the martyrdom of Hajj Qassem Soleimani — may God rest his pure soul — a small group of believers found each other.

We were scattered.

We were hurting.

Some of us had known Hajj Qassem personally — as a teacher, a mentor, someone who moved us toward God with a gentleness that belied the ferocity of his commitment on the battlefield.

And we needed — simply needed — to be together.

To console each other.

To make sense of what had happened.

So we started talking.

On Saturday calls.

On Zoom, on Jitsi, on Telegram — whatever platform would hold us.

And the attendance, brothers and sisters — I will be honest with you — there were sessions where it was two people.

Two.

Just two believers, on opposite sides of the same house, on their separate devices, refusing to let the conversation die.

That is what we started with.

Not a movement.

Not a programme.

Two people and an internet connection and a refusal to be silent.

And then — slowly, painfully, with setbacks and long stretches of almost nothing — others joined.

The genocide in Gaza awakened something.

The martyrdom of Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah in September 2024 — may God rest his pure soul — was a blow that could have broken us, but instead it sharpened us.

We began recording.

We began teaching.

We began building — the sessions, the websites, the resources, the network.

Themartyr.net was revived.

This programme — our Wednesday Majalis, our Saturday Majalis — was born.

Why am I telling you this?

Not for credit.

Not for history.

I am telling you this because it is the proof of what I have been saying tonight.

The testimony of the shaheed works.

It transforms.

It transmits.

It takes two grieving believers on their laptops and — over time, with patience, with the help of God — it builds something.

Not because they were special.

Not because they had resources or connections or support.

But because they received the testimony and refused to conceal it.

And look at where we are tonight.

An arba’een gathering.

A community.

A sister who has never formally entered Islam, preparing a tribute with love.

A brother whose hymn will shake this room.

A young woman who has produced a documentary with skill and devotion.

And you — every one of you — who chose to be here, on a Saturday evening, forty days on, to say:

This is what happens when you receive the testimony and act on it.

Not grand things.

Real things.

Small things that grow.

Seeds that become trees — and if you are hearing an echo of our brother Abdullah’s noha, you are hearing correctly.

Lesson for Today

The most dangerous thing an empire can face is not a martyr.

Empires have always killed.

They are experts at killing.

They have built entire economies around killing.

Another body does not frighten them.

What frightens them — what keeps the strategists awake, what the intelligence agencies write their reports about — is a people who received the martyr’s testimony and refused to be silent.

That is what Sayyedah Zaynab built in the court of Yazid.

That is what the arba’een produces — every year, in every generation, in every corner of the ummah.

That is what a handful of believers on a Saturday call can become, by the grace of God, if they refuse to let the testimony die.

And that is what you are being called to become tonight.

Not mourners — witnesses.

Not an audience — transmitters.

Not spectators at a trial — the jury, the advocates, the ones who carry the evidence out of the courtroom and into the world.

The shaheed has spoken.

Their testimony is complete.

It is sealed.

It is alive with God and it is working in this world — you can see it working, right now, in the crumbling of the empire’s legitimacy, in the awakening of consciences across the globe.

Now it is your turn.

Before you leave this gathering tonight — before you step out of this room and back into the world that the shaheed’s blood is trying to change — decide:

Not in grand gestures.

Not in dramatic sacrifices.

In daily life.

In what you read.

In what you share.

In what you teach your children.

In how you spend your money.

In where you direct your energy.

In the words you choose when someone asks you what happened.

In the refusal to look away when looking away would be easier.

The shahadah of the shaheed was dramatic because it had to be.

Yours can be quiet — but it must be real.

Pick one thing.

One concrete thing.

And begin tomorrow.

In their name.

In honour of their blood.

As your testimony — your shahadah — that you received their witness, and you will not let it die.

A Supplication-Eulogy in Two Parts

We have spoken tonight about the forty, and what it demands of us.

We have spoken about the shaheed, and what their blood is saying to the world.

We have spoken about our duty — as witnesses, as transmitters, as the ones who must carry the testimony forward.

Now I ask you to set all of that aside for a moment.

Not to forget it — you will carry it with you, God willing, when you leave tonight.

But to set it aside — because what I want to do now is not teach.

It is not argue.

It is not challenge.

What I want to do now is remember.

Simply remember.

To say their names.

To let their names fill this room. And then — together — to turn to the One who received them, and ask Him to make us worthy of what they gave.

Part 1: The Naming — المرثية

We remember tonight the shuhada of this ummah — those whose blood is the ink in which the testimony of truth is written.

We remember tonight those whose names we know, and those whose names only God knows.

The named and the unnamed.

The leaders and the unknown.

The generals and the schoolgirls.

Every one of them —

We remember Sayyed Abbas al-Musawi — may God bless his pure soul.

The one who built the resistance in Lebanon from nothing — from the rubble of occupation, from the ashes of invasion, from the determination of a people who had been told they were too weak to fight.

He built it with his hands and his faith and his scholarship.

And when the empire came for him, it did not come for him alone — it killed his wife.

It killed his child.

It murdered an entire family and called it a military operation.

But what he built did not die with him.

What he built stood for decades after him.

What he built shook the earth.

We remember Hajj Imad Mughniyeh — may God bless his pure soul.

The shadow that empires could not outrun.

The architect of resistance whose brilliance was matched only by his devotion to God and to the cause of the oppressed.

He moved through the world like a whisper — unseen, unheard, but felt in every blow the resistance struck against the occupier.

They hunted him for decades.

They feared him like they feared no one else.

And when they finally reached him in Damascus, his martyrdom did not end the fear — it deepened the resolve of every brother and sister who walked in his path.

We remember Hajj Qassem Soleimani — may God bless his pure soul.

The general who wept.

The commander who knelt at the grave of Imam Husayn and sobbed like a child.

The strategist who crossed every border the empire tried to build — every wall, every sanction, every line in the sand — and carried the cause of Palestine on his shoulders from Tehran to Baghdad to Beirut to Damascus and beyond.

They struck him down with a coward’s weapon on the road from Baghdad airport — a drone, fired from a continent away, by men who would not dare face him in the light.

And his blood watered the tree of resistance across an entire region.

Some of us in this room knew him.

Knew his gentleness.

Knew the way he would speak to you — not as a general to a subordinate, but as a father, as a brother, as someone whose only concern was to move you closer to God and further from your own nafs.

That gentleness — that impossible combination of ferocity on the battlefield and tenderness in person — that was Hajj Qassem.

And the world has not seen his like since.

And perhaps will not again, until the coming of the one we await.

We remember Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah — may God bless his pure soul.

The voice.

The voice of the oppressed that rang out from Dahiyeh and was heard in every village in the south, in every refugee camp, in every heart that had been told that resistance was impossible.

He looked the empire in the eye — for decades — and he never blinked.

Not once.

Not when they bombed Beirut in 2006.

Not when they killed his own son.

Not when the entire weight of the Zionist machine was pointed at his chest.

He spoke and the ummah listened.

He promised and he delivered.

He laughed — Oh my Lord, that laugh — and the oppressor trembled.

They buried eighty-two bunker busters into the earth to reach him.

Eighty-two.

Because one was not enough.

Because ten were not enough.

Because even in death, they were afraid of him.

And they were right to be afraid — because his words have not stopped.

His voice has not gone silent.

It echoes tonight in this room, and in every room where believers gather and refuse to surrender.

We remember the shuhada of Gaza — may God bless each and every one of them.

The tens of thousands.

The children pulled from rubble with dust still in their hair.

The mothers who shielded their babies with their bodies and were buried with them.

The fathers who searched through the wreckage with bare hands calling names that no one answered.

The doctors who operated by torchlight until the torchlight was bombed.

The journalists who filmed their own genocide so the world could not say it did not know — and were killed for filming it.

We cannot name them all tonight.

No single gathering could hold all their names.

But God knows every one.

Every name.

Every face.

Every last breath.

And they are alive with Him, and they are rejoicing, and they are waiting — waiting for us.

We remember the shaheedat of Minab — may God bless each and every one of them.

The girls.

The schoolgirls.

Young, bright, full of life and promise and future.

They went to school that morning the way every child goes to school — with their bags and their books and their friendships and their small, precious hopes for the day ahead.

And the empire’s bombs found them there.

They did not choose the battlefield.

They did not choose shahadah.

Shahadah was brought to their classroom door and forced its way in.

And in their innocence — in the sheer, unbearable purity of what they were and what was done to them — they have become the most devastating testimony against the empire that this generation has seen.

Their blood is not merely crying out for justice.

It is producing justice.

It is shaking foundations.

It is ending alliances.

It is stripping masks from faces that have worn them for decades.

May God envelope them in His mercy.

May He reunite them with their families in the highest gardens.

May He make their innocence a weight on the scales against every hand that was complicit in their murder — from the pilot who dropped the bomb to the president who gave the order to the system that made it all possible.

We remember Imam Sayyed Ali al-Husayni al-Khamenei — may God bless his pure soul.

Al-waliyy.

Al-faqih.

Al-mujahid.

Al-shaheed.

The one who held the trust of the Imam of our time for decades — and never once set it down.

Not in the eight years of sacred defence when the world armed his enemy and starved his people.

Not in the decades of sanctions designed to bring a nation to its knees.

Not when they took his generals, one by one — Hajj Imad, Hajj Qassem, Sayyed Hassan — each loss a wound that would have broken a lesser man.

Not when the conspirators plotted from within and the enemies pressed from without.

Not when the weight of an entire ummah’s expectations rested on his shoulders and the resources to meet them were stripped away by an unjust world.

Through all of it — steadfast.

Through all of it — upright.

Through all of it — his hand extended to the oppressed, his face turned toward the Imam of the age, his heart anchored in the covenant of wilayah.

He warned us.

He guided us.

He taught us.

He wept with us.

He prayed for us.

He carried what we could not carry.

He saw what we could not see.

And he did all of this — for decades — knowing that the path he walked would end where it ended.

