GrannieS

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

Americans — a confession from Japan you were never meant to hear.

We are terrified of fascism. Not the version in your textbooks. The version that lives inside us.

In 1941, no dictator dragged the Japanese people into the dark. We dragged each other. Neighbor watched neighbor. Mothers reported their own sons. One doubtful word at the fish market and the police came in the night. The village went silent. That silence lasted four years and killed millions.

That is how a free nation dies. Not with jackboots. With whispers.

And right now — the same silence is being built again in Japan. Not by the right. By the Left.

They throw our gates open. Strangers pour in by the millions — Muslims, Africans, people who will never bow to our dead. And when a Japanese grandmother dares to say, "wait — slow down — let us think," she is dragged into the public square and branded a fascist. A racist. A monster.

Hear me clearly: in our country, "racist" is no longer a moral word. It is a muzzle. A weapon. A silencer pressed to the mouth of every citizen who still loves Japan.

If we fall, Beijing feasts. Moscow carves the atlas. The lights of the free world blink out — Tokyo first. Seoul next. Washington within a generation.

So I come to you — Americans. The one nation on earth that still salutes its own flag without flinching.

Do not let the Democrats take your country again.
Do not let your patriots be shamed into silence.
When America stands, the free world stands.

From one wandering samurai in Tokyo, to every patriot across your fifty states —
You are not alone.
You are the wall.
Stand.

[נועה מגיד | Noa magid @NoaMagid]

Because X has recently begun labeling some of my content, I want to write something here that I hope you will share.

Some of you are new and may not know me. My name is Noa Magid, and since 2013 I have been documenting and reporting on terror attacks in my country, Israel.

On the morning of October 7, having already seen difficult things throughout my years of work, I took it upon myself to collect and preserve the footage and material that began appearing in the very first minutes of the day that changed my life forever.

Some of that material was sent directly to me by people documenting events on the ground, security personnel, and rescue teams who also understood, in real time, the magnitude of what was happening and the importance of preserving the evidence.

Over the years, I have added a great deal more material through ongoing research that continues to this day.

I have been preserving and making this material accessible ever since. A significant amount of the October 7 footage circulating around the world today comes from material I collected, edited, preserved, and republished after much of it began disappearing from social media in the first days after the massacre, at the direction of Hamas and other hostile actors.

I know how difficult this footage is to watch. But what has been published so far is only a fraction of an enormous archive containing thousands of minutes of material, carefully reviewed and selected out of respect for the victims and their families.

As we approach the third anniversary of October 7, I want to direct you to my posts from the first weeks after the massacre, where you will find much more documentation. You can also search for the_slaughter710.

Over the past three years, I have dealt with account restrictions, locks, and many other obstacles. Despite this, @X became a home for my work because, unlike other platforms such as Facebook, which removed much of this material almost immediately, I was usually able to publish even difficult documentation here relatively freely.

At the same time, I have watched pro-jihadist accounts publish terrorist material freely without facing the same level of scrutiny. Unfortunately, X has recently begun labeling some of my content as well.

I want to make one thing clear: all of the material I publish is authentic. It is the result of an unbearable amount of work that has taken a heavy psychological toll on me. But I knew what I was taking on, and I chose to make this my life's mission.

I watch with pride as people around the world continue sharing the material I published that survived here, sometimes reaching millions of people. I hope it continues to travel far beyond my account.

And I promise you: what you have seen is not even 50 percent of the most difficult material that actually exists.

I only hope @XCreators will not begin classifying this documentation as "non-original content." For this purpose, I explicitly give permission for the October 7 massacre material I have published to be downloaded and republished. As far as I am concerned, sharing this documentation is not copying. It is part of preserving it and making sure it continues to be seen.

As with the Holocaust, documentation is essential if we want future generations to remember what happened and understand the evidence that was left behind.

These videos, photographs, testimonies, and records are historical documents of the massacre committed against us by terrorists. They are also factual, undeniable evidence for anyone who dares to question what happened to us or tries to turn the victims into the aggressors.

We preserve them so the truth can never be erased - and history can never be rewritten.

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

The Hershey Company is controlled by a school for poor children.

