Twenty-five years ago, a radiant light rose from the edges of occupied Palestine and spread across the mountains and hills of southern Lebanon—a solar ray reflected in the sculpted faces of a handful of warriors, scholars, and strategists. A light so powerful, it burned away the last traces of the vile Zionist occupation, leaving behind people awestruck by the new reality: the era of terror was finally over.
These faces toiled in the shadows to empower that celestial beam. Now, twenty-five years later, they may finally rest, as that same light enveloped them in a final, glorious symphony of battle.
In this life, the end of their heroic journeys reveals the sorrowful shadow that once cloaked them in the garments of duty. That shadow now drapes over the places they called home—Beirut and the steadfast South, Tyre and the unbreakable border villages, Nabatiyeh and its neighboring Iqlim Al-Tuffah.
From their new abode beyond this world, they watch as the shadow they once wore clings to the people they fought to protect, instilling in them the sorrow these martyrs bore throughout their lives. That sorrow—the sorrow we all feel—is none other than the weight of responsibility carried by our great martyrs and by our Exalted Martyr, Sayyed Hasan Nasrallah, through those twenty-five long years.
Now, as we approach the twenty-fifth annual commemoration of that fateful Liberation Day – in May 25th, 2000 – we realize: It is our turn to bear that weight, together.
A Gift Given; a Gift Preserved
Grains of rice float upon the fresh winds, released from calloused hands atop weathered balconies. Flags thrash in the gale—their red edges framing a white center and a green cedar. Others, golden-yellow in background, bear the same cedar tree, but this one is nourished by blood, its fruit a fiery fist clutching the body of a weapon.
Crowds gather in unrestrained celebration and joy as rice and budding flowers—native to their now-liberated land—fall upon their heads. The jubilant throng surges and waves as Al-Manar’s camera moves among them, capturing their faces in grainy, fleeting glimpses of appreciation.
They gather. They scream. They shout—loud declarations of freedom. The burden that Allah had placed upon them has been lifted by the strong arm of sacrifice, and they now see only good tidings ahead. Amidst the heaving masses, a single corridor opens for a military procession advancing toward the foot of a building, where a man stands among his comrades. This man would become a symbol of everything noble and true the Islamic Resistance had to offer. He would evolve with every chapter of his community’s journey, sacrificing every inch of his body and soul to become what his people needed—and offering a legendary example for those who would carry the torch after him.
A leader. A scholar. An orator. A soldier. A strategist. He stood in both shadow and light, a beacon for those who adored him and those who labored beside him.
The procession reaches him as Al-Manar’s camera captures the scene from above. A tall soldier in tactical gear steps forward, flanked by the marching battalion, carrying in his arms a single trophy taken from a slain commando of the occupation army: a U.S.-made assault rifle.
The man of many roles grips the rifle at its center, and in a gesture echoing the flag he represents, lifts it high into the air. A radiant smile spreads across his face as a hundred more grains of rice rise with it, caught in the same triumphant gust.
This moment is etched into the memories of all who witnessed it—the moment the Zionist enemy, along with the Lebanese militias allied with them, fled past the demarcated Blue Line, leaving behind a scarred but unbroken people, finally free of their oppressors. It was a moment that elevated the Islamic Resistance to heroic stature, its members rightfully revered as saviors.
Above all, it was the moment that placed the man with the raised rifle—Sayyed Hasan Nasrallah—on the path that would, twenty-five years later, lead to his exalted martyrdom. From that day forward, every speech he delivered, every stance he took, reflected not just his voice, but the voice of all who raise their fists in unison at his every appearance and proclaim:
“At your service, O Nasrallah!”
A Role Immortalized in Martyrdom
The brief video described above underscores the critical importance of the Secretary-General’s role within the structure of Hezbollah. It is a position that embodies the collective responsibility of every soldier and commander, one that demands the ability to project the strength, resolve, and unity of the entire organization.
Both of Hezbollah’s Secretary-Generals, Sayyed Hasan Nasrallah and Sayyed Abbas Al-Mousawi, fulfilled their duties with unwavering dedication. Through their commanding presence and powerful oration, they carried out, to the fullest extent, the sacred responsibility entrusted to them by Allah and by their people. The positions they took and the force they projected instilled such fear in the fragile hearts of the Zionists that it led them to commit their gravest strategic error—twice.
On February 16, 1992, Zionist helicopters ambushed Sayyed Abbas Al-Mousawi, targeting his convoy in south Lebanon with remote-controlled, electronically guided missiles. Sayyed Al-Mousawi, along with his wife, his six-year-old son and his companions, was martyred. The attack was so barbaric that his body was entirely incinerated, leaving only charred remains.