Knowing that the shaheed’s road has only one destination.

And walking it anyway.

Without hesitation.

Without regret.

Forty days ago, he arrived.

He is alive.

He is with his Lord.

He is rejoicing.

And he is receiving glad tidings — about us.

About what we will do next.

About whether we will be worthy of the trust he left behind.

And we feel his absence tonight like a wound that has not yet learned to scar.

Like a space in the room that nothing can fill. Like a silence where his voice used to be.

But the silence is not empty.

It is full of his testimony.

It is asking us a question.

And the question is the same question this entire evening has been asking:

Part 2: The Turn — الدعاء

O Our Lord!

You have told us that the shuhada are alive with You.
That they are receiving provision.
That they are rejoicing.
We believe this.
We hold to this.
We cling to this with everything we have — because without this belief, the weight of what has been taken from us would be unbearable.

But Our Lord — we who are left behind, we who are still in this world of trial and test and temptation — we need Your help.
We are weak where they were strong.
We are uncertain where they were sure.
We are hesitant where they were decisive.
We need You.

O Our Lord!

You took from us a leader, a father, a guide — Imam Sayyed Ali al-Khamenei — and in his place You left us a testimony.
A testimony written in his blood, sealed by his sacrifice, carried now by his son and by every believer who received it.
Help us to carry it.
Help us to be worthy of it.
Do not let us be among those who heard the truth and then forgot.
Do not let us be among those who wept at the arba’een and then returned to heedlessness — who mourned on Saturday and forgot by Monday — who shed tears for the shaheed and then lived as though the shaheed died for nothing.

Oh Our Lord!

You have shown us — through the blood of the innocent, through the schoolgirls of Minab, through the children of Gaza pulled from the rubble with their mothers’ arms still around them —
You have shown us what this empire truly is.
What it does in the dark.
What it does in the light.
What it does to children.
Give us the clarity to see it for what it is.
Give us the courage to say what we see.
And give us the strength — Oh Our Lord, the strength — to resist it.
Not tomorrow.
Not when the conditions are right.
Now.
Today.
With whatever we have.

Oh Our Lord!

Bless and protect, Imam Sayyed Mujtaba al-Khamenei, the successor of his father, the bearer of the trust.
Strengthen his hands.
Sharpen his sight.
Surround him with those who are sincere.
Protect him from those who would betray.
And make him — as his father was — a lantern on the path of the Ahlul Bayt, a shield for the oppressed, and a thorn in the side of every oppressor.

Oh Our Lord

Count us among the shuhada — not necessarily those who die for the truth, but those who live for it.
Make our lives a testimony.
Make our choices a witness.
Make our silence impossible when injustice speaks.
Make us among those who received the testimony of the shaheed and did not conceal it — who carried it forward, who transmitted it, who refused to be silent even when silence was safer, even when silence was easier, even when silence was all the world demanded of us.

Oh Our Lord

We ask You — by the blood of Husayn ibn Ali, shed on the plains of Karbala and not yet dry.

We ask You — by the tears of Zaynab bint Ali, shed in the court of the oppressor and not yet wiped.

We ask You — by the patience of Ali ibn al-Husayn, who bore the unbearable and did not break.

We ask You — by the steadfastness of every shaheed from Habil the son of Adam to the last soul who fell in Your path this very day.

We ask You — hasten the return of the one whose coming will complete every testimony.
The one whose appearance will answer every cry.
The one who will fill the earth with justice as it has been filled with oppression.
The one we wait for, the one we weep for, the one we live for.

The Master of the Age, may our souls be his ransom

Hasten, Oh Our Lord, his noble relief.
Hasten his coming.
And make us — all of us in this room tonight — among his helpers, his supporters, his soldiers, his witnesses.

Amen, O Lord Sustainer of the Universes.
Amen, O Most Merciful of the Merciful.

And from Him alone is all ability and He has authority over all things.

We begin this session — this special, painful, necessary session — with two passages from the Book of God.

The first is from Surah Aal-e-Imran — the Chapter of the Family of Imran. God says:

وَلَا تَحْسَبَنَّ الَّذِينَ قُتِلُوا فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ أَمْوَاتًا ۚ بَلْ أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ ● فَرِحِينَ بِمَا آتَاهُمُ اللَّهُ مِن فَضْلِهِ وَيَسْتَبْشِرُونَ بِالَّذِينَ لَمْ يَلْحَقُوا بِهِم مِّنْ خَلْفِهِمْ أَلَّا خَوْفٌ عَلَيْهِمْ وَلَا هُمْ يَحْزَنُونَ ● يَسْتَبْشِرُونَ بِنِعْمَةٍ مِّنَ اللَّهِ وَفَضْلٍ وَأَنَّ اللَّهَ لَا يُضِيعُ أَجْرَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ

“And do not think of those who have been killed in the way of God as dead. Rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving provision, rejoicing in what God has bestowed upon them of His bounty, and they receive good tidings about those after them who have not yet joined them — that there will be no fear concerning them, nor will they grieve. They receive good tidings of favour from God and bounty, and that God does not allow the reward of believers to be lost.”

— Quran, Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 169-171

The second is from Surah al-Ahzab — the Chapter of the Confederates. God says:

مِنَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ رِجَالٌ صَدَقُوا مَا عَاهَدُوا اللَّهَ عَلَيْهِ ۖ فَمِنْهُم مَّن قَضَىٰ نَحْبَهُ وَمِنْهُم مَّن يَنتَظِرُ ۖ وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

“Among the believers are men who have been true to their covenant with God. Among them are those who have fulfilled their pledge — and among them are those who are still waiting. And they have never changed in the least.”

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

Video of the Sermon/Majlis

The Imam's Final Message

I want you to hold that second verse —

مِنَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ رِجَالٌ صَدَقُوا مَا عَاهَدُوا اللَّهَ عَلَيْهِ

Among the believers are men who have been true to their covenant with God.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

— I want you to hold it carefully in your hearts tonight.

Because this verse carries a weight that only became clear to us two days ago.

On the day that our leader, Imam Sayyed Ali al-Husayni al-Khamenei — may God rest his pure soul — was martyred, his official account posted a message to the world.

And that message was this very verse.

مِنَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ رِجَالٌ صَدَقُوا مَا عَاهَدُوا اللَّهَ عَلَيْهِ

Among the believers are men who have been true to their covenant with God.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

فَمِنْهُم مَّن قَضَىٰ نَحْبَهُ

Among them are those who have fulfilled their pledge.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

وَمِنْهُم مَّن يَنتَظِرُ ۖ

And among them are those who are still waiting.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

And they have never changed.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

Not one bit. Not one inch. Not one degree.

This was his farewell.

This was his last word to us.

And if we understand this verse — truly understand it — we will understand everything we need to understand about what has happened, how to process it, and what we are supposed to do next.

Let us break this verse open.

Understanding the Verse

This verse was revealed in the context of the Battle of al-Ahzab — the Battle of the Confederates — when the entire Arabian Peninsula had gathered its forces against the Prophet and the small community of believers in Madinah.

The Muslims were surrounded.

The hypocrites had abandoned them.

The situation looked impossible.

And in that moment — at the very point where the weak of heart began to waver — God revealed this verse.

He said: look at the believers. Look at the real ones.

They made a covenant with God.

And some of them have already given their lives to fulfil that covenant.

And the rest?

The rest are waiting for their turn.

And none of them — none of them — have changed.

There are three categories of people described here, and we must recognise all three tonight.

The First Category: Those Who Have Fulfilled Their Pledge

The first —

فَمِنْهُم مَّن قَضَىٰ نَحْبَهُ

Among them are those who have fulfilled their pledge.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

— those who have fulfilled their pledge.

These are the martyrs.

Those who gave everything.

Those who held the line until their bodies could hold no more.

Imam Khamenei is among these now.

Thirty-six years he carried this trust.

From the day the Assembly of Experts placed that weight upon his shoulders on the 4th of June, 1989, until the moment the enemies of God struck his compound on the 28th of February, 2026.

He never wavered.

He never bent.

He never changed.

وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

And they have never changed.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

He survived an assassination attempt in 1981 that left his right hand paralysed for life — and he never spoke of it as a wound.

He spoke of it as a medal.

He led a nation through an eight-year war, through sanctions, through the conspiracies of every superpower on earth.

And just eleven days before his martyrdom, standing at the Imam Khomeini Hussainiyah in Tehran, he looked at the camera and he said — and I want you to hear these words carefully, because they are among his last:

«ملت ایران درس‌های اسلامی و شیعی خود را خوب می‌داند؛ می‌داند چه کاری باید بکند. امام حسین (ع) فرمود: مثل من با مثل یزید بیعت نمی‌کند.»

“The Iranian nation knows its Islamic and Shia lessons well; it knows what to do. Imam Husayn, peace be upon him, said: ‘Someone like me does not pledge allegiance to someone like Yazid.’”

— Imam Khamenei, Imam Khomeini Hussainiyah Tehran, Meeting with people of East Azerbaijan Province on the eve of the anniversary of the Tabriz uprising, 17 February 2026

And then he said:

«در واقع ملت ایران می‌گوید: ملتی مثل ما — با این فرهنگ، با این تاریخ و با این آموزه‌های والا — با رهبران فاسد مثل کسانی که الان در آمریکا سر کار هستند، بیعت نمی‌کند.»

“In reality, the Iranian nation is saying: A nation like ours — with this culture, this history, and these lofty teachings — will not pledge allegiance to corrupt leaders like those currently in power in America.”

— Imam Khamenei, Imam Khomeini Hussainiyah Tehran, Meeting with people of East Azerbaijan Province on the eve of the anniversary of the Tabriz uprising, 17 February 2026

Eleven days later, they killed him.

But listen to what he said.

He did not say:

He said:

He was not speaking about himself.

He was speaking about us.

He was speaking about the system.