Not sponsored by. Controlled by.

It has been that way since 1918, and almost nobody in America knows it.

Milton Hershey and his wife Catherine could not have children. In 1909 they signed a deed of trust and founded a school for orphan boys on the farm where he was born. The first ten students moved into his own childhood home.

Catherine died in 1915.

Three years later, in November 1918, Milton Hershey signed his controlling interest in the Hershey Chocolate Company over to the trust that ran the school.

That was his fortune. All of it.

And then he told nobody.

For five years the largest charitable gift in America sat in a filing cabinet while the man who made it went to work every morning and said nothing about it.

A reporter finally found it in 1923. The New York Times put it on the front page. Sixty million dollars, to an orphanage.

His biographer noted what that was worth at the time. Around then, the entire Coca-Cola Company changed hands for twenty-five million.

He gave away more than twice Coca-Cola. To orphans. Quietly.

When they asked him why he had hidden it, his answer was not humble. It was practical, which is better.

He said announcing it would have looked like telling the public to eat more chocolate to help the orphans. And his competitors, he said, would have accused him of using the children to sell candy.

So he refused to sell a single bar off those kids.

Then they asked him why he did it at all.

"I have no heirs. So I have decided to make the orphan boys of the United States my heirs."

Then the Great Depression hit.

This is the part that should be taught in school.

Hershey did not shrink. He launched a building campaign through the worst of it, specifically to keep men working. A hotel. A community building. A sports arena. A stadium. Men who would have been in a breadline were in hard hats instead.

And the school did not shrink either.

In 1929 it had 242 students.

By 1937 it had more than a thousand.

He expanded the orphanage during the Great Depression.

Hershey died in 1945, having given away nearly everything he ever made.

Here is where it stands today.

The Milton Hershey School Trust still holds the Class B shares of the Hershey Company. Those shares carry ten votes each. The trust controls over eighty percent of the voting power while owning roughly a quarter of the actual equity.

The company's own SEC filings state it plainly. The trust, for the benefit of Milton Hershey School, maintains voting control over The Hershey Company.

It is very likely the only Fortune 500 company in America controlled by a charity. Because of that structure, the attorney general of Pennsylvania has a say in whether Hershey can ever be sold.

The school is free. Residential, pre-K through twelfth grade, for children from low-income families. Boys and girls. Thousands of them.

Every Hershey bar you have eaten in your life was made by a company that answers to that school.

A man with no children made the orphans of America his heirs.

Then he kept his mouth shut about it for five years.

The chocolate works for the kids. 🇺🇸

[SK @SparkleKitten39]

In all my years working in the medical field, I have personally encountered postpartum psychosis only twice, and I will never forget either case. It is terrifying.

One of those women had driven off a bridge with her baby strapped into the car seat in the back. When she came into the ER, she simply told us what she had done. There was no visible guilt, horror, or emotional reaction. It was almost completely matter-of-fact: “I drove off the bridge.” She seemed able to tell us the facts, but she did not seem to comprehend the meaning or consequence of what she had done. That was what was so disturbing about it. The baby, thankfully, was fine, and she was physically able to talk to us, but mentally she seemed profoundly disconnected from the reality of what had just happened.

The other woman was hospitalized because the people around her could clearly see that something was terribly wrong.

So I am not someone who doubts that postpartum psychosis is real. I have seen it with my own eyes, and it is frightening.

That is exactly why the Lindsay Clancy case is so difficult for me to reconcile.

If the evidence shows that she deliberately arranged for her husband to leave the house because she already knew what she intended to do, then that appears to involve planning: anticipating an opportunity, creating that opportunity, waiting until he was gone, and then carrying out the acts.

So where, exactly, does the psychosis enter into that sequence?

Was she lucid while planning it and sending him away, and then suddenly psychotic once the door closed? Premeditation first and psychosis second? That is the part that simply does not make sense to me.

And then there were three children. Even if I accept that she could have been profoundly psychotic with the first, I struggle to understand how the reality of what she had just done—seeing her own child, experiencing the physical act, and then moving on to another child and then another—never produced even one moment of recognition or insight.

