The youngest victims of the 12-day war
His entire body was wrapped in brown bandages and wires attached to his tiny head. Machines beeped and buzzed all around him as oxygen flowed.
Just hours earlier, an Israeli missile struck his apartment building, killing his mother and father. His older brother was injured and also died in hospital.
In a video broadcast by Iranian media, the boys' grandfather was seen walking through the rubble, speaking to reporters.
Holding up a photo of Rayan on his phone, he said: 'We were on the third floor when they hit the sixth. I rushed Rayan Qasemian to the hospital and took this picture.'
It would be the last picture of Rayan alive. At just two months old, he became the youngest victim of Iran and Israel's 12-day war.
The true scale of Iran's death toll is only just coming to light as the country has blocked access to most of the internet and any information available is heavily censored.
But it is believed that Rayan was one of 38 children killed.
At his funeral on June 26, a small coffin draped in the Iranian flag was carried by mourners attending the service. A photograph from the cemetery showed that he was buried in the same grave as his mother Zohreh.
'She was a doctor,' Rayan's grandfather said of his mother. 'She spoke to her nurses before the strikes and told them not to wait for her.'
The family's story has been widely shared by Iranian media, but foreign journalists are not allowed into the country to tell such painful stories – or verify the numbers.
Iran has claimed that 935 people were 'martyred' in Israeli airstrikes that targeted Tehran's nuclear facilities, military sites and air defences.
But the missiles also killed civilians: bank clerks, social workers visiting prisoners and a mother who had brought her five-year-old son to work because nursery was closed.
Other victims included Taha Behruzi and Alisan Jabbari, both seven, from Tabriz, who were ready for their first day of school with packed bags and notebooks.
Instead, they were killed by shrapnel from a downed Israeli drone as they played outside their homes.
Alisan's mother said: 'My seven-year-old was playing – unaware of the enemy's dirty world – when the attack began.
'He was hit in the head. I bent down to hug him and at that moment, I was wounded too. I took the child to the courtyard... We both rolled in blood and he died in my arms.'
In Isfahan, 13-year-old Fatemeh Sharifi was killed alongside her younger brother Mojtaba and their parents.
Ehsan Qasemi, a 16-year-old from Qom's Salarieh district, was killed in his home.
Amir Ali Chatr-Anbarin, a student in year eight at Shahid Ali Akbar School in central Lahijan, was visiting relatives in northern Astaneh-ye Ashrafiyeh when he too was killed in a strike.
His parents, safe at home in Lahijan, were told by a phone call that their son would never return from his overnight stay.
In Tehran, year four student Servin Hamidian, from Shahid Beheshti Elementary School, died with his mother when Israeli bombs fell on the capital.
Ali, four, Fatemeh, 10, and Reyhaneh, 14, were killed alongside their mother and grandparents as Israeli forces struck their home to target their father Mostafa Sadati-Armaki, a nuclear scientist. All seven members of the Sadati-Armaki family were killed.
A funeral banner in a local mosque showed nine photos of the family, with the additional two being relatives killed when Saddam Hussein attacked Iran in the 1980s.
Asghar Jahangir, Iran's judiciary spokesman, placed the death toll at 935 people, including 132 women.
The scale of civilian casualties has drawn sharp criticism from Iranian officials, who have argued that Israel's actions constituted war crimes.
Esmaeil Baghaei, the foreign ministry spokesman, said the country would transfer evidence to international organisations, demanding accountability for what he called acts of aggression against innocent civilians.
While the Islamic Republic has described them as martyrs and state media has broadcast solemn ceremonies honouring the dead, many ordinary Iranians have directed their anger not at foreign enemies, but at the man who has ruled their nation for nearly four decades.
Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, Iran's supreme leader, faced a crisis of legitimacy even before missiles rained down on Iranian soil.
The very people he claimed to be protecting have increasingly blamed him for the devastation that has befallen their homeland.
Analysts have said the grievances are multifaceted but centred on what many Iranians see as Khamenei's fundamental miscalculations.
Firstly, his commitment to the destruction of Israel is an ideological position that most Iranians do not share, surveys have suggested.