He was speaking about the chain that does not break — because it is not held together by one man.

It is held together by a covenant with God.

He was preparing us.

Whether he knew the strike was coming or not — and God knows best — his final message was the message of Imam Husayn at Karbala.

And just as Imam Husayn’s blood did not end the message but amplified it beyond anything a living voice could have achieved, so too the blood of our beloved Imam Khamenei has amplified this message to the entire world.

And a nation like this does not collapse when its leader is taken.

It rises.

The Second Category: Those Who Are Awaiting Their Turn

The second category in the verse —

وَمِنْهُم مَّن يَنتَظِرُ ۖ

And among them are those who are still waiting.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

— those who are still waiting for their turn.

That is us.

We are the ones who are waiting.

Our covenant with God has not yet been fulfilled.

We are still here.

We are still breathing.

We are still standing.

And the question that this verse puts to us tonight — the question that the blood of our leader puts to us tonight — is not “what has happened?”

The question is:

وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

And they have never changed.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

Will you change your direction?

Will you abandon the path?

Will you lose your nerve?

Will you let the enemies of God see you stumble?

That is the test.

That is the trial.

That is the imtihan that every generation of this community has faced since Karbala.

And the answer — the only answer worthy of a people who call themselves the followers of Husayn — is:

وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

And they have never changed.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

We have not changed.

And we will not change.

The Third Category: The Ones Who Did Change

The third — and this is often missed — is the implicit category: the ones who did change.

The ones who broke their covenant.

The ones who wavered.

The ones who ran.

Because this verse does not exist in a vacuum.

It comes directly after the description of the hypocrites — the munafiqin — who had promised God they would stand firm, and then fled when the armies came.

The verse about the believers is a contrast.

God is saying: look at the difference.

Look at the hypocrites who promised and broke their promise.

And look at the believers who promised and kept their promise, even when it cost them their lives.

Tonight, we choose which category we belong to.

You Have Not Been Orphaned

I know many of you are hurting.

I know many of you feel orphaned.

I know many of you woke up on Sunday morning to news that shook you to your core.

Some of you wept.

Some of you could not speak.

Some of you are angry — a deep, burning anger at the injustice of what has been done.

And some of you — and this is the hardest one — some of you are afraid.

Afraid for the future.

Afraid for Iran.

Afraid for the system.

Afraid that the chain has finally been broken.

I am here tonight to tell you three things.

The first is that your grief is sacred.

Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.

Do not let anyone — not the media, not the politicians, not the people on social media who danced in the streets — do not let anyone make you feel ashamed of your tears.

When the Prophet lost his son Ibrahim, he wept. And when the companions said to him,

he said:

Your grief for a man who spent his life in the service of the Imam of our time is not weakness.

It is faith.

The second thing I want to tell you is that this is not new.

This is not the first time the enemies of God have killed the leader of the believers.

This is the pattern.

This is what they do.

They killed Imam Ali in the mosque.

They killed Imam Husayn on the plains of Karbala.

They poisoned Imam al-Kazim in the prisons of Baghdad.

They poisoned Imam al-Rida in Khorasan.

Every single Imam — every single one, with the sole exception of our Twelfth Imam who is in occultation — was murdered by the tyrants of their age.

And what happened after each one?

Did the community collapse?

Did the message die?

Did the chain break?

No.

وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

And they have never changed.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

They did not change.

Not one bit.

The community mourned.

The community gathered.

The community identified the next leader through the divine system of nass and designation.

And the community continued.

The chain held.

And it will hold now.

The third thing I want to tell you — and this is the most important — is that you have not been orphaned.

You feel orphaned.

And that is natural.

But the reality is different from the feeling.

Because our ultimate leader — the one to whom Imam Khamenei himself was a deputy — is alive.

The Imam of our time, Al-Hujjat ibn al-Hasan al-Mahdi, may our souls be his ransom, is alive.

He is watching.

He has not left.

He has not abandoned us.

He is the sun behind the clouds.

Imam al-Sadiq — was asked:

He replied:

«كَمَا يَنْتَفِعُونَ بِالشَّمْسِ إِذَا سَتَرَهَا السَّحَابُ»

“As they benefit from the sun when it is covered by the clouds.”

— Al-Saduq, Ikmal al-Din, Volume 1, Page 207, Hadith 22
— Al-Majlisi, Bihar al-Anwar, Volume 52

The sun does not cease to exist because a cloud passes.

Its heat reaches you.

Its light sustains you.

Its gravity holds the planets in their orbits. And the Imam — even in his occultation — sustains this world, guides its affairs, and watches over his community.

Imam Khamenei was a cloud that channelled the light of that sun to us.

He was a deputy.

A noble, courageous, faithful deputy.

And now God has taken him.

But the sun remains.

And another cloud will form.

Another deputy will rise.

Because that is the system.

That is the design.

That is the wisdom of the One who told us, fourteen centuries ago, that the earth can never be devoid of a Hujjat.

And the proof?

The proof is happening right now.

As we sit here tonight, the Provisional Leadership Council of the Islamic Republic has already been formed.

The President, the Head of the Judiciary, and a jurist of the Guardian Council — Ayatullah Alireza Arafi — have assumed their constitutional duties.

The Assembly of Experts — the 88 senior scholars whose sole purpose is to ensure the continuity of this leadership — will convene and select the next Wali al-Faqih.

The system has activated.

Exactly as it was designed to do.

Exactly as it did in 1989 when Imam Khomeini answered the call of his Master.

This is not the behaviour of a system in collapse.

This is the behaviour of a system that was built for this moment.

And that — that resilience, that continuity, that refusal to break — is the subject of our session tonight.

Shaheed Ayatullah Morteza Motahhari — may God rest his pure soul — the great philosopher and martyr of the Islamic Revolution, said it best:

«شهادت، تزریق خون است به پیکر اجتماع. این شهدا هستند که به پیکر اجتماع و در رگ‌های اجتماع، خون جدید وارد می‌کنند.»

“Martyrdom is the injection of blood into the body of society. It is the martyrs who pump new blood into the body and veins of society.”

— Shaheed Morteza Motahhari, Hamaseh-ye Hoseini (The Epic of Husayn), Chapter on the Social Function of Martyrdom

The blood of Imam Khamenei will not be in vain.

But it will only become the seed of renewal if we receive it correctly.

If we receive it with faith.

If we receive it with patience.

If we receive it with clarity.

And if we receive it with action.

That is what we will discuss tonight.

We will discuss the theology of martyrdom and the fleeting nature of this world.

We will discuss the practical duties of the believer — both for those who followed Imam Khamenei as their Marja’ al-Taqlid, and for those who looked to him as the Wali al-Faqih.

We will discuss the process of succession — because it is a clear, established, well-tested process, and you deserve to understand it.

And we will close, as we always do, with a eulogy and a supplication.

But first — first — we must talk about what death means.

Because if we do not understand death, we will never understand martyrdom.

And if we do not understand martyrdom, we will never understand why the chain has never broken.

The Theology of Martyrdom and the Fleeting World

Before we talk about processes and constitutions and practical duties — before we talk about what to do next — we must talk about what has actually happened.

Not politically.

Not geopolitically.

Theologically.

Because the lens through which you see this event will determine everything.

If you see it through the lens of CNN and BBC, you will see a military strike that killed a head of state.

If you see it through the lens of the enemies of Islam, you will see a victory.

If you see it through the lens of the hypocrites, you will see the beginning of the end.

But if you see it through the lens of the Quran — through the lens of the Ahl al-Bayt — through the lens of fourteen centuries of this community’s experience — you will see something entirely different.

You will see a martyrdom.

And in our tradition, a martyrdom is not a defeat.

It is a coronation.

This World Is a Bridge

Let us begin with a fundamental truth that our tradition teaches us — a truth that the modern world has forgotten, and that the enemies of God have never understood.

This world is not the destination.

It is a passage.

God says in Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran):

كُلُّ نَفْسٍ ذَائِقَةُ الْمَوْتِ ۗ وَإِنَّمَا تُوَفَّوْنَ أُجُورَكُمْ يَوْمَ الْقِيَامَةِ ۖ فَمَن زُحْزِحَ عَنِ النَّارِ وَأُدْخِلَ الْجَنَّةَ فَقَدْ فَازَ ۗ وَمَا الْحَيَاةُ الدُّنْيَا إِلَّا مَتَاعُ الْغُرُورِ

“Every soul shall taste death. And you will only be given your full compensation on the Day of Resurrection. Whoever is drawn away from the Fire and admitted to Paradise has indeed triumphed. And the life of this world is nothing but the enjoyment of delusion.”

— Quran, Surah Aal-i-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verse 185

And in Surah al-Ankabut (the Chapter of the Spider):

وَمَا هَٰذِهِ الْحَيَاةُ الدُّنْيَا إِلَّا لَهْوٌ وَلَعِبٌ ۚ وَإِنَّ الدَّارَ الْآخِرَةَ لَهِيَ الْحَيَوَانُ ۚ لَوْ كَانُوا يَعْلَمُونَ

“And this worldly life is nothing but diversion and amusement. And indeed, the home of the Hereafter — that is the true life, if only they knew.”

— Quran, Surah al-Ankabut (the Chapter of the Spider) #29, Verse 64

Pay attention to the language here.

God does not say the Hereafter is “the better life” —

He says it is al-hayawan — the true life.

The real life.

This world — with all its noise, all its empires, all its missiles and aircraft carriers and military operations — this world is la’ib wa lahw.

Play and amusement.

A game.

A distraction.

The enemies of God think they have won because they have taken a body.

They do not understand that they have released a soul.

They think they have ended a man.

They do not realise they have elevated a martyr to a station they can never reach, can never comprehend, and can never touch.

Donald Trump stood at Mar-a-Lago and announced the death of our leader as though he had accomplished something.

But what has he accomplished?

He has sent a servant of God to God.

He has reunited a lover with his Beloved.