Then she went to the window and jumped. I do not think that act alone proves lucidity; a profoundly mentally ill person can attempt suicide. But taken together with the apparent planning and the sequence of events, it leaves me with serious questions about how impaired her awareness actually was throughout the entire episode.

I have seen postpartum psychosis. I know how devastating and real it can be. And what I witnessed looked very different: a woman could tell us what she had done, yet seemed completely disconnected from the emotional and moral reality of it.

That is where I remain stuck with this case. She may absolutely have suffered from postpartum psychosis. But if she could formulate a plan, create the opportunity to carry it out, act against three children, and then attempt to take her own life afterward, I have a very difficult time understanding how there could have been no meaningful awareness of what she was doing from beginning to end.
The result: three children are dead at the hands of their mother. There have to be consequences as severe as the horrific act.

[Mike Netter @nettermike]

On September 11, 2001, about 140 infants and toddlers were inside the Pentagon's Child Development Center, just 30 yards from the building itself.

Hanna Born was one of them. She was 3 years old.

She was playing with dance ribbons when American Airlines Flight 77 struck the building. She remembers the ribbons. Then she remembers being in a hallway, and nothing in between.

Her younger sister Heather was there too — just 4 months old, too young to remember any of it.

Volunteers evacuated every child that day. Not one was harmed. Their mother, a Brigadier General, was stationed miles away at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling and had no idea what was happening until it was already over.

A few days later, Hanna's father brought her back to the Pentagon. Not to frighten her — to show her something else entirely: recovery workers, still digging, still helping, still showing up.

That daycare center closed for good in 2004, over safety concerns tied to its location. But something about those few days stayed with Hanna long after the building did not.

She grew up hearing the same thing from her parents, over and over: how lucky her family was that day, and how many families were not.

In 2019, she graduated from the Air Force Academy. Today she holds the rank of Captain, flying the TH-1H Huey as an instructor pilot with the 23rd Flying Training Squadron at Fort Rucker, training the next generation of Army helicopter pilots.

But it's what she does outside the cockpit that's harder to forget.

On September 11, 2025, Hanna started running. Her goal: 2,977 miles — one for every person who died on 9/11. She's averaging 8.2 miles a day, every day, for a full year.

She's not just logging distance. With every mile, she says a name out loud. A real person. A real story.

She once heard a line that stuck with her: people die twice. Once when they stop breathing — and again, the last time someone says their name.

Her goal is simple. Make sure that second day never comes.

She'll cross her final mile on September 11, 2026 — exactly 25 years after the day she was carried out of a hallway she barely remembers.

2,977 miles. 2,977 names. One woman who was too young to understand what happened to her — now old enough to make sure no one else forgets it.

[🇺🇸 /RICK/ Is MAGA 🇺🇸 @Rickbarmore]

This is awesome 👇🙏🙏🙏

[Stu Smith @thestustustudio]

You have to watch every second of this to fully appreciate it. Genuinely one of the best tributes to Dolly Parton ever.

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

My fellow citizens of the free world,

I stand before you not as a politician seeking power, but as a human being who still believes in something simple and sacred:

That every nation has the right — and the duty — to protect its own people first.

If I were British, I would vote Restore.
If I were German, I would vote AfD.
If I were Italian, I would follow Giorgia Meloni without hesitation.
And if I were American, I would vote Republican. Every single time.

Not out of hatred.
Not out of fear.
But out of love.

Love for the country that raised me.
Love for the culture that shaped me.
Love for the children who will inherit whatever we leave behind.

There is a force in this world — quiet, patient, and immensely powerful — that has decided our nations must be broken.
It does not come with tanks.
It comes with open borders, with endless guilt, and with the soft language of “human rights” and “equality.”

It uses people from distant lands as instruments.
It tells us that to resist is to be cruel.
It tells us that to prefer our own people is to be evil.

And so the left sings its beautiful songs of compassion…
while our cities change beyond recognition,
while our women walk in fear,
while our children are taught to be ashamed of their own history,
and while the very idea of a people, a homeland, a shared destiny is slowly erased.

They promise utopia.
What they deliver is something much darker.