Secondly, his pursuit of nuclear weapons capability, which he believed would render his regime untouchable, has instead brought crushing international sanctions.
The economic toll has been devastating.
Iran, which was once among the world's major oil exporters, has been reduced to a shadow of its former prosperity.
The Iranian rial has collapsed, inflation has soared and millions of people have struggled to afford basic necessities.
Young people, who make up the majority of Iran's population, have seen their futures constrained by an economy crippled under decades of confrontation with the West.
Reza, a resident of central Isfahan, which was hit hard in the strikes as it is home to one of the country's main nuclear sites, said the Israeli attacks have shifted public sentiment.
While many blamed the regime for bringing war to their doorsteps, he said there was a new-found unity among Iranians in the face of foreign threats.
He told The Telegraph: 'Many people who once supported the regime are now blaming it for dragging us into this war. We used to watch conflicts unfold across the Middle East on TV and thank God we lived in a safe country.
'But believe me, I haven't slept in two weeks. Every time I doze off, a loud bang jolts me awake. We didn't ask for this – this wasn't the people's war. It was the regime that pushed us into it.
'They talk about a ceasefire but that's meaningless. That taboo has been broken. Now Israel can strike whenever it wants.'
But Reza said the attacks revealed something that made him proud.
'People who disagreed with the regime and its supporters stood together against the foreign enemy,' he said. 'Defending Iran matters more to me than defending or supporting the Islamic Republic. I won't give up even one wajab [about a foot] of Iranian soil.'
Across the country, communities have mobilised to support one another. In towns and villages, residents have opened their homes to those displaced by airstrikes.
Shopkeepers have lowered prices on essential goods and neighbours have gone door to door offering help to those in need.
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The Independent
an hour ago
- The Independent
A fragile ceasefire in the Israel-Iran war tests the harmony of Los Angeles' huge Iranian community
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'I'm just nervous and am completely rattled by everything that is happening,' he said. 'I understand and sympathize with people's hope for regime change. But I worry about the safety of civilians and the efficacy of the operation removing Iran as a nuclear threat.' But Bral doesn't see the war itself as a divisive issue in the diaspora because antagonism for the current regime is common across religious groups. 'This hatred for the regime actually unifies Muslims and Jews,' he said. Cultural enclave offers a sense of grounding Kamran Afary, a professor of communication at California State University, Los Angeles, who emigrated from Iran in the 1970s and cowrote a book about identities in Iranian diaspora, said the community, for the most part, has nursed a spirit of tolerance and respect, much like his interfaith family. While Afary is spiritual but not religious, other members of his family practice Judaism, Islam and the Bahai faith. 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'Muslims, who otherwise would be happy to see regime change, might have felt a little differently about it because their antipathy for Zionism is strong," she said. Winston also observed that in the diaspora, which is concentrated in wealthy cities like Beverly Hills and Westwood, it is not just religion or culture that brings people together, but also their elevated social status. 'They go to the same schools, parties and cultural events,' she said. 'In general, Iranian Muslims and Jews are not quite as religious as their counterparts back home. Los Angeles is a city where there is room to be orthodox, but also being less religious is not a problem. The less religious Jews and Muslims are, the less antipathy they may have toward each other.' A time of fear and uncertainty Tanaz Golshan was 2 when her family left Iran in 1986. She serves as the senior vice president of Caring for Jews in Need, the Jewish Federation Los Angeles' service arm. She is also the organization's liaison to the Iranian Jewish community. Judaism for Iranians is 'more cultural and familial,' Golshan said. Getting together Friday for Shabbat means having Persian Jewish dishes like 'gondi,' which are dumplings served in soup. 'In my family, we didn't grow up too religious,' she said. 'We don't think about religion when we go to a restaurant or market. You'll find people in both communities that are extreme and don't want anything to do with the other. But in general, we have a lot of love and respect for each other.' And yet this is proving to be a tense and scary time for Iranian Jews in the diaspora, she said. 'What happens globally can affect security locally,' Golshan said, adding the federation's helpline has received calls asking if there are any threats to local Jewish institutions, she said. 