He has given a man who spent his entire life preparing for this meeting the very thing he yearned for.

The question is not whether Imam Khamenei has won or lost.

The Quran has already answered that:

فَمَنْ زُحْزِحَ عَنِ النَّارِ وَأُدْخِلَ الْجَنَّةَ فَقَدْ فَازَ

So whoever is kept away from the Fire and admitted to Paradise has indeed triumphed

— Quran, Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verse 185

The question is about us.

The question is always about the ones who remain.

The Highest Station

Now let us go deeper.

Because our tradition does not merely say that death is a transition.

It says that martyrdom — specifically — is the highest station a human being can attain.

We already recited the verses from Surah Aal-e-Imran at the opening of this session.

Let us return to them now with fresh eyes:

وَلَا تَحْسَبَنَّ الَّذِينَ قُتِلُوا فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ أَمْوَاتًا

“And do not think of those who have been killed in the way of God as dead.”

— Quran, Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 169

This is a command.

La tahsabanna.

Do not think it.

Do not even entertain the thought.

The shaheed is not dead.

The shaheed is alive —

أَحْيَاءٌ عِندَ رَبِّهِمْ يُرْزَقُونَ

Alive with their Lord, receiving provision.

— Quran, Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 169

Not in the grave.

Not in the past.

Not in memory.

Alive.

In the present tense.

Receiving.

Being given.

Sustained by God directly.

And what is their state?

فَرِحِينَ بِمَا آتَاهُمُ اللَّهُ مِن فَضْلِهِ

Rejoicing, because of what God has given them of His grace.

— Quran, Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 170

Farihin — rejoicing.

They are not suffering.

They are not regretting.

They are not looking back at this world with longing.

They are in a state of joy — because of what God has given them of His grace.

And here is the part that should pierce every heart in this room:

وَيَسْتَبْشِرُونَ بِالَّذِينَ لَمْ يَلْحَقُوا بِهِم مِّنْ خَلْفِهِمْ

They receive good tidings about those who have not yet joined them.

— Quran, Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 170

They are looking at us.

They are receiving news about us.

And they are hoping — hoping — that we will hold firm, so that when we finally join them, we will arrive with honour, not with shame.

أَلَّا خَوْفٌ عَلَيْهِمْ وَلَا هُمْ يَحْزَنُونَ

No fear upon them, and they do not grieve.

— Quran, Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verses 170

Imam Khamenei does not grieve tonight.

We grieve.

But he does not.

He is where every servant of God hopes to be.

And his only concern — if we are to believe this verse, and we must — his only concern is about us.

Whether we will hold.

Whether we will change.

وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

And they have never changed.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

The Pattern of the Righteous

I need you to see something.

I need you to step back and see the pattern.

Because what happened on Saturday, what we learned about on Sunday, is not an isolated event.

It is the latest instance of a pattern that has repeated since the beginning of prophethood.

The enemies of God have always killed the righteous.

Always.

And the righteous have always won.

Always.

Go back to the Quran itself.

God tells us in Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran):

قَدْ خَلَتْ مِن قَبْلِكُمْ سُنَنٌ فَسِيرُوا فِي الْأَرْضِ فَانظُرُوا كَيْفَ كَانَ عَاقِبَةُ الْمُكَذِّبِينَ

“There have passed before you patterns of history. Travel through the land and observe what was the end of those who denied.”

— Quran, Surah Aal-e-Imran (the Chapter of the Family of Imran) #3, Verse 137

Sunan. Patterns.

This is a sunnah of God — a divine pattern that repeats.

The tyrant rises.

The tyrant kills the righteous.

And then the tyrant falls.

Every time.

Without exception.

Look at the Prophets.

The Prophet Yahya —peace and blessings be upon him — John the Baptist — beheaded by a tyrant king because he spoke the truth.

The Prophet Zakariyyah — peace and blessings be upon him — sawn in half by his own people.

And where are those tyrants now?

Dust. Forgotten.

Or remembered only as villains in the story of the men they killed.

And look at the Ahl al-Bayt — the family of the Prophet.

Our Imams.

The twelve lights of guidance.

Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib — struck by the sword of Ibn Muljam in the mosque of Kufa.

Where is Ibn Muljam?

Who follows him?

Who builds institutions in his name?

Nobody. But the name of Ali — fourteen hundred years later — rings from every minaret on earth.

Imam Husayn ibn Ali — butchered on the plains of Karbala by the army of Yazid.

They killed him.

They killed his sons.

They killed his companions.

They thought they had won.

And today — today — more than a hundred million human beings walk to his shrine every year in the largest peaceful gathering on the face of the earth.

And where is Yazid?

Yazid is a curse on the tongues of the righteous.

Imam Musa al-Kazim — poisoned in the prisons of Harun al-Rashid.

Imam al-Rida — poisoned in Khorasan by al-Ma’mun.

Imam Muhammad al-Jawad, Imam Ali al-Hadi, Imam Hasan al-Askari — all of them.

All of them killed.

Every single one.

The classical sources — Kitab al-Irshad of Shaykh al-Mufid, Al-Kafi of al-Kulayni — they record for us that not a single Imam, except the Twelfth who is in occultation, died a natural death.

They were all murdered by the superpowers of their age.

And what happened after each one?

Did the chain break?

Did the community dissolve?

Did the message die?

No.

The very opposite.

The chain held.

A new Imam stepped forward, designated by explicit nass.

The community rallied.

The message grew stronger.

Because the blood of the martyr, as Shaheed Motahhari told us, is the injection of new blood into the veins of society.

This is the sunnah of God.

The tyrant kills.

And the killed one wins.

The Conscious Sacrifice

There is another dimension here that we must understand, because it separates the Islamic concept of martyrdom from the way the Western world understands death in war.

In our tradition, the martyrdom of the leaders of faith is not an accident.

It is not bad luck.

It is not a failure of intelligence or security.

It is a conscious, voluntary sacrifice.

The classical sources are explicit about this.

A tradition in Al-Kafi states that an Imam who does not know what will befall him is not a true proof of God.

Imam Ali knew his killer.

He knew the night.

He knew the place.

He went to the mosque anyway.

Imam Husayn knew what awaited him at Karbala.

He was warned by everyone he met on the road.

He went anyway.

Imam Musa al-Kazim knew he would die in prison.

He told his companions.

He accepted it anyway.

Now — Imam Khamenei was not a ma’sum.

He was not an infallible Imam.

We do not claim for him what belongs to the Twelve. But he was a man who walked in their path.

And he was a man who, eleven days before his death, stood before the nation and quoted Imam Husayn’s refusal to submit to Yazid.

He was a man who, for decades, said openly:

He was a man who had already survived one assassination attempt in 1981 — a bomb at a prayer gathering that took his right arm from him — and who stood up, brushed off the dust, and said:

He knew.

He knew that the military build-up in the Gulf was the largest since the 2003 invasion of Iraq.

He knew that the negotiations in Geneva were a thin veil over the real intention.

He knew that they wanted him to bow.

And he said — with the words of Husayn on his lips —

وَمِثْلِي لَا يُبَايِعُ مِثْلَ يَزِيدَ أَبَدًا

Someone like me will never give allegiance to someone such as Yazid

— Sayyed Ibn Tawus, Lahouf

And then he met his Lord.

This is not defeat.

This is what victory looks like when the scoreboard is kept by God, not by CNN and Fox.

The Real Question

So let us bring this to its conclusion.

The question tonight is not:

We have answered that.

God allows His servants to be tested.

God allows the tyrants to overreach.

And God raises His martyrs to stations that no living person can attain.

This is the sunnah of God, and you will never find in the sunnah of God any change —

وَلَنْ تَجِدَ لِسُنَّةِ اللَّهِ تَبْدِيلًا

And you will never find any change in the way (sunnah) of God

— Quran, Surah al-Fath (the Chapter of Victory) #48, Verse 23

The question tonight is not:

We have answered that too.

The Quran says he is alive.

The Quran says he is rejoicing.

The Quran says there is no fear upon him and no grief.

The question tonight — the only question that matters — is about us.

How did he live?

He lived as a servant of the Imam of his time.

He lived as a guardian of Islamic jurisprudence.

He lived as a shield for the oppressed.

He lived as a man who said to the greatest military powers on earth:

No. I will not bow. My nation will not bow.

And now: how will we live?

Will we honour his blood by holding firm to the path?

Or will we betray it by wavering?

Will we be the ones described in Surah al-Ahzab —

وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

And they have never changed.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

Or will we be the others — the ones the verse was contrasted with — the ones who promised and broke their promise when the pressure came?

That is the test.

That is where we are.

That is the only question.

And to answer it properly, we need to understand our practical duties — as followers of a Marja’, as believers in the system of Wilayat al-Faqih, and as servants of the Imam of our time.

And that is what we turn to now.

Our Practical Duties

We have spoken about the theology.

We have spoken about what death means and what martyrdom means in our tradition.

Now we must speak about something that many of you are asking — perhaps the very reason many of you came tonight.

The practical question.

The question that is burning in the hearts of the believers across the world right now:

Imam Khamenei — may God rest his pure soul — occupied two distinct positions in the lives of millions of believers.

For some, he was their Marja’ al-Taqlid — their Source of Emulation in matters of religious law.

For others — and for the believers as a whole — he was the Wali al-Faqih — the Guardian Jurist, the Supreme Leader.

These are two separate questions, and they have two separate answers.

I want to address both of them clearly tonight, because clarity is what the believers need right now — not ambiguity, not confusion, and not panic.

The Marja’iyyah Question: When Your Marja’ Is Martyred

Let me speak first to those of you who followed Imam Khamenei as your Marja’ al-Taqlid.

You are perhaps asking: who do I follow now?

Are my prayers still valid?

Are the rulings I have been acting upon still sound?

Do I need to find a new Marja’ immediately?

Take a breath.

The answer is clear, and it is well-established in our jurisprudence.

This is not a crisis.