A future where free nations collapse into managed chaos…
and where the only ones left standing are the strongmen who never believed in our soft illusions —
the Putins, the Xis, the Kims, and the African dictators who laugh at our self-destruction.

Is that the future you want?
To become the servants of those who never pretended to care about “diversity”?

I am not against the world living in peace.
I am not against friendship between nations.
I am not against human kindness.

I am against the deliberate destruction of the only homes we have.

A rational human being understands a simple truth:

First, a people must be secure in their own land.
First, a nation must protect its own children.
Only then can it offer genuine friendship to others.

You cannot share what you no longer possess.
You cannot welcome the world when your own house is on fire.

So I say this with all the force of my heart:

Defend your people.
Defend your culture.
Defend your future.

Not because you hate others —
but because you still love yourselves enough to survive.

That is not extremism.
That is not hatred.
That is the most basic, most human form of love there is.

And if we lose the courage to say it…
then we will lose everything else as well.

[Tommy Robinson 🇬🇧 @TRobinsonNewEra]

An accurate visual representation of "Modern Britain".

[Masih Alinejad @AlinejadMasih]

URGENT:
"I reached out to almost every newspaper inside Iran. No one will touch this story."

Zeinab Mousavi known as "Aban" is dying quietly in Vakilabad Prison, and Iran’s regime wants no one to know.

A barista arrested alongside her brother Hassan on February 24, 2025, Zeinab has been charged with moharebeh, "enmity against God", for protesting. The charge carries the death penalty.

Now, her health is collapsing. For several consecutive nights, she has been suffering seizures in her sleep. Her family and supporters are demanding her immediate emergency transfer for medical treatment outside the prison walls. That demand has been ignored.

The silence around her case is not accidental.

Sepideh Qolian, an Iranian activist who was herself just released from prison, tried to break it. She reached out to most major Iranian newspapers to speak about the deteriorating conditions of the December protesters from Mashhad. Not one was willing to publish it.

"I'm at my most helpless," Qolian wrote. "If I speak to foreign media, I'll be arrested again. The conditions of the December prisoners are very bad."

Iran has built a perfect trap: beat them inside, silence those who witness it, and punish anyone who speaks out.

Zeinab Mousavi may be executed for protesting. She may also die waiting for medical care she is being denied.

Her story is being buried in real time. We refuse to let that happen.

#FreeZeinabMousavi

[Wesley Hunt @WesleyHuntTX]

This is the definitive rendition of our National Anthem. Whitney Houston didn’t just sing it—she made us feel it. Patriotism. Pride. Purpose.

A moment that reminded us why we love this country.

Happy Birthday, America. 🇺🇸

[Carissa @njoyzgrl81]

Goosebumps… our military is so badass!

[Brivael Le Pogam @brivael]

Je suis Français.

Ma boîte est américaine.

Et aujourd'hui, 4 juillet, jour où l'Amérique fête ses 250 ans, je veux dire les choses simplement : j'aime les États-Unis.

Pas par posture. Par lucidité.

Parce que vous avez gardé ce que l'Occident a produit de meilleur, et que trop d'Européens ont oublié.
Vous respectez la création de valeur. Chez vous, réussir n'est pas un péché à expier mais une preuve qu'on a rendu service au monde. Votre rapport à l'argent est sain : ce n'est pas une honte, c'est de l'énergie qu'on remet en mouvement.

Vous êtes des joueurs, pas des victimes. Quand quelque chose casse, vous demandez « comment on répare » pas « qui est le coupable ». L'Europe, elle, a fait de la plainte un sport national et de la victimisation une identité. C'est notre vraie maladie.

Vous incarnez encore les valeurs de l'Occident. Le dépassement de soi. La liberté individuelle. Et qu'on l'oublie jamais le fun. Un peuple qui ne sait plus jouer, rêver grand et rire de lui-même est un peuple qui a déjà commencé à mourir.

Vous avez bâti les meilleures technologies des 40 dernières années. Internet, le mobile, le cloud, le spatial, l'IA. Pendant que d'autres écrivaient des rapports sur l'innovation, vous la livriez.
Maintenant, deux conseils. De quelqu'un qui vous aime.