'There is real fear that temples and community centers could become targets." On Monday, Golshan's organization and others hosted more than 350 community members for a virtual event titled, L.A. United: Iranian and Israeli Communities in Solidarity. A call for regime change in Iran Reactions to the war have been nuanced, regardless of religious affiliations. Arezo Rashidian, whose family is Muslim, is a Southern California political activist who favors regime change in Iran. She supports the return of Reza Pahlavi, the exiled son of the shah, who has declared he is ready to lead the country's transition to a democratic government. Rashidian said she has never been able to visit Iran because of her activism. The only hope for her return would be for the current regime to fall. This is why the ceasefire has stirred mixed feelings for her and many others in the community, she said. 'It's been an emotional roller coaster. No one wants a war, but we were on the brink of seeing this regime collapse. We were so close," she said. Lior Sternfeld, professor of history and Jewish studies at Penn State University, said Iranian Jews in the diaspora identify with Iran, Israel and the U.S., and that these identities are 'often not in harmony.' 'They don't see the Islamic Republic as Iran any more, but an entity to be demolished," he said. "They see Israel more as a religious homeland.' President Donald Trump enjoyed strong support in the diaspora and has now upset his backers in the community because he has stated he is not interested in regime change, Sternfeld said. Desire for unity and common ground There is a push, particularly in the younger generation, for peace and understanding among religious groups in the diaspora. Bral says he is engaged in peacebuilding work through his writing and advocacy. 'We are cousins at the end of the day, as clichéd and corny as that sounds,' he said. Bral's friend Rachel Sumekh, whose parents emigrated from Iran, grew up Jewish in the San Fernando Valley. Sumekh hosts dinner parties with her diverse group of friends as a way of widening her circle across religious lines. In December, she hosted a gathering for Yalda, an ancient Persian festival with Zoroastrian roots, which is observed on the winter solstice as celebrants look forward to brighter days. Last year, Yalda, which also marks the victory of light over darkness, coincided with Hanukkah, the Jewish festival of lights. 'We created a new tradition bringing people of both traditions together to emphasize how much we have in common,' Sumekh said. 'This war is just a reminder that as much as our day-to-day lives may be separate, there is still a lot we share in terms of culture and as a people.' ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
Telegraph
an hour ago
- Telegraph
Why I'm banned from Iran, Israel and the US – despite breaking no rules
Persian by blood, British by birth. A dual citizen who visited Iran every year of her life – until recently – to see the relatives still living there. I wouldn't change my heritage for the world, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't caused a few problems when it comes to travel. It's a strange thing, being effectively barred from three of the world's most fascinating countries – without ever having broken a single rule. As a British-Iranian journalist, I've found myself… less than welcome, shall we say, in Iran, Israel and the US. Caught in a tangled web of international politics and passport technicalities, I've been forced to forgo opportunities and miss moments that matter. I remember being offered a press trip to Israel in the early days of my career – long before recent events – and telling my dad the exciting news. He shut it down almost instantly. 'If you go, you may never be allowed back into Iran,' he warned. At the time, I couldn't believe the two were so mutually exclusive. I'd hoped to visit Israel and Palestine with open eyes, to experience the people and cultures first-hand. But that door closed before it ever opened. The irony? Iran is now effectively off the table too. I haven't been banned – not officially – but as a journalist, the risks of a misunderstanding at the border are all too real. My parents' growing concern about my return is likely justified, no matter how frustrating it is to hear. And then there's the US. In 2016, I received an email informing me that my ESTA – the visa waiver British travellers take for granted – had been revoked. No explanation, just a blunt notification that I'd now need to apply for a full tourist visa. The reason? A sweeping policy affecting anyone who holds Iranian nationality or has travelled to certain countries since 2011. It was Iran, Iraq, Syria and Sudan at the time – and more have since been added to the list. I know what you're thinking: just give up the Iranian citizenship. But that's easier said than done – and not something I want to do. My Iranian passport may be expired, but holding onto it, or even just the national ID card, is a tether to my roots. To the country in which my parents were born, where my grandparents