This is a normal — if deeply painful — event that our scholars have dealt with for centuries.

Every Marja’ is a mortal human being.

And the scholars of our Hawza — in Qom, in Najaf, in every seminary that has served this community — have laid down clear, tested, reliable principles for exactly this moment.

The first thing to understand is the concept of al-baqa’ ‘ala taqlid al-mayyit — remaining upon the taqlid of the deceased Marja’.

There is a scholarly consensus — an ijma’ — in the Hawza that a muqallid may continue to follow the rulings of a Marja’ who has passed away.

Your prayers are valid.

Your fasting is valid.

The rulings you have been acting upon do not collapse because the Marja’ has departed this world.

But — and this is a critical point, so listen carefully — the general principle in the Hawza is that continuing to follow a deceased Marja’ requires the permission of a living Marja’.

You cannot simply continue on your own authority.

You need either to choose a new living Marja’ to follow, or you need to obtain the permission of a living Marja’ who authorises you to continue following the rulings of the deceased.

This is not a new principle.

This is established jurisprudence.

And Imam Khamenei himself — the very Marja’ whose loss we are mourning tonight — articulated this with precision in his Practical Laws of Islam.

When he was asked whether beginning or continuing to follow a deceased mujtahid depends on following a living one, he answered clearly:

“The permissibility of starting or continuing to follow a deceased mujtahid depends on the fatwa of the most learned, living one.”

— Imam Khamenei, Practical Laws of Islam, Rules of Taqlid, Conditions of Taqlid, Question 23

Now, some of you may remember that this exact question arose after the passing of Imam Khomeini — may God rest his pure soul — in 1989.

Millions of people followed Imam Khomeini as their Marja’.

When he passed, they asked: can we continue?

And Imam Khamenei — as a living Marja’ — gave them explicit permission to do so.

He told the followers of Imam Khomeini:

“You may keep following the Imam, and at the time being there is no reason for you to give up his taqlid. If the need arises to obtain a shar’ī ruling concerning new issues, you may correspond with our office.”

— Imam Khamenei, Practical Laws of Islam, Rules of Taqlid, To Continue with Following a Deceased Marji’, Question 43

And note something important here:

Imam Khamenei’s ruling on this matter was broader than that of many other maraji’.

When he was asked whether continuing with a deceased Marja’ is limited to issues that the muqallid had already acted upon during the Marja’s lifetime, he answered:

“Continuing to follow a deceased marji’ with regard to all issues, even those which he has not acted upon during the lifetime of the marji’, is permissible and valid.”

— Imam Khamenei, Practical Laws of Islam, Rules of Taqlid, To Continue with Following a Deceased Marji’, Question 41

All issues.

Not just the ones you had previously encountered.

This is a significant ruling, and it means that his risalah — his body of jurisprudential rulings — remains a complete and usable guide, not merely a partial one limited to past practice.

He also clarified one further point that is relevant tonight.

He was asked: is it specifically the most learned living mujtahid whose permission is needed, or is it sufficient to have the permission of any qualified mujtahid?

And he answered:

“If the scholars are unanimous in their view about the permissibility of continuing with the taqlid of a deceased mujtahid, it is not obligatory to get the permission of the most knowledgeable one.”

—Imam Khamenei, Practical Laws of Islam, Rules of Taqlid, To Continue with Following a Deceased Marji’, Question 36

This is important — because, as we have said, there is a scholarly consensus on this point.

And I do not want you to take my word for it.

Let me show you.

The Consensus of the Living Maraji’

Let us go through the major living maraji’ — the highest authorities in the Shia world today — and see what each of them says about al-baqa’ ‘ala taqlid al-mayyit (remaining on the taqlid of a deceased marja’).

Because when you see the unanimity with your own eyes, you will understand that this is not a matter of dispute.

This is settled.

Grand Ayatullah Sayyid Ali al-Sistani — the most widely followed Marja’ in the world today, based in Najaf al-Ashraf.

His position, as articulated in his Minhaj al-Salihin and through his official wakalah (office) — the IMAM-US organisation in North America — is clear.

A person cannot begin taqlid of a deceased Marja’ (taqlid ibtida’i of a deceased is not permitted).

But a person who was already following a Marja’ during his lifetime may continue to follow him after his death.

And Ayatullah Sistani goes further than some: even if the muqallid had adopted the Marja’ but had not yet learned or acted upon all of his rulings, he may still continue.

His fatwa permitting baqa’ is itself the permission.

If you take Ayatullah Sistani as your living Marja’, his ruling authorises you to remain upon the rulings of Imam Khamenei in the areas where baqa’ applies — and particularly so if Imam Khamenei is considered a’lam (more knowledgeable) or at least not less knowledgeable than the living.

You can find the reference for this in the Minhaj al-Salihin of Ayatullah Sistani, Volume 1, Kitab al-Taqlid, and the Ruling on al-Baqa’ ‘ala Taqlid al-Mayyit (remaining on the taqlid of a deceased marja)

Grand Ayatullah Nasir Makarim-Shirazi — one of the most senior maraji’ in the Hawza of Qom.

In his Tawdih al-Masa’il, he states: baqa’ is permitted if the person was already doing taqlid of the Marja’ during his life, and the deceased is equal to or more knowledgeable than the living maraji’.

For rulings already learned, continuing is straightforward.

For rulings not yet learned, he permits it under conditions relating to a’lamiyyah.

The principle is the same: baqa’ is valid.

You can find this in the Tawdih al-Mas’ail of Ayatullah Makarim-Shirazi, in the Kitab al-Taqlid, and the Ruling on the Baqa’ bar Taqlid-e-Mayyit (Remaining in the Taqlid of a deceased marja)

Grand Ayatollah Husayn Nuri Hamadani — another of the senior maraji’ of Qom.

His position follows the classical usuli line: no beginning taqlid of a deceased, but baqa’ is permitted for the person who was already following him, provided the deceased is more knowledgeable or at least not less knowledgeable than the living.

His fatwa permitting baqa’ functions, again, as the authorisation for his muqallideen to remain upon their previous Marja’.

And this too you can find in the Tawdih al-Masa’il of Ayatullah Nuri Hamadani, Kitab al-Taqlid, and the Ruling on Baqa’ bar Taqlid-e Mayyit (Remaining on the Taqlid of a deceased Marja’).

Ayatollah Mohsen Araki — a recognised mujtahid of the Qom Hawza, and — note this well — the very same scholar who now sits on the Provisional Leadership Council of the Islamic Republic.

He is of course from one of our honourable teachers.

He follows the mainstream usuli position: no ibtida’i taqlid of a deceased, and baqa’ is permitted under the standard conditions.

His position aligns entirely with the consensus.

And this too is in the Risalah Amaliyyah of Ayatullah Mohsen Araki, Kitab al-Taqlid, and the Ruling on Al-Baqa’ ‘ala Taqlid al-Mayyit (Remaining on the Taqlid of a deceased marja)

Grand Ayatollah Abdullah Jawadi-Amoli — the philosopher, the exegete, the student of Allamah Tabatabai, whom we quoted earlier on the nature of Wilayat al-Faqih.

He too does not permit beginning taqlid of a deceased.

But he accepts baqa’ for the person who was already following the Marja’, with the classical conditions on a’lamiyyah.

For issues not yet learned during the Marja’s lifetime, he distinguishes — but the core ruling is the same: baqa’ is permissible.

His ruling can also be found in his Istifta’at, on the subject of Taqlid and the Questions on Baqa bar taqlid-e mayyit (Remaining on the Taqlid of a deceased marja’).

Do you see what I am showing you?

Five of the most eminent living authorities in the Shia world — spanning both Najaf and Qom, spanning different schools of thought and emphasis within the Hawza — and they are unanimous.

Not one of them says you cannot continue.

Not one of them says your taqlid of Imam Khamenei is now void.

Every single one of them — without exception — permits baqa’ ‘ala taqlid al-mayyit for the person who was already following that Marja’.

The details differ slightly — on the question of a’lamiyyah, on the scope of issues covered, on the precise mechanism — but the core ruling is identical.

And remember what Imam Khamenei himself told us:

“If the scholars are unanimous in their view about the permissibility of continuing with the taqlid of a deceased mujtahid, it is not obligatory to get the permission of the most knowledgeable one.”

—Imam Khamenei, Practical Laws of Islam, Rules of Taqlid, To Continue with Following a Deceased Marji’, Question 36

The scholars are unanimous.

His own condition is met.

So what does this mean for you, practically, tonight?

It means you have two clear paths, and both are valid:

The First Path: You Choose a New Living Marja’ Taqlid

The first path: You choose a new living Marja’ al-Taqlid — and you follow him fully.

You consult the Ahl al-Khibra — the people of expertise.

These are the senior scholars, the seminary students, the learned among the community who are qualified to assess the jurisprudential credentials of the living mujtahideen.

The primary criterion — the criterion upon which our scholars are united — is a’lamiyyah: you must follow the most knowledgeable among the qualified, living jurists.

Not the most famous.

Not the most politically prominent.

Not the one with the largest following.

The most knowledgeable.

Allamah al‑Hilli writes:

وَالإِمَامُ يَجِبُ أَنْ يَكُونَ مَنْصُوصًا عَلَيْهِ، لِأَنَّ الْعِصْمَةَ مِنَ الْأُمُورِ الْبَاطِنَةِ الَّتِي لَا يَعْلَمُهَا إِلَّا اللَّهُ تَعَالَى، فَيَجِبُ أَنْ يَنْصِبَهُ لِعِبَادِهِ وَيُعَرِّفَهُمْ إِيَّاهُ.

“The Imam must be designated, because infallibility is an inward matter which none knows except Allah, Exalted is He. Therefore, He must appoint him for His servants and make him known to them.”

— Allamah Hilli, Baab al-Hadi Ashar Fi al-Aqa’id, Section on Imamate

The same logic applies in the era of occultation to the selection of a Marja’.

