Israeli Soldier Returns From Death & Saw TERRIFYING Truth in Afterlife..

I am Alad Shamir. What I'm about to share may be hard for many of you to hear. Let me be clear: this is not about taking sides.

My story is an honest account of my experience. I served as a soldier in the Israeli Defense Forces. My duties and responsibilities were central to my life; discipline was my way of life.

Every morning, as I put on my uniform, I felt not just like a soldier but someone protecting my people. As a Jew, my faith was one of the pillars that kept me grounded. While carrying out my duties, I felt God was with me.

In moments when I thought I might become a martyr, I found solace in believing that my mission was sacred. But life doesn't always adhere to our beliefs. What happened to me on September 24th, 2024, shattered everything I thought I knew.

That day started like any other: clear orders, no questions asked. My commander instructed me to shoot a group of people suspected of collaborating with the enemy, including women. Questioning the logic wasn't my job; that's how military life works: orders are followed without hesitation.

I raised my rifle and aimed at the target; my finger was on the trigger, my breath steady, waiting for the moment. My heart raced strangely fast, but I dismissed it as adrenaline. A second later, I was supposed to pull the trigger, but that moment never came.

A bullet struck my shoulder, throwing me to the ground. At first, I didn't understand what happened. Pain spread through my body, and I was fighting not to survive but to stay conscious.

But I failed. My eyes grew heavy, the world went dark, and silence engulfed everything. Then something strange occurred.

I felt myself separating from my body; it was as if I were suspended in the air, watching the battlefield from above. I could hear screams and gunfire, but they seemed distant, like fading memories. Amid the chaos, I realized my soul was being drawn into a tunnel.

The tunnel was dark, but not frightening. It was quiet and peaceful. Somehow, I sensed something awaited me at the end of this path.

With every step, I felt further removed from my body and my past. The war and the pain were gone. It felt like I had escaped all the turmoil.

But I was wrong. This was only the beginning. When I emerged from the dark tunnel, I found myself in a completely different place.

At first, it seemed like a peaceful realm. As I opened my eyes, the breathtaking view before me felt surreal: a majestic city glowing with golden light stretched out before me. Its roads were smooth, its buildings elegant and mesmerizing.

People were smiling and chatting joyfully. I thought to myself, this must be heaven. I accepted that I had died and assumed this was my reward.

As I walked through the city, the atmosphere captivated me even more. The air was light and fragrant, evoking memories of my favorite childhood moments. Birds chirped soothingly.

Warmth filled my heart, erasing all fear. I felt at peace, or so I thought. But this place, which I mistook for paradise, began to change.

At first, the changes were subtle, almost imperceptible. A strange chill crept into the air; the sweet fragrances faded, replaced by a faint scent of decay. The birds' song ceased, giving way to eerie whispers and murmurs.

Smiles vanished from people's faces, replaced by cold, distant expressions. The golden glow of the buildings dimmed, and their stone walls began to crack. I had to keep moving, as there seemed to be no way back.

The city turned into a labyrinth, its streets narrowing, trapping me in corridors with no exits. As I walked, my clothes seemed to disappear, piece by piece. I felt naked and defenseless, realizing that nothing could protect me.

The city was an illusion; I had believed I was in heaven, but now I saw it was a trap. My steps inexplicably led me deeper and deeper; the light nearly vanished. I was pulled into a cold, dark, and oppressive place.

Finally, I found myself at the edge of a cliff. The ground beneath my feet trembled as if it were about to swallow me whole, and then I felt myself being dragged downward. This was no heaven, no peace; this place was hell.

When my fall stopped, I felt as though I had crashed into the ground, but this wasn't the kind of earth we know. Flames engulfed everything. A reddish light rose from beneath, filling every corner; even the air burned.

It was painful to breathe, as if my lungs were filled with embers. Deafening screams echoed from all around—men, women, young, old—from every nation and religion, all were writhing in unimaginable agony. Some were burning endlessly in flames; others were carrying heavy stones without respite.

Some were being torn apart by clawed creatures, while others were repeatedly thrown into wells that echoed with a sound of endless emptiness. Looking around, I began to recognize faces. The first person I saw was Amir, an old soldier friend.

He was hunched over, carrying an enormous burden on his back. His knees buckled, but he never let go of the load. I didn't want to believe he was in this state.

Desperate, I shouted, "Amir! " But my voice didn't reach him. Amir paused for a moment and turned to face me.

