Translated Content:
According to Jahan News, quoted by Tasnim, you must know where your name is now, Fereshte Jan? On the list of martyred journalists; the same list that you had scrolled up and down dozens of times while you were there, and each time you looked for a place for your name and wished that your name would be in front of one of those numbers. For example, number 50 or 110 or 200 or... I am talking about the list of martyred journalists from Gaza; the same list that came to life a year and a half ago and after the Al-Aqsa storm with the martyrdom of the first Gazan journalist, and over the course of more than a year and a half, the number reached 230 martyred journalists. The same list whose martyrs are among the bravest and most oppressed prophets in the field of news about the lost rights of humanity. You yourself had said - to your friends and colleagues - that you wanted to be one of those martyrs. You said you wanted to take up arms and go to Gaza and fight the Zionist regime and defend the Palestinians! Your colleagues made fun of you jokingly and seriously, but you were serious and said: I'm telling the truth; I want to go to war against the infanticidal regime; I want to become a martyr in this way... Who knew your heart except God, dear Fereshteh? That's why he opened a place in the middle of that list for you; the list of journalists who spoke and wrote about martyrs; from Gaza; from the people; from Iran, from the oppressed of Palestine and Lebanon and the Islamic world; from resistance and standing up to the death against the puppet and illusory powers of money, force and deceit... the same journalists whose end and end and destiny is red death and martyrdom. Your name is now sitting there, dear Fereshteh; right where you wanted it. Look! You didn't go to occupied Palestine, you didn't go to Gaza, you were right here; Behind one of these tables, like one of us journalists! But your heart was there, on the battlefield with the enemies of truth and justice, and God bought your heart and how beautiful he bought you, Fereshteh.. Unknown among us and known among the martyrs, you were anonymous and nameless; you had said you didn't want them to know you were the daughter of Major General Bagheri! They had said that to attend work, you used to travel by subway, without personal means, like the rest of the people... Bahman Kargar, the head of the Foundation for the Preservation of Monuments and the Propagation of the Values of Sacred Defense, had said that you even stayed and worked until late: "It can be said with confidence that this martyr was the simplest and most hardworking person in that complex. She used to travel by subway and sometimes stayed at work until late, to the point that the news agency officials were worried about her safety. Even on business trips, despite the offer of her colleagues to accompany her, she preferred to return alone." You wanted to be yourself; Be yourself, minus the family name, fame, lineage, and lineage that linked you to the great and legendary men of this land; to your noble father and your martyred genius uncle; to the noble and noble family of the Afshordis (or Bagheris). That's what you were like as a family; great but humble and unpretentious; that's why when Sardar Kargar warned your father about the danger to your life and told him that they were concerned about your safety, Major General Bagheri; the highest military official in this land had said: "Let us go about our lives and live with the people." It was as if you had all grown up in the same school; a school whose motto is a simple and hard-working life, without privilege and without rent, living with the people, alongside the people, and martyrdom in the way of God, the land, and the people. And you, like your uncle; Martyr Hassan Bagheri, and like your martyred father, lived just like a martyr; pure, simple, and unblemished, believing and steadfast... In fact, you lived martyrdom line by line; You, who, after your education and at the beginning of your entry into the job market, chose journalism and writing; writing about martyrs; about the sacred defense and resistance... and became a journalist; a journalist of martyrs... Surely, whenever you wrote about a martyr; when you reviewed him line by line and got closer to him with each line, you would call him softly and say that if he liked your efforts, efforts, and pen; that you had kept his name and memory and his flag high, to pray for you; for your martyrdom! And you knew very well that the prayers of martyrs are answered. Now you too have become a martyr; a martyr journalist; a martyr who was simple and quiet, without borders, without name or badge, unknown among us, but familiar among martyrs, from the inhabitants of heaven and familiar among the inhabitants of heaven. 