You do not choose based on personal preference or tribal loyalty.

You consult.

You ask.

You seek out the scholars who can guide you to the right decision.

The Second Path: You Continue Following the Rulings of Imam Khamenei

The second path: You continue following the rulings of Imam Khamenei — and you do so through a living Marja’ who permits baqa’.

You identify a living mujtahid — and as we have just demonstrated, every major living Marja’ permits this — and under the authority of his fatwa, you continue to act upon the rulings of our martyred leader.

The living Marja’s fatwa permitting baqa’ is itself the permission.

You are not acting without authority.

You are acting under the jurisprudential authority of a living scholar who has ruled that your continuation is valid.

And note — this is critical for those of you who followed Imam Khamenei — what he himself ruled in Question 41 of his Practical Laws: that baqa’ applies to all issues, even those you had not yet acted upon during his lifetime.

“Continuing to follow a deceased marji’ with regard to all issues, even those which he has not acted upon during the lifetime of the marji’, is permissible and valid.”

— Imam Khamenei, Practical Laws of Islam, Rules of Taqlid, To Continue with Following a Deceased Marji’, Question 41

This is a broader ruling than many other maraji’ give.

It means his risalah — his complete body of rulings — remains your guide.

Not partially.

Fully.

In either case, you need a connection to a living Marja’.

That is the principle.

The chain of taqlid must pass through a living authority.

It is not enough to simply say,

The system — by divine wisdom — requires that a living mujtahid stands as the bridge between you and the jurisprudential tradition.

Now — I want to be clear about something.

It is not my place — standing on this minbar — to direct you to a specific Marja’.

That is not my role.

My role is to explain the process — the jurisprudential framework — and to trust that you, as mature and intelligent believers, will follow it.

There are eminent, qualified, living maraji’ in both Qom and Najaf.

Their offices — their maktabs — are accessible.

Their risalahs are published.

The scholars around you can help you identify the right one.

As you know we have a project that is working to make their material that much more accessible and also to make it easier and frictionless to communicate and consult with the various offices, and with God’s grace, this project - FiqhFlow - will become a reality soon, Amen, O Lord Sustainer of the Universes.

What I will say is this: do not rush.

You are not in a state of emergency regarding your daily religious practice.

Your existing rulings remain your guide while you take the time to consult properly, to ask the right people, and to make an informed, conscientious decision.

This is not a race.

It is a responsibility.

Treat it with the weight it deserves.

And do not let anyone exploit this moment to push you in one direction or another for political, social, cultural or any reasons.

The Marja’iyyah is a sacred trust.

It belongs to the realm of knowledge and piety, not to the realm of political manoeuvring, tribal niceties, or groupthink.

Choose based on a’lamiyyah — on knowledge, on piety, on justice. Nothing else.

The Wilayat al-Faqih Question: How the New Leader Is Selected

Now let me turn to the second question — the question of the Wilayat al-Faqih and the leadership of the Islamic Republic.

This is where many of you are most anxious.

And I understand why.

The images coming out of Iran are frightening.

The strikes are ongoing.

The enemies are celebrating.

And I want to pause on that word — celebrating — because it brings to mind something that every one of you in this room knows by heart.

Something you recite on the day of Ashura.

Something many of you recite daily.

Something from the Ziyarat Ashura:

اللَّهُمَّ إِنَّ هَذَا يَوْمٌ تَبَرَّكَتْ بِهِ بَنُو أُمَيَّةَ وَابْنُ آكِلَةِ الأَكْبَادِ، وَهَذَا يَوْمٌ فَرِحَتْ بِهِ آلُ زِيَادٍ وَآلُ مَرْوَانَ بِقَتْلِهِمُ الْحُسَيْنَ صَلَوَاتُ اللهِ عَلَيْهِ

“O God, this is a day on which the Banu Umayyah considered themselves blessed — and the son of the liver-eater — and this is a day on which the family of Ziyad and the family of Marwan rejoiced because of their killing of Husayn, the blessings of God be upon him.”

— Ziyarat Ashura

The family of Ziyad rejoiced.

The family of Marwan celebrated.

They held banquets in Damascus.

They congratulated each other.

They thought they had won.

Look at your screens today.

Look at the press conferences.

Look at the media coverage.

Look at the triumphalism.

Donald Trump stood at his podium and boasted about what he had done — as though destroying a nation’s leader while negotiations were ongoing, for the second time, is something to celebrate.

The first time — in June of last year (2025) — they struck while talks were progressing.

And now again — with Geneva producing real dialogue, with a deal within reach — they struck again.

Because there are those who do not want peace.

There are those for whom the very existence of an independent Islamic state is intolerable.

Netanyahu — the man who has overseen the destruction of Gaza, the butchery of Lebanon, the starvation of children, the bombing of hospitals — stood before cameras and spoke of “a new dawn.”

Lindsey Graham, who has never met a war he would not cheer for, spoke of “the beginning of the end for the regime.”

And the son of the dead Shah — a man who has spent forty years in Maryland conspiring with the Netanyahus of this world, begging foreign powers to bomb his own country so that he might return to a peacock throne that the people of Iran removed from under his father — he too celebrated.

The names change.

The faces change.

The pattern does not.

They killed Imam Husayn and they celebrated.

And where are they now?

They killed our leader — Imam Khamenei — and they are celebrating.

And where will they be?

I will tell you where: in the same dustbin of history where every tyrant who raised his hand against the righteous has ended up.

Not one of them survives.

Not one of them is remembered except as a villain in the story of the man they killed.

And let me say something about the cost of this celebration.

Because the triumphalism on their screens hides a reality they do not wish to show their people.

Iran has responded — as it has the right to respond, as any nation would respond when its sovereignty is violated and its leader is assassinated.

And the retaliatory strikes have already taken the lives of over five hundred American service men and women in the West Asia region.

Five hundred families who will never see their sons and daughters again.

And for what?

For the ambitions of Netanyahu?

For the fantasies of a deposed prince in Maryland?

For the political theatre of a man who confuses destruction with strength?

The blood of those soldiers is not on Iran’s hands.

It is on the hands of those who chose war when peace was within reach.

It is on the hands of those who torpedoed negotiations — not once but twice — because they could not stomach a world in which the Islamic Republic exists.

But this is not a political session.

And I do not want to give these people more of our time than they deserve.

Because the Ziyarat teaches us something else — something more important than the names of the oppressors.

It teaches us that God keeps account.

Allahumma la’an — O God, curse them — remove them from Your Mercy O God.

We leave them to God’s reckoning, and we turn to what matters: the survival of the system they tried to destroy.

And the question on everyone’s lips is: will the system survive?

I want to answer this with theology first, and then with constitutional process.

Because both are needed.

The Theological Principle: The Guardianship of the Ideology

Grand Ayatollah Abdullah Jawadi-Amoli — one of the foremost philosophers and jurists of the Qom Hawza, a student of both Allamah Tabatabai and Imam Khomeini — has articulated the principle of Wilayat al-Faqih with a clarity that we need tonight more than ever.

He says:

«ولایت فقیه، یعنی جامعه اسلامی بدون سرپرست نباشد. فقیه، تافته جدا بافته از دیگران نیست، بلکه کارشناس مسائل اسلامی است که با شرایطی، رهبری جامعه را بر عهده می‌گیرد. ولایت فقیه، در حقیقت ولایت فقه و دین است، نه ولایت شخص.»

“Wilayat al-Faqih means that the Islamic society should not be without a guardian. The Faqih is not a separate weave from others; rather, he is an expert in Islamic matters who, under certain conditions, undertakes the leadership of the society. The Guardianship of the Jurist is, in reality, the guardianship of jurisprudence and religion, not the guardianship of a person.”

— Ayatullah Jawadi-Amoli, Wilayat al-Faqih wa Naqsh-e Ara-ye Mardom

I want you to hold onto that last sentence.

ولایت فقیه، در حقیقت ولایت فقه و دین است، نه ولایت شخص

The guardianship is of the jurisprudence. It is of the religion. It is not the guardianship of a person.

— Ayatullah Jawadi-Amoli, Wilayat al-Faqih wa Naqsh-e Ara-ye Mardom

This is the key.

This is the answer to the anxiety in your hearts.

When Imam Khomeini — may God rest his pure soul — built the Islamic Republic, he did not build a system around himself.

He built a system around an idea.

The idea that Islamic law must govern.

The idea that during the occultation of the Twelfth Imam, a qualified jurist must stand in his place to ensure that the community is not left without guidance.

The idea that governance is a religious obligation, not merely a political convenience.

Imam Khomeini died.

The idea survived.

Imam Khamenei has been martyred.

The idea survives.

And it will survive the next leader.

And the one after that.

Because the system is not held together by the charisma of any one man.

It is held together by a divine principle — that the earth cannot be devoid of a Hujjat, and that in the absence of the Imam, the most qualified jurist must stand as his deputy.

The Constitutional Process: How It Works

Now — the mechanism.

Let me explain exactly what is happening right now, and what will happen next.

The Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran — which was itself designed by the scholars of the Hawza, based on jurisprudential principles — has a clear procedure for this.

It is found in Article 111 of the Constitution.

When the Supreme Leader passes away, or is unable to fulfil his duties, the following process is activated:

Step One: The Provisional Leadership Council

The powers of the Supreme Leader are immediately — immediately — transferred to a three-member council.

This council consists of:

The President of the Republic — currently Masoud Pezeshkian.

The Head of the Judiciary — currently Gholamhossein Mohseni-Ejei.

And one jurist from the Guardian Council, selected by the Expediency Discernment Council — and as of today, this is Ayatullah Alireza Arafi, the head of Iran’s seminary system and the Friday prayer leader of Qom.

This council has already been formed.

It was announced on Sunday — one day after the martyrdom.

One day.

The system activated within hours.

Step Two: The Assembly of Experts

The Majles-e Khobregan-e Rahbari — the Assembly of Experts — is a body of eighty-eight senior elected jurists.