Funeral processions moved from the southern suburb of Beirut, Dahiyeh, to the Bekaa Valley in a majestic display, which Reuters estimated to stretch twenty kilometers. As the Dahiyeh overflowed with mourners, so too did the Bekaa Valley, where over 750,000 people converged upon the city of Baalbek from across the country. Lining the roads, they came to honor the martyrs as the procession advanced to the Imam Ali Mosque in Baalbek, and from there to Nabi Sheet, Sayyed Al-Mousawi’s birthplace.
The funeral of Sayyed Hasan Nasrallah and Sayyed Hashem Safieldeen, on February 22nd, 2025, echoed that of the first Secretary-General, marked by the same overwhelming crowds, all yearning to bid a final farewell. The Jerusalem Post Israeli Newspaper detailed, with striking clarity, just how grave a mistake the assassination of Sayyed Al-Mousawi had been, even quoting Israeli officials on the disastrous aftermath.
“It was a bit premature,” the article noted of the celebrations among Israeli leadership following the Sayyed’s assassination. “That day, close to 50 Katyusha rockets were fired into Kiryat Shemona and nearby Israeli towns. In the following days, dozens more rained down on the Upper Galilee. It was Hezbollah’s first large-scale barrage against Israel.”
“Then, a month later, (March 1992) a 1985 F-100 Ford pickup truck pulled up outside the Israeli embassy in Buenos Aires, near the front entrance. Packed with approximately 340 kg of TNT, the vehicle exploded, causing half the building to collapse. Twenty-nine people were killed, and dozens more injured. If anyone in Israel still believed that Mousawi’s death had weakened Hezbollah, after Buenos Aires, they knew they were dead wrong.”
“What Israel failed to consider before launching the Hellfire missile at his Mercedes,” the article continued, “was who would succeed him. Israeli intelligence believed all potential successors were interchangeable. They were mistaken. Just days after Mousawi’s assassination, Hezbollah announced that a 31-year-old sheikh named Sayyed Hasan Nasrallah would lead the group.”
The fear instilled by Sayyed Hasan Nasrallah and his predecessor, Sayyed Abbas, continues to reverberate within the Zionist entity—even in its own media and analysis. Among all their adversaries, few are acknowledged with such unease. With a mere gesture of his index finger, Sayyed Hasan could send millions of Zionists scrambling to their bunkers. Sayyed Abbas, mere hours before his martyrdom, walked unflinchingly toward a Zionist soldier manning a checkpoint. With each step, the soldier recoiled, firing at the Sayyed’s feet in a futile attempt to intimidate him.
“If you were a real man, you would shoot me in the chest!” were the Sayyed’s final words—a parting rebuke to a symbol of our enemy’s enduring cowardice.
Decades later, in 2024, yet even after the regret they suffered following the assassination of Sayyed Al-Mousawi, the Zionists believed that if they murdered his successor, Sayyed Hashem Safieddine, they could avoid the wrath of the community that has become their arch-nemesis. In truth, they seem to forget that while our exceptional leaders may embody the fear that grips their ranks, we are the instruments ensuring the eventual erasure of their vile entity.
A Flame That Cannot Be Extinguished
The stories of Sayyed Abbas Al-Mousawi, Sayyed Hasan Nasrallah and his martyred successor Sayyed Hashem Safieddine are not simply tales of martyrdom or resistance. They are eternal parables—etched into the conscience of a nation now reborn through fire and blood. Their lives and the lives of all the martyrs of this last battle were chapters in a sacred book authored by faith, inscribed with sacrifice, and bound by duty. Their deaths, though mourned with tears, are celebrated in every liberated hill and every banner raised in defiance.
The Zionist entity believed that by ending their lives, it could sever the head of the Resistance. But instead, it gave birth to a legacy too vast to contain. From the ashes of their assassinations rose legions of the faithful—men and women who chant, “At your service, O Nasrallah!” not in sorrow, but in strength. From the ruins of aggression came the unyielding promise that every martyr lives on—not beneath the soil, but in the spirit of the people who walk above it.
Now, twenty-five years after the light of Liberation first dawned upon this land, it becomes clear that this light has not dimmed. It has only changed bearers. The torches once held by the Sayyeds now rest in our hands as they rest in the current Secretary General, his eminence Sheikh Naim Qassem’s. And we, the people they loved, defended, and ultimately died for, are called not to merely remember, but to continue.
Let the Zionist enemy tremble once more—not just at the memory of those two mighty men, but at the millions who rise in their image, bearing the same resolve, the same faith, and the same cry:
“We are the generation of resistance. And we shall never be broken.”
Source: Al-Manar English Website