His eyes were empty; I could see his pain, but he didn't recognize me. Then I noticed a group of people forming a circle in the fire. Among them was an Israeli politician whose speeches I had admired on television, but now his face was unrecognizable, charred beyond recognition, as he screamed in agony.

People around him were throwing stones at him. Our eyes met, and in that moment, I understood that everyone here was facing the consequences of their actions in life. I turned and looked around.

I saw more familiar faces: enemies I once despised and friends I held dear, standing side by side. But here, enmity no longer existed; everyone was equal. Everyone was enslaved by the same torment.

In one corner, I saw another soldier wearing an Israeli Defense Forces uniform, but he wasn't alone; there were also soldiers from the opposing side. As I approached one of them, I didn't need to see his face to know who he was. This was Yosi, someone I had worked with during other operations.

He was chained to a pole by his chest. The chains dug into his flesh as if tearing it apart. Yosi's face reflected fear, regret, and helplessness.

I wanted to call out to him, but the words got caught in my throat. Everything I saw inflicted deep wounds on my soul. It felt as though I could feel their pain.

What did it mean to be here? Why were these people suffering so much? And, more importantly, what would my punishment be?

I realized I didn't want to know the answer to these questions, but there was no way out. The pain here was eternal, and this was just the beginning. I couldn't escape the horrific scenes surrounding me.

Screams rose from every corner as people faced the weight of their own actions. But the true terror of these tortures wasn't just the physical pain; here, souls were being torn apart, crushed under the burden of their own mistakes. And now, it was my turn.

Suddenly, everything around me fell silent. The flames didn't die out, but their sounds seemed swallowed by the void. Shapes began to emerge from the mist ahead.

First, I saw a child. He was eight, maybe nine years old. His eyes were large, his face innocent but sorrowful.

I recognized him; he was a child I had seen during an operation in Gaza. He had clung to his mother, crying as we evacuated the area. I knew at the time that he wasn't a threat, but I followed orders and pulled the trigger.

Now that child stood before me, staring into my eyes. "Why did you kill me? " he asked.

His voice echoed everywhere. Tears streamed down my face, but I couldn't speak. Asking for forgiveness was pointless; his presence here was proof that I didn't deserve it.

Then, more appeared. Each one was a reflection of my mistakes. I remember the day I accidentally killed an innocent farmer during an operation.

The word "accident" held no meaning here. That man stood before me, his gaze heavy with judgment. Wrong decisions, errors born of unquestioning obedience—they all confronted me one by one.

But it wasn't just my victims I saw; I also faced my own fears and weaknesses. The fleeting guilt I felt when I disregarded the lives of innocents during my mission was no longer a shadow; it had taken form. As they walked toward me, the last remnants of hope within me crumbled.

Amid these moments, I heard confessions—my confessions. A voice, as if torn from within me but one that wasn't mine, spoke aloud: "I killed them. I followed orders and did it.

I killed innocence because I was afraid to question. I disregarded human lives because obedience was easier. " Each word cut through my soul like a blade.

I knew I couldn't escape anymore. In the depths of this hell, there was no hope. It felt as though the darkness was consuming me, and with each passing moment, I was shrinking.

The weight of my mistakes was so immense that I began to crumble under it. I couldn't even hear my own voice anymore; the only thought in my mind was that I would be stuck here forever. Just when I thought it was all over, the suffocating darkness of hell suddenly stilled.

The screams stopped, the flames retreated, and it felt like the entire world held its breath for a moment. Then, a light appeared. At first, it was a small, flickering glimmer, but it grew steadily.

This light pierced through the crushing darkness of hell and blinded me. It was so pure, so full of peace that I instinctively raised my hands to shield myself. And then, within that light, a figure emerged: tall, gentle, yet exuding strength.

It walked toward me, unhurried. As it approached, I could make out the face—Jesus. I don't know how I knew, but I felt it in every fiber of my being.

"Who are you? " I whispered, though my voice was a broken echo. He gazed at me silently for a moment before speaking.

His eyes seemed to see all my pain and mistakes, yet they didn't judge. "You forgot peace," he said, his voice soft yet powerful. His words went straight to my soul.

"I was just doing my duty," I muttered, but the words got caught in my throat. "I was only following orders. " "When you disregarded human life, you forgot the meaning of peace," he said.

"But being here is not about punishment; it’s to make you understand. " At that moment, something inside me shattered: my pride, my fear of disobedience, my selfishness—all of it was laid bare. I had always told myself I was doing the right thing, but here, standing before him, I knew I could no longer deceive myself.