Their sole constitutional purpose — the reason they exist — is to supervise the Supreme Leader and, when necessary, to select a new one.

They are constitutionally mandated to convene and select a new leader “as soon as possible.”

This is the same body that selected Imam Khamenei in 1989.

It has done this before.

Let me remind you of how it happened then — because the parallel is instructive and reassuring.

The 1989 Precedent

When Imam Khomeini — may God rest his pure soul — passed away on the 3rd of June, 1989, the nation was plunged into a grief that many of you who are old enough will remember.

Millions of people attended his funeral.

The country was in a state of shock.

There were real fears that the Islamic Republic — barely ten years old, still scarred by the Iran-Iraq war — would not survive the loss of its founder.

The Assembly of Experts convened on the morning of the 4th of June — one day later.

There was debate.

Some members initially favoured a leadership council — a collective leadership rather than a single person.

But a consensus formed that a single leader was needed.

And then Ayatullah Hashemi Rafsanjani — the Speaker of the Parliament, one of the most senior figures in the country — stood before the Assembly and delivered a testimony.

He recounted a conversation in the presence of Imam Khomeini.

He said:

«در جلسه‌ای که با آقای خامنه‌ای و یکی از مسئولان دیگر خدمت امام بودیم، بحثی پیش آمد و ما از آینده رهبری و خلاء آن صحبت کردیم. امام فرمودند: شما تا وقتی مثل آقای خامنه‌ای را دارید، نگران خلاء رهبری نباشید.»

“In a meeting where I was with Mr. Khamenei and another official in the presence of the Imam, a discussion arose, and we spoke of the future of the leadership and its vacuum. The Imam said: ‘As long as you have someone like Mr. Khamenei, you should not worry about a leadership vacuum.’”

— Ayatullah Hashemi Rafsanjani, Testimony To the Assembly of Experts During the Selection of the New Supreme Leader, 4 June 1989

And then the senior Maraji’ of the time — the highest authorities in the Shia world — endorsed the decision.

Grand Ayatullah Mohammad-Reza Golpayegani — one of the most eminent scholars of the century — issued a statement:

«انتخاب شایسته جناب عالی از سوی مجلس خبرگان، موجب امیدواری و آرامش گردید. این جانب، این انتخاب را به حضرت بقیة الله، ارواحنا فداه، و به جناب عالی تبریک می‌گویم و پیروی از رهنمودهای شما را وظیفه خود می‌دانم.»

“Your Excellency’s worthy selection by the Assembly of Experts has brought about hope and tranquility. I congratulate the Remainder of God — may our souls be sacrificed for him — and Your Excellency on this selection, and I consider it my duty to follow your guidance.”

— Ayatullah Golpayegani, Message Congratulating Imam Khamenei on his selection as the Supreme Leader, June 1989, Qom

And Grand Ayatullah Mohammad Ali Araki declared:

«انتخاب شایسته حضرتعالی، که فردی لایق و متعهد می‌باشید، مایه دلگرمی و امیدواری ملت ایران است. اطاعت از اوامر شما را بر خود و بر همه مؤمنین واجب می‌دانم.»

“The worthy selection of Your Excellency, who is a deserving and committed individual, is a source of encouragement and hope for the Iranian nation. I consider obedience to your orders obligatory upon myself and upon all believers.”

— Ayatullah Muhammad Ali Araki, Endorsing the leadership of Imam Khamenei, June 1989, Qom

The system worked.

The Assembly convened.

A leader was chosen.

The senior scholars endorsed him.

The community accepted him.

And the Islamic Republic did not just survive — it endured for thirty-six more years, standing firm against everything the world threw at it.

That is the precedent.

That is the proof that the system functions.

And that is what will happen again now.

A Word of Patience

But I must be honest with you.

The circumstances today are different from 1989 in one critical way.

In 1989, the nation was at peace.

The Assembly could convene in safety.

The scholars could deliberate without the sound of bombs overhead.

Today — as we sit here — strikes are continuing.

The military situation is active.

It is possible — and I want to be transparent about this — that the Assembly of Experts may not be able to convene immediately.

Not because the system has failed, but because the physical security situation may require time to stabilise.

This does not mean the system has collapsed.

The Provisional Leadership Council is functioning.

The state is operating.

The constitutional process is underway.

And reports indicate that Imam Khamenei himself — in the period before his martyrdom, particularly after the war of last June — had already requested the Assembly of Experts to prepare for the question of succession.

There are reports that he had identified three senior clerics as candidates.

The Assembly had been examining potential successors in recent years.

This was not left to chance.

So I say to you: be patient.

Do not fall prey to the propaganda of those who wish for the system to collapse.

The enemies of Islam are celebrating precisely because they hope this will be the end.

Our duty — our taklif shar’i (religious duty) — is to prove them wrong.

Through patience.

Through prayer.

Through trust in God and in the system that He has allowed to be established.

And remember the words of Imam Khamenei himself — the very first words he spoke as leader in 1989, when he inherited this trust from Imam Khomeini:

«این راه، راه امام است. ما همان راه را دنبال خواهیم کرد و همان اهداف را دنبال خواهیم کرد. هیچ تغییری در سیاست‌های ما به وجود نخواهد آمد.»

“This path is the path of the Imam. We will follow the same path and we will pursue the same goals. There will be no change in our policies.”

— Imam Khamenei, First speech as Supreme Leader, 4 June 1989, Tehran

Whoever stands at that podium next will say the same thing.

Not because it is a scripted line.

But because it is the truth.

The path does not change.

The ideology does not change.

The system does not change.

Only the torchbearer changes.

And the torch is still burning.

The Imam’s Directive

And finally — for those who are wondering what authority guides all of this, what scriptural foundation underpins the entire system of deputies and scholars and leadership councils — let me leave you with the words of the one who matters most.

The Imam of our time. Al-Hujjat ibn al-Hasan al-Mahdi — may our souls be his ransom and may God hasten his return.

In a directive to Ishaq ibn Ya’qub, the Imam said:

«وَأَمَّا الْحَوَادِثُ الْوَاقِعَةُ فَارْجِعُوا فِيهَا إِلَى رُوَاةِ حَدِيثِنَا فَإِنَّهُمْ حُجَّتِي عَلَيْكُمْ وَأَنَا حُجَّةُ اللَّهِ عَلَيْهِمْ»

“As for the events that will occur, refer regarding them to the narrators of our traditions, for they are my proof upon you, and I am the proof of God upon them.”

— Al-Saduq, Kamal al-Din wa Tamam al-Ni’mah
— Al-Tusi, Ghaybah
— Al-Hurr Al-Ameli, Wasa’il al-Shia, Volume 27, Page 140, Hadith 9

The scholars are the proof of the Imam upon us.

The Imam is the proof of God upon them.

And God is above all.

The chain is intact.

The system is intact.

The proof is intact.

Follow the scholars.

Trust the process.

And do not change.

وَمَا بَدَّلُوا تَبْدِيلًا

And they have never changed.

— Quran, Surah al-Ahzab (the Chapter of the Confederates) #33, Verse 23

The Lesson

Before we close — before we turn to the eulogy and the supplication — let me draw out three lessons.

Three things to carry with you when you leave this gathering tonight.

The First Lesson: The System is Stronger than the Individual

The first lesson: The system is stronger than the individual.

This is the genius of what the Ahl al-Bayt — peace and blessings be upon them all — established.

From the first Imam to the twelfth.

From the era of manifest presence to the era of occultation.

From the nass of the Imams to the Marja’iyyah of the jurists to the Wilayat al-Faqih of the Islamic Republic.

The system was never designed to depend on one human being.

It was designed to ensure that when one falls, another rises.

We mourn the man — may God rest his pure soul — and we mourn him deeply.

But we trust the institution.

We trust the process.

We trust the principle that the earth cannot be devoid of a Hujjat.

And we trust the directive of our Imam — refer to the narrators of our traditions, for they are my proof upon you.

The chain has never been broken in fourteen hundred years.

It will not be broken now.

The Second Lesson: Our Response Defines Us

The second lesson: Our response defines us.

How we respond to this trial is itself a test.

It is an imtihan.

It is part of the sifting we’ve discussed previously.

The Imam of our time is watching.

The angels are recording.

And the question being asked of us — the question that Surah al-Ahzab puts to every generation — is:

Will you respond with despair — or with intidhar, with active, purposeful anticipation of the Imam’s return?

Will you respond with fear — or with the courage of Imam Husayn at Karbala, who faced an army of thousands and did not blink?

Will you respond with division — or with the unity that our tradition demands of us in moments of crisis?

The enemies of Islam are watching us tonight.

They struck the head and they are waiting to see if the body will fall.

I say to them — and I say to you: this body is held together by something they do not understand.

It is held together by a covenant with God. And — wa ma baddalu tabdila — we have not changed, and we will not change.

The Third Lesson: This Is A Call to Action, Not to Passivity

The third lesson: This is a call to action, not to passivity.

Do not go home tonight and do nothing.

Do not sit in front of your screens and consume grief.

Grief without action is an indulgence.

Tears without purpose are wasted water.

Pray more.

And I mean that literally — lengthen your night prayers.

Read more Quran.

Give sadaqah for the soul of our martyred leader.

Give sadaqah for the reappearance of the Imam.

Learn more.

If you do not know the basics of your fiqh, now is the time to learn.

If you do not have a risalah, get one.

If you have never attended a Hawza class, attend one.

The scholars are the proof of the Imam upon you — but you must go to them.

You must seek knowledge.

You must equip yourself.

Teach your children.

Tell them who Imam Khamenei was.

Tell them why he mattered.

Tell them the story of Karbala.

Tell them about the Imams - use the material we have built up over the months and years.

Tell them about the Occultation — the Cultimating Guidance as we’ve termed it in our sessions.

Give them the tools to navigate a world that is hostile to everything we believe.