Méfiez-vous du poison communiste qui s'infiltre chez vous. Il ne porte plus l'uniforme rouge. Il a muté. Décroissance, wokisme, globalisme : mille visages, une seule logique culpabiliser le fort, punir le créateur, dissoudre l'individu dans la masse. Ne le laissez pas entrer par la porte de derrière au nom de la vertu.

Continuez d'accélérer.

Vous n'êtes pas qu'un pays, vous êtes le dernier grand accélérateur de la civilisation. Créez les conditions pour que l'Occident finisse par se réunir autour de trois piliers : la propriété, la liberté individuelle, le capitalisme. Vous en êtes le moteur. Mais n'oubliez jamais que l'Europe reste votre socle culturel vos racines sont ici.

Alors joyeux anniversaire, l'Amérique. Restez joueurs. Restez libres. Restez debout.

Au travail. 🇺🇸

[Ted Nugent @TedNugent]

For the love of God family country Constitution freedom law and order help me make Texas real Texas with Chip Roy!

[Brivael Le Pogam @brivael]

Je veux présenter mes excuses, au nom des Français, pour avoir enfanté la French Theory (qui a enfanté la pire des merdes idéologiques : le wokisme).

Nous avons donné au monde Descartes, Pascal, Tocqueville. Et puis, dans les ruines intellectuelles de l'après-68, nous avons donné Foucault, Derrida, Deleuze. Trois hommes brillants qui ont fabriqué, dans l'élégance de notre langue, l'arme idéologique qui paralyse aujourd'hui l'Occident.

Il faut comprendre ce qu'ils ont fait. Foucault a enseigné que la vérité n'existe pas, qu'il n'y a que des rapports de pouvoir déguisés en savoir. Que la science, la raison, la justice, l'institution médicale, l'école, la prison, la sexualité, tout n'est qu'une mise en scène de la domination. Derrida a enseigné que les textes n'ont pas de sens stable, que tout signifiant glisse, que toute lecture est une trahison, que l'auteur est mort et que le lecteur règne. Deleuze a enseigné qu'il fallait préférer le rhizome à l'arbre, le nomade au sédentaire, le désir à la loi, le devenir à l'être, la différence à l'identité.

Pris isolément, ce sont des thèses discutables. Combinées, exportées, vulgarisées, elles forment un système. Et ce système est un poison.

Car voici ce qui s'est passé. Ces textes, illisibles en France, ont traversé l'Atlantique. Les départements de Yale, de Berkeley, de Columbia les ont absorbés dans les années 80. Ils y ont trouvé un terreau qui n'existait pas chez nous : le puritanisme américain, sa culpabilité raciale, son obsession identitaire. La French Theory s'est mariée à ce substrat, et l'enfant de ce mariage s'appelle le wokisme.

Judith Butler lit Foucault et invente le genre performatif. Edward Said lit Foucault et invente le post-colonialisme académique. Kimberlé Crenshaw hérite du cadre et invente l'intersectionnalité. À chaque étape, la matrice est française : il n'y a pas de vérité, il n'y a que du pouvoir, donc toute hiérarchie est suspecte, toute institution est oppressive, toute norme est violence, toute identité est construite donc négociable, toute majorité est coupable.

Voilà comment trois philosophes parisiens, qui n'ont probablement jamais imaginé leurs conséquences pratiques, ont fourni le logiciel d'exploitation à une génération entière d'activistes, de bureaucrates universitaires, de DRH, de journalistes, de législateurs. Voilà comment on a obtenu une civilisation qui ne sait plus dire si une femme est une femme, si sa propre histoire mérite d'être défendue, si le mérite existe, si la vérité se distingue de l'opinion.

C'est de la merde pour une raison simple, et il faut la dire calmement. Une civilisation se tient debout sur trois piliers : la croyance qu'il existe une vérité accessible à la raison, la croyance qu'il existe un bien distinct du mal, la croyance qu'il existe un héritage à transmettre. La French Theory a entrepris de dynamiter les trois. Pas par méchanceté. Par jeu intellectuel, par fascination du soupçon, par haine de la bourgeoisie qui les avait nourris. Mais le résultat est là. Une génération entière a appris à déconstruire et n'a jamais appris à construire. Une génération entière sait soupçonner et ne sait plus admirer. Une génération entière voit le pouvoir partout et la beauté nulle part.