are buried, and where so many of my relatives still live. Retaining that citizenship is more than a legal technicality – it's a deeply personal connection to my culture, my language and my family. Growing up, I didn't always appreciate those annual visits, but I now see them as some of the most meaningful experiences of my life. And I'm far from alone. Thousands of dual nationals, including friends and colleagues, find themselves in similar limbo. Holding onto that second passport is, for many of us, a way of preserving our identity. But it comes with baggage: extra scrutiny at borders, bureaucratic hurdles and, in my case, a growing list of no-go zones. I've lost count of the number of times someone's told me, 'Just apply for an ESTA!' as if I haven't thought of that. Being shut out of a country based on your heritage is frustrating enough, and being met with blank stares or misguided advice when you try to explain why just adds insult to injury. I was lucky, in some ways. After graduating, I did manage to travel across the States – a three-month coast-to-coast road trip that I'll never forget. I returned again that winter for New Year's Eve in New York. At the time, I'd been torn between the US and backpacking through Southeast Asia. Now I'm glad I chose America – because that window has long since closed. Lately, though, I've had the itch again. There are places I'd love to revisit, friends I miss and cities I've yet to explore. But it's not simple. Getting a US visa isn't impossible, but appointments are backed up, and processing can take months. I could maybe get one for 2026 – if I'm lucky. Even then, there's the risk of being pulled aside at customs. It's an exhausting process to go through every time you just want to travel. I've already missed out on so much. I can't see the Savannah Bananas play (yes, really – look them up on Instagram). I've had to turn down work trips, missed invitations from friends, and soon I'll miss a close family friend's wedding in New York. None of my immediate family can go. My mum wanted to celebrate her 70th birthday in California next year. I've told her to keep up her gym routine and take her vitamins – we may have to delay that milestone. As for Iran, I haven't seen some of my relatives in a decade. When one set of aunts and uncles were able to get visas to visit their son in Canada, my sister and I flew out to meet them there. I'm so grateful we did. It's bittersweet to see travellers on Instagram and TikTok venturing to Iran, sharing the beauty of the country I know so well – its hospitality, its landscapes, its culture. I feel a pang of envy every time. Because while the world feels more connected than ever, people like me remain quietly, frustratingly, stuck in between.
Reuters
2 hours ago
- Reuters
Hamas warns Palestinians against cooperating with U.S.-backed Gaza Humanitarian Foundation
CAIRO, July 3 (Reuters) - The Hamas-run interior ministry in Gaza on Thursday warned residents of the coastal enclave not to assist the U.S.-and Israeli-backed Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, saying deadly incidents near its food distribution sites endangered hungry Gazans. "It is strictly forbidden to deal with, work for, or provide any form of assistance or cover to the American organization (GHF) or its local or foreign agents," an interior ministry statement said. "Legal action will be taken against anyone proven to be involved in cooperation with this organization, including the imposition of the maximum penalties stipulated in the applicable national laws," it added, without giving further details. The GHF said in a statement in response that it had delivered million of meals "safely and without interference." "This statement from the Hamas-controlled Interior Ministry confirms what we've known all along: Hamas is losing control," the GHF said. The GHF began distributing food packages in Gaza at the end of May, overseeing a new model of deliveries which the United Nations says is neither impartial nor neutral. Since Israel lifted an 11-week aid blockade on Gaza on May 19, the United Nations says more than 400 Palestinians have been killed while seeking handouts of aid. A senior U.N. official said on Sunday that the majority of people killed were trying to reach aid distribution sites of the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation. Israel's military acknowledged on Monday that Palestinian civilians had been harmed near the distribution centres and that its forces had been issued with new instructions following what it called "lessons learned." Israel has said its forces operate near the centres in order to prevent the aid from falling into the hands of militants, which Hamas denies. More than 170 international humanitarian groups signed a letter this week calling on governments to press Israel to end use of the GHF to deliver aid and return to letting in aid mainly through U.N.-run channels. The GHF has said it has delivered more than 52 million meals to hungry Palestinians in five weeks, while other humanitarian groups had "nearly all of their aid looted."