230 The Most Faithful Martyr Reporter of Gaza Now that long and high list of martyred journalists of Gaza; The list that has crossed the 200-person mark also has an Iranian name; Fereshteh Bagheri. And you have become the 230th person on that list! What difference does it make that you are not an Arab, a Palestinian, or a Gazan?! What difference does it make when your heart beats for Gaza every day and every moment and the fight against the Zionist regime was your eternal desire? And wouldn't it be that in the battle between right and wrong and between the demons and the oppressed of this planet, no matter what race, tribe, or nationality you are, and whatever language or religion you belong to, your name will be written on the same front where your heart was and with your tongue, pen, and behavior, with what you have or don't have, you stood up in defense and support of that front?! And you, our Iranian angel; you spoke and wrote about the martyrs and your heart was with the martyrs and the oppressed and hungry people of Gaza; so you are one of those; from the people of the front of truth; whose fate is also tied to their fate; to martyrdom. How much you have become like Gaza, angel! What a strange fate, Fereshteh! This fate and your end have occupied my heart so much. You are here in Tehran, and Gaza is 1,979 kilometers away! You are here under the safe sky of Iran and the people of Gaza under a shower of bombs and missiles, smoke and fire! When you were writing and writing, you were in the shade and strong fence of a homeland whose sky is high and blue, its land is green and colorful with beautiful wild flowers, its air is heartwarming and invigorating, and the enthusiasm for life is pouring from head to toe, while in Gaza, the foundations of life have risen on sighs, fire and rubble. And between these two lives, these two situations, these two geographies, there is a distance from the earth to the sky, but... but what other than belief, faith and certainty in the Palestinian cause, in the legitimacy of Gaza and empathy with its oppressed people, did a red death like their death bring you?! A red death under the rubble of concrete, iron, and bricks, amidst smoke, fire, and gunpowder... Just like the endless deaths of Gaza; under the rubble, amidst smoke, fire, and iron... Like the blood and fire of Gaza journalists rolling around in; dawn; in your sleep; with bombs and missiles; like Fatima Hassouna, like Ahmad Mansour, like... You were asleep when the evil bat of Zionism targeted your nest and set fire to a frame of Gaza in your neighborhood, in our beloved Iran, and you were in the middle of that frame and in the most beautiful and heavenly moments; at dawn on Friday, you became a poppy and emerged from the dust, smoke, and rubble; red red... and you became a dove and flapped your wings and flew from under the rubble to the sky; light-winged; like angels, like the martyrs of Gaza... How much you have become like Palestine, my dear angel; how much like Gaza... do you see?! How much you have been a martyr, Fereshteh! How much you have been an angel, an Iranian martyred journalist! Fereshteh was born on a historic day from the day she was born until today; on 16 Azar, and on a historic day she left this planet of suffering; at dawn on Friday, 23 Khordad; a day that, after her martyrdom and that of the commanders, scientists, great men, great women, and children of our beloved Iran, was recorded and immortalized in the list of historical days of this red land. The last child of the family of Martyr Major General Mohammad Bagheri (Mohammad Hossein Afshardi); he was the Chief of General Staff of the Armed Forces of the Islamic Republic of Iran. When he entered this world on the sixteenth day of 1376, no one knew that about 27 years later, that is, at the same age that his martyred and genius uncle; Gholam Hossein Afshordi, known as Hassan Bagheri, attained the high rank of martyrdom, she too (along with her father; Mohammad Bagheri and his mother; Ashraf Afshordi) would join the ranks of the martyrs and his martyred uncle. Before joining the front, Martyr Hassan Bagheri was a cultural and political reporter for the Islamic Republic newspaper. When Martyr Hassan Bagheri's niece was born 15 years later, it seemed as if she had a similar fate to his uncle. She had studied communications at Allameh Tabatabaei University and after completing her studies, she started working at the Holy Defense News Agency in 2019; her name was on the list of Iranian journalists and her job was to write about martyrs and their families and their beliefs, beliefs, and schools. Fereshteh had now followed in his uncle's footsteps, just like the