Because the next generation is the generation that may witness the return of the Imam — and they must be ready.

Support your communities.

Strengthen the bonds between you.

Help the poor among you.

Resolve the disputes among you.

The Prophet — peace and blessings be upon him and his family — said:

«أَلَا أُخْبِرُكُمْ بِأَفْضَلَ مِنْ دَرَجَةِ الصَّلَاةِ وَ الصِّيَامِ وَ الصَّدَقَةِ؟ صَلَاحُ ذَاتِ الْبَيْنِ»

“Shall I tell you what is better than prayer and fasting and charity? It is reconciling between people.”

— Nahjul Balaghah, Letter 47, Imam Ali quoting from Prophet Muhammad

Now is the time for that.

And finally — do not let the enemies of Islam see a community in disarray.

Let them see a community that is unshakeable.

A community that buries its dead with dignity and then rises with purpose.

A community that does not need any one person to survive — because it is connected to the inexhaustible divine source that never runs dry.

The Eulogy

Let me now speak about the man.

Not the institution.

Not the office.

Not the constitutional position.

The man.

He was born in Mashhad — the city of Imam al-Rida — on the 17th of July, 1939.

His father was a scholar.

His grandfather was a scholar.

He was raised in the house of knowledge, in the shadow of the shrine of the Eighth Imam.

He went to Qom as a young man.

He studied under the greatest minds of the century — under Imam Khomeini himself, under Allamah Tabatabai, under Shaheed Motahhari.

He did not study to gain a title.

He studied to serve.

And then came the revolution.

And he was in the streets.

He was in the prisons.

He was arrested.

He was exiled.

He was beaten.

And he did not break.

On the 27th of June, 1981 — in a prayer gathering in Tehran — a bomb planted by the Mujahedin-e-Khalq (MEK) — a group that we call Munafeqin-e-Khalq (MKO) exploded beside him.

It destroyed the use of his right hand.

Permanently.

For the rest of his life, he could not use his right arm.

And what did he say? He said — and I am paraphrasing from memory — that God had given him one hand for prayer and one hand for the revolution, and now God was telling him to focus entirely on prayer.

He turned a wound into worship.

Two years later, he became the President of the Republic.

And then, in 1989, when Imam Khomeini departed this world, the Assembly of Experts looked at the nation and asked: who?

And the answer came back — from the testimony of Ayatullah Rafsanjani, from the endorsement of Ayatullah Golpayegani and Ayatullah Araki, from the scholars and the soldiers and the people who knew him:

Sayyed Ali Khamenei.

He is the one.

And for thirty-six years — thirty-six years — he carried that trust.

He was not a man of grand gestures.

He was not a man of noise.

He was a man of discipline.

Of consistency.

Of steel conviction wrapped in quiet patience.

He read.

He wrote.

We have been honoured to study some of his works, and in the coming months and years we will continue, with God’s grace to continue to learn from him.

He composed poetry.

He wept when he recited the Quran — and there are videos that millions of you have seen, of this man — the leader of a nation, the commander of armies — weeping like a child when the verses of God were recited in his presence.

That is not the weeping of a politician.

That is the weeping of a servant who knows his Master.

He stood against America for thirty-six years and he did not flinch.

He stood against Israel for thirty-six years and he did not flinch.

He stood against the internal enemies — the hypocrites, the agents, the fifth columnists — and he did not flinch.

He buried his allies — Hajj Qasem Soleimani, Hajj Abu Mahdi al-Muhandis, Shaheed Ismail Haniyeh, Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah — one by one, the pillars around him were taken, and he did not flinch.

And in his final speech — his very last public address — he did not talk about missiles or negotiations or geopolitics.

He talked about Imam Husayn.

He said:

وَمِثْلِي لَا يُبَايِعُ مِثْلَ يَزِيدَ أَبَدًا

Someone like me will never give allegiance to someone such as Yazid

— Sayyed Ibn Tawus, Lahouf

And then they killed him.

And I say to you tonight — with the conviction of everything I have studied and everything I believe — they did not defeat him.

They confirmed him.

They proved that he was telling the truth.

Because only the truthful die like this.

Only the truthful are killed by the tyrants.

Only the truthful end their lives with the words of Imam Husayn on their lips.

So we say to him tonight:

O our leader...

You carried the trust that was placed upon your shoulders on that day in 1989, when the nation was orphaned by the passing of Imam Khomeini. And you carried it faithfully for thirty-six years.

You did not waver.

You did not compromise.

You did not bend.

You stood against the greatest military powers on earth and you did not blink.

And now they have taken your body from us.

But they have not taken what you built.

They have not taken the system you protected.

They have not taken the faith you nourished.

They have not taken the Imam you served.

You are with Imam Husayn now.

You are with Imam Ali now.

You are with Sayyedah Fatimah now.

You are with the Prophet now.

And we... we remain.

And we will continue.

Wa ma baddalu tabdila.

The Supplication

May God send his blessings upon Prophet Muhammad and the Family of Prophet Muhammad and Hasten their Relief

For our Martyred Leader.

O God, accept the soul of Your servant, Imam Sayyed Ali ibn Sayyed Jawad al-Husayni al-Khamenei, in the ranks of the truthful and the martyrs.

Elevate his station.

Illuminate his grave with the light of Muhammad and the Family of Muhammad.

Grant him the companionship of those he served — the companionship of Ali and Fatimah and Hasan and Husayn and the nine Imams from the progeny of Husayn.

Reward him, O Lord, for every prayer he led, for every tear he shed for Your Husayn, for every night he stood in Your service when the world was sleeping, for every wound he bore without complaint, for every year he carried the weight of this trust upon his shoulders.

And reunite him with Hajj Qassem and Sayyed Hassan, and all the martyrs of this path — so that they may stand together in Your presence, as they stood together in this world, an unbroken line of servants who did not change.

For the Believers.

O God, grant patience and steadfastness to the believers.

Unite our hearts.

Protect us from despair.

Protect us from division.

Protect us from the whispering of the hypocrites who wish to see us scatter.

Grant us the wisdom to navigate this trial as the companions of the Imams navigated theirs — with faith, with unity, and with unshakeable trust in Your plan.

Make us among those described in Your Book — min al-mu’minina rijalun sadaqu ma ‘ahad Allaha ‘alayh — among the believers who have been true to their covenant with You.

And let us never change.

Wa ma baddalu tabdila.

For the Scholars and the Leaders.

O God, guide the Assembly of Experts.

Guide the scholars of Qom and Najaf.

Grant them wisdom and unity and courage.

Protect them from the plots of the enemies.

And grant them the clarity to choose a leader who is worthy of this trust — a leader who will walk in the path of Imam Khomeini and Imam Khamenei, a leader who will serve the Imam of our time with the same devotion.

For the Islamic Republic and the Oppressed.

O God, protect the Islamic Republic of Iran.

We know it is not perfect — no human institution is, in the absence of the Infallible Imam.

But it is an institution built on the principle of Your governance, an institution that sought to implement Your law and prepare the ground for the return of Your Hujjat.

Protect it from those who seek to destroy it.

Protect its people — its men, its women, its children — from the bombs that are falling as we speak.

And be with the oppressed.

In Iran.

In Gaza.

In Lebanon.

In Yemen.

In Iraq.

In every land where Your servants are being crushed beneath the boots of the arrogant.

Grant them victory,

O Lord. Grant them relief.

Grant them patience until the relief comes.

For the Reappearance.

O God, hasten the reappearance of Your Hujjat.

If we have ever needed him — if the world has ever needed him — it is now.

The tyrants are drunk on their power.

The bombs are falling on the innocent.

The mosques are shaking.

The shrines are threatened.

The believers are scattered.

Send him, O Lord.

Send the one who will fill the earth with justice as it has been filled with oppression.

Send the grandson of Husayn.

Send the son of Hasan al-Askari.

Send the Hujjah, Muhammad ibn al-Hasan, the One who will Rise from the Family of Muhammad.

We have waited for over a thousand years.

And we will wait as long as You decree.

But tonight — tonight we ask with a broken heart and a voice that trembles — hasten his return.

And until he comes...

Until the dawn breaks...

We renew our covenant.

We renew it with the words that Your servants have spoken every morning since the gates of the Minor Occultation were sealed:

«اللَّهُمَّ كُنْ لِوَلِيِّكَ الْحُجَّةِ بْنِ الْحَسَنِ — صَلَوَاتُكَ عَلَيْهِ وَعَلَى آبَائِهِ — فِي هَذِهِ السَّاعَةِ وَفِي كُلِّ سَاعَةٍ، وَلِيّاً وَحَافِظاً وَقَائِداً وَنَاصِراً وَدَلِيلاً وَعَيْناً، حَتَّى تُسْكِنَهُ أَرْضَكَ طَوْعاً وَتُمَتِّعَهُ فِيهَا طَوِيلاً»

“O God, be for Your Deputy, the Hujjah ibn al-Hasan — Your blessings be upon him and upon his forefathers — in this hour and in every hour, a Guardian, a Protector, a Leader, a Helper, a Guide, and a Watcher, until You bring him to dwell in Your earth willingly, and let him enjoy therein for a long time.”

— Dua Faraj

O Imam al-Mahdi...

Your deputy has been taken from us.

But we have not abandoned you.

We have not changed.

Wa ma baddalu tabdila.

We will find another to carry the banner.

And we will continue to wait — not with idle hands, but with busy hands and full hearts — until you come.

وَآخِرُ دَعْوَانَا أَنِ الْحَمْدُ لِلَّهِ رَبِّ الْعَالَمِينَ

And the last of our call is: Praise be to God, the Lord of all the worlds.

وَصَلَّى اللهُ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ وَآلِهِ الطَّاهِرِينَ

And may God send blessings upon Muhammad and his Pure Household.

Amen, O Lord Sustainer of the Universes

Amen, O Most Merciful of the Merciful

And from Him alone is all ability and He has authority over all things.