Je m'excuse parce que nous, Français, avons une responsabilité particulière. C'est notre langue, nos universités, nos éditeurs, notre prestige qui ont donné à ce nihilisme son emballage chic. Sans la légitimité de la Sorbonne et de Vincennes, ces idées n'auraient jamais traversé l'océan. Nous avons exporté le doute comme d'autres exportent des armes.

Ce qui se construit maintenant, en silicon valley, dans les labos d'IA, dans les startups, dans les ateliers, dans tous les lieux où des gens fabriquent encore des choses au lieu de les déconstruire, c'est la réponse. Une civilisation se reconstruit par les bâtisseurs, pas par les commentateurs. Par ceux qui croient que la vérité existe et qu'elle vaut qu'on s'y consacre. Par ceux qui assument une hiérarchie du beau, du vrai, du bon, et qui n'ont pas honte de la transmettre.

Alors pardon. Et au travail.

[GrannieS @GrannieSmith3]

@ImDuke11 @dbongino Same!

[Leah Rain ✝️🇺🇸🎸🏝️ @LeahRain77]

Sounds about right ..

[Houman David Hemmati, MD, PhD @houmanhemmati]

🇮🇷 As a Jewish Persian who fled the 1979 revolution as a little boy, I never thought I would live to see this.

But here we are.

This Monday night and Tuesday — March 2 and 3 — Purim falls.

And I am officially proposing something bold, joyful, and long overdue:

Purim is no longer just a Jewish holiday.
It is now Iran’s holiday. And the world’s.

A global celebration of the defeat of evil — whenever and wherever it rises.

Let me tell you the story in plain words, because every Persian, every Christian, every secular Muslim, every person who loves freedom needs to hear it right now.

In ancient Persia (the very land we call Iran today), an evil man named Haman — the second-most powerful figure in the empire — hatched a plan to kill every single Jew in the kingdom. One day, one decree, total annihilation.

But a secretly Jewish queen named Esther stepped forward. She risked her life, revealed her identity to the king, and exposed Haman’s genocidal plot. Haman was hanged on the very gallows he had built for the Jews. His 75,000 henchmen who had armed themselves to carry out the massacre were defeated instead. The Jewish people were saved.

That is Purim.

It’s why we call it the Jewish Halloween — costumes, noise, heavy drinking, pure joy.
We read the whole story aloud from the Megillah. Every time Haman’s name is mentioned, we boo, stomp, shake noisemakers, and drown it out with cheers.
We eat triangular cookies called Hamantashen — shaped like Haman’s ears (or his hat, depending who you ask) — so we literally bite off a piece of the villain every year.

And this year?
This year is the living, breathing repeat of Purim — but for all the Persian people and the entire world.

Ali Khamenei — the modern Haman who hijacked our beautiful Iran, who armed October 7, who murdered tens of thousands of his own citizens, who gouged eyes and hung teenagers — is dead.
His top enablers and IRGC commanders are gone with him.

The gallows they built for the Iranian people have been turned against them.

The evil regime that stole our country in 1979 has just suffered its own Purim miracle.

So here is my invitation to every single one of you — Christian, secular Muslim, atheist, Persian, Israeli, American, anyone who cheered when the tumor was finally removed:

This Monday night and Tuesday, go celebrate Purim like it’s your holiday — because it now is.

Find a synagogue near you. No excuse - at the very least there’s a @Chabad in every corner of the planet— they are the most welcoming, joyful, open-hearted communities on earth. They will embrace you with open arms, delicious food, and zero judgment.

Register in advance for security (these are crazy but beautiful times).

Bring your kids in costumes. Dress up as Queen Esther, as Persian kings and queens, fighter pilots, even @realDonaldTrump — whatever makes you smile.

Be ready to eat, drink (a lot — it’s a mitzvah!), laugh, and make maximum noise every single time Haman’s name is read.

Let the booing be for Khamenei too.
Let the cheers be for a free Iran, a peaceful Middle East, and a world finally rid of that 47-year nightmare.