year when 25-year-old Hassan Bagheri joined the newspaper and worked to protect Islamic Iran with his dynamic and elite pen and mind. Fereshteh, 22, also wanted to fight jihad with her pen, without being tied down by a name and badge. The news agency's cultural group was the best place to start her jihad, to promote the culture of sacrifice and martyrdom, the same tradition that the family had memorized. In fact, the culture of sacrifice, courage, and martyrdom was a garment that the Bagheri family had sewn to measure; As a noble family that had summarized nobility and honor in simplicity, humility and sincerity, in being popular and down to earth and in defending the people and the motherland. Fereshteh became a journalist; a Mujahideen journalist with a revolutionary temperament. Earlier, her family had dedicated a martyr to Iran and the revolution; Martyr Hassan Bagheri; a profound, literate, book-reading martyr raised in the lap of a mother who had said that man was born to be made, not to be attached to a house, a car, a child and life. And now she wanted to follow in that uncle's footsteps and the first step on this path was to recognize enemies; friendship with the homeland and fellow countrymen and enmity with enemies; The ideals are the ideals of the righteous and martyrs, and Fereshteh had learned these in her faithful and revolutionary family, so she wrote and penned with faith and conviction, and in her reports, conversations, and notes, she was careful about what to pursue, who to tolerate and who to be hostile to, who was a friend and where was the enemy; and the traces of all this could be seen in her writings, such as the note titled "Sandstorm; A Whip on the Claw of the American Eagle" published by her on May 25, 1401 in the Holy Defense News Agency, which described the arson, the war-mongering of America, and the legitimacy of the Islamic system. Fereshte leaned on the pen as a reporter, and the words of her soldiers became a field illuminated by the light of sacrifice, jihad, and martyrdom; You know that the front of truth and falsehood is always in conflict with each other until Satan and the children of Satan are defeated and the verse “And We desire to have mercy on those who are weak on earth, and We will make them a nation, and We will make them heirs” comes to light. You knew how to live like a martyr, angel; you knew how to live like a martyr. Nearly a month has passed since that smoky dawn, fire, and gunpowder, and throughout this time and with all the events that have happened to our beloved Iran in the meantime, you have always been in a corner of my mind, angel, in a corner of my heart. I have reviewed you many times, word by word, line by line, page by page... I accompanied you in the funeral of your body, during the burial and the whispering of the prayer for the dead and the insinuation and farewell to your pure soul in the 24th section of the Martyrs' Cemetery. You were just like me; a reporter, but like me, you did not repeat yourself, you did not knock on the door, you did not stop, you did not get tired, you jumped a beat. You understood what you wanted, as if you started your every day with this verse of poetry: "Where did I come from / What was the purpose of my coming?" and at the end of the day you would reach this verse: "What is from the world of Alevi, I say that / I am ready to throw my clothes there." Why, dear angel, in the envelope and poetry, let me simply say that you knew very well what you wanted, you understood that happiness lies in martyrdom; the most beautiful way to ascend to heaven and reach the kingdom. But more importantly, you knew the way to achieve this happiness. That martyrdom requires "knowledge," and you lived it breath by breath, with your simplicity, with your purity, with your sincerity and kindness, with great insight and sensitivity to halal and haram wealth and respect for the treasury. You, my angel, were not old; you were 28 years old, but you had grown as big as the sky, as tall as the soul of a martyr, that's why when your colleagues saw your hard work and jokingly told you: You will become the CEO of a news agency one day, you would answer with determination: Never! And this was never, the same loud "no" to rank and position, to the hopes and desires of this world, and to clinging to staying, because you were practicing jumping every day, not clinging, letting go... until the dawn of Friday, June 13 when your talent for jumping was perfected and, like a swallow whose time for migration has come, or a beautiful butterfly whose cocoon is too big for its small size, you broke your cocoon and emerged, and you were reborn again, this time in the heavens and in the paradise of the butterflies of the kingdom...