"What must I do? " I asked, tears streaming down my face. "Forgive.

Forgive yourself and others. Choose peace. " His words ignited the spark within me amid the flames that had once consumed my soul.

This spark felt like an eternal light. I began to reflect deeply: the innocence I had killed, the orders I had obeyed, my blind loyalty to war—none of it had ever brought peace. For the first time, I felt a change within my soul.

Guided by Jesus, I began to uncover the goodness within me. For the first time, I was genuinely seeking meaning. And that meaning wasn't in war; it was in peace.

Suddenly, I came to. It was as though a cold wind had struck my face. My eyes slowly opened, and the bright sunlight stung them.

I realized I was being carried on a stretcher on the battlefield. The sound of explosions still echoed in my ears, but they were distant and muffled. I felt a burning sensation in my shoulder where the bullet had struck, but this physical pain was nothing compared to the burning in my soul.

For a while, I lay there staring at the sky, thinking about what I had just experienced: the hell, the torment, the confessions, and Jesus. It all felt so real that it was impossible to believe it was just a dream. The fear I felt, the pain I witnessed, and the words I heard still reverberated within me.

Jesus' words echoed in every corner of my mind: "Choose peace. " As I was carried on the stretcher, I thought about my life, my beliefs, and my actions. How many lives had I disregarded in the name of duty?

How many innocents had I killed? Were all these actions truly the values I believed in, or had I simply surrendered to blind obedience? At one point, one of the soldiers carrying the stretcher leaned down toward me.

"You'll be fine, lad. Hold on," he said, but his words felt like an echo. I was no longer in this world but in another reality.

Everything I thought I knew about life and faith had changed. The duties I once carried with pride now felt like a burden. Something within me was unraveling; what I had always believed to be right no longer seemed so clear.

Lying there on the battlefield, I made a decision: I had to change my life. I had to choose peace. This experience had given me a second chance, and I couldn't waste it.

During my days in the hospital, the visions never left my mind: the dark corridors of hell, the torment, the faces, and that light. Jesus's words still echoed in my head: "Choose peace. " I lay silently in my bed for days, reflecting.

Until that moment, I had devoted my life to unquestioning obedience to my duties. Obedience had been the foundation of my existence; it gave me purpose. But now that purpose had shattered.

I didn't know where to find real meaning, but I knew I wanted to search for it. For the first time, I asked myself, "Whom do I serve? Am I truly doing what's right?

" I didn't have answers, but even as I asked those questions, I began to change. One morning, as I looked out the window, a feeling surfaced within me: the need for forgiveness. I was carrying the weight of all my mistakes, but I didn't want to live with that burden.

The only way to forgive myself was to completely transform my life, and I needed to dedicate my soul to God. Years of war had fueled anger and fear in me; now, I wanted to discover the meaning of peace. When I was discharged from the hospital, I avoided seeing my old friends.

I knew I could no longer be part of their world. I sought a path far from weapons and war; a spiritual journey had begun. This second chance God had given me wouldn't be wasted.

I wanted to redefine myself as an advocate of peace and a bearer of love. But this wouldn't be easy; my past stayed with me. To atone for the sins I committed, I first needed to completely transform myself.

After leaving the hospital, nothing was the same. My military uniform, which I once wore with pride every morning, now felt like a heavy burden. I couldn't lie to myself anymore.

I couldn't continue this life announcing my decision to officially leave the military. It wasn't easy; my friends and commanders were shocked. Some praised my courage, while others called me a coward.

But their opinions didn't matter. I had to follow that light—the message Jesus had given me. Accepting my past mistakes and facing them was difficult.

Every night, I questioned myself and prayed for forgiveness. I couldn't forget the innocents I had killed, the pain I had caused, or the orders I had followed without question. But I also couldn't live while carrying that weight.

I knew I had to change myself to seek forgiveness. I chose a new path. I was no longer someone who defended war but someone who stood for peace.

I began a spiritual journey to reach out to people, teaching them about love, forgiveness, and peace. The first steps were challenging; people knew my past. Some asked, "Does a killer have the right to talk about peace?

" and they were right. But my past was the very reason for my new path. Every day, with the choices I made, I was redefining myself.

I believe that love and understanding can rebuild the world that war has destroyed. Once, I lived in hatred and fear; now I strive to shed light on that darkness. This journey isn't an end, but a beginning.

With every step I take in defending peace, I leave behind my past mistakes. This time, I have found what is right. I chose love and forgiveness.