Purim has always been about the underdog defeating the tyrant in the very heart of Persia.

Today the story has come full circle.

The evil has been hanged.
The people are rising.
The light is winning.

So let’s make this the first global Purim — a holiday for every Iranian who wants their country back, and every human being who believes evil must fall.

Come celebrate with us.

The regime’s Haman is dead.

Now let the real Persia — free, proud, and joyful — live again.

Who’s with me?

Monday and Tuesday.

Synagogues. Costumes. Hamantashen. Cheers.

For Iran. For Israel. For freedom. For all of us.

🇮🇷❤️🇮🇱🎉

Bring everyone you know.

The world has waited 2,500 years for this encore.

Let’s make it the loudest, happiest Purim in history.

[Houman David Hemmati, MD, PhD @houmanhemmati]

🇮🇷 47 years ago, I stood at a window in Tehran as a 3-year-old boy, smelling burning tires and hearing the chants that would steal my country. I didn’t have words for what was happening. Today, I am watching smoke rise over the same city — but this time the smoke is not the end of Iran. It is, God willing, the beginning of her resurrection.

Several weeks ago I wrote in that the fever of 1979 was finally breaking. I never imagined I would wake up to see that fever confronted so directly. Israel — with the clear support of the United States — has launched a preemptive strike deep into Tehran and against the regime’s military machinery. Explosions in the capital. Military targets hit. The IRGC’s aura of invincibility, already cracked, is shattering in real time.

I do not celebrate war. No decent person does. What I celebrate — what millions of Iranians inside the country and in the diaspora have prayed for in secret for decades — is the possibility that a regime which has no right to exist may finally be forced to go.

This is the same regime that:
- Armed and cheered the October 7 massacre against Israel for no reason other than pure genocidal hatred.
- Murdered tens of thousands of its own sons and daughters who dared to walk peacefully in the streets demanding the most basic freedoms.
- Gouges out the eyes of young women for the “crime” of wearing makeup.
- Hangs teenagers from cranes for posting a tweet.
- Exports terror, poverty, and darkness to every corner it can reach including the U.S.

No nation, no people, should have to live under that. Not Israelis. Not Americans. Not Lebanese. Not Syrians. And certainly not Iranians.

I am a physician who has spent his life trying to heal bodies and a son of Iran who has spent his life mourning a stolen homeland. What we are witnessing is not aggression — it is surgery. Painful, necessary surgery to remove a tumor that has metastasized for 47 years. The tumor is the Islamic Republic that has hijacked Iran.

To the brave pilots and special operators of the Israeli Air Force and the men and women of the United States military now carrying out this mission: I pray for you with everything I have.

May God shield you from harm. May every missile find its target and every soldier return home safely to the families who love them. You are not invaders. You are the answer to the prayers of millions who have whispered “enough” in the dark since 1979. You are giving our friends the chance to breathe free air again. The entire region will owe you a peace we have not known in my lifetime.

To my fellow Iranians watching from inside the country right now, heart pounding, maybe hiding in basements or on rooftops: Hold on. The end is clearer than it has ever been. The regime’s fear is real. Their eyes — those same eyes that once stared down at us with absolute power — now show something they haven’t shown in decades: panic. The math has changed. The window of 1979 is finally closing.

To the little three-year-old boy I once was — and to every little boy and girl in Tehran, Isfahan, Shiraz, and Tabriz today who hears explosions instead of lullabies: This time the sounds are not the closing of a door. They are the opening of one.

The road ahead will not be easy. Transitions never are. But the direction is unmistakable. A secular, prosperous, free Iran is no longer a dream — it is becoming an inevitability.

I have lived the stolen life so that others might not have to. Today, for the first time in 47 years, I allow myself to believe that the stealing is almost over.

Thank you, Israel. Thank you, America. The Iranian people — the real Iran — will never forget.

The fever is breaking.
The dawn of 2026 is here.
And this time, the light wins.

🇮🇷❤️🇮🇱🇺🇸

[Girl patriot 🙏 🇺🇸 🦅 @Girlpatriot1974]

A woman stole Charlie Kirk's ICE hat off of his head during a debate.

Watch Charlie's reaction.