Muslim Imam Dies for 17 Minutes & Jesus Showed Him 8 Events Coming After Ramadan
My name is Mujib Al-Hassan.
I’m 51 years old.
For 13 years, I was the imam of the Islamic Center of Dearborn.
And 22 days ago, I died on a hospital table for 17 minutes and 31 seconds.
What happened during those 17 minutes?
I’ve been fighting with myself about whether to share it because once I say this out loud, once it’s out there, there’s no taking it back.
My life as I knew it is already gone.
My family, my mosque, my community, everything I spent 51 years building.
But I cannot stay silent anymore because what I saw was not a dream.
It was not anesthesia.
It was not confusion from oxygen deprivation.
I met Jesus Christ face to face and he showed me eight specific events that are going to happen after Ramadan 2026.
Not symbols, not vague impressions, exact dates, exact locations, exact details.
I know how that sounds.
Believe me, if someone had told me this six months ago, I would have called them a liar.
I spent 13 years in a pulpit telling Muslims that Jesus was just a prophet.
I debated Christian missionaries.
I trained young people to reject Christianity.
I was one of the most respected Islamic scholars in Michigan.
And now I’m sitting here telling you that everything I taught was wrong because the man I spent my entire career denying showed up when my heart stopped and he knew my name.
Let me tell you about the man I was because you need to understand that man to understand why this testimony matters.
I was born in Casablanca, Morocco in 1975.
My father Ibrahim Al- Hassan was a Quranic teacher.
My grandfather led Friday prayers at the same mosque for 40 years.
Islam wasn’t just something we practiced.
It was the air we breathed.
By the time I was 9, I was memorizing Quran.
By 14, I had completed the full memorization, all 6,236 verses in Arabic from memory.
I was a haf before I was old enough to shave.
I studied Islamic juristprudence and hadith sciences at a traditional institute in Fez.
By the time I was 24, I had my certification as an Islamic scholar.
At 27, I was leading prayers as an imam in Rabbat.
I loved this.
I was not doing it for money or status.
I genuinely believed I was serving God, serving my community, passing something sacred down to the next generation.
In 2001, I married Fatima, a beautiful, devoted woman from a deeply religious family.
We were blessed with four children.
Yasin now 23, Nor 20, Adam 17, and our youngest, Little Rania, just 12 years old.
In 2008, we moved to Dearbornne, Michigan.
If you know Dearbornne, you know it’s the most Muslim city in America.
Arabic spoken everywhere.
Halal restaurants on every corner.
Mosques dotting every neighborhood.
For a family like mine, it felt like home from day one.
By 2011, I was appointed senior imam at the Islamic Center of Dearbornne.
For 13 years, I poured everything I had into that community.
I performed hundreds of marriages.
I sat with families through grief and crisis.
I led thousands in Ramadan prayers.
I taught young Muslims to be strong in their faith and to resist the pull of secularism.
And I debated many times.
I stood in public forums and dismantled Christian arguments.
I pointed to what I called the contradictions of the Bible.
I explained why the Trinity was sherk, the unforgivable sin of associating partners with God.
And I was confident.
I was respected.
I was by every external measure successful.
But nobody knew what I knew about myself.
For years, maybe eight or nine years, there had been this hollow feeling when I led prayer.
I would stand before hundreds of people, recite Quran in perfect Arabic, deliver passionate sermons about surrendering to Allah, and inside nothing, no peace, no warmth, no sense that anyone was listening.
just the mechanical performance of rituals I had memorized so thoroughly I could do them in my sleep.
I told myself it was Shayan whispering.
I told myself to pray more, fast more, push through.
But the emptiness only grew deeper.
I never told Fatima.
I never told my sons.
I buried it under work and routine and told myself this was what mature faith looked like.
Not feelings but discipline.
Then in late January 2026, the chest pains started.
It began on January 28th.
A sharp pain in my chest during fajger prayer.
I told myself it was stress.
Ramadan preparations were intense.
I had sermons to prepare, community events to organize, a dozen families relying on me.
I didn’t have time to be sick.
The pain came back the next day worse.
Fatima begged me to see a doctor.
I refused.
An imam doesn’t slow down right before Ramadan.
I told her I was fine.
On February 2nd, I was sitting in my office at the mosque reviewing notes for an upcoming lecture.
The pain hit me like a wall.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t stand.
I collapsed.
Someone found me and called 911.
At Bowman Hospital in Dearbornne, the cardiologist, a kind Indian man named Dr. Ma sat down with me and said very gently, “Brother Mujib, you’ve had a heart attack. Your coronary arteries are severely blocked. If we don’t operate in the next 24 hours, the next one will almost certainly kill you.”
Emergency bypass surgery was scheduled for February 3rd.
I called my children to my bedside that night.
Yasin held my hand and told me I was strong.
Noah cried and wouldn’t let go of my arm.
Adam sat quietly and stared at his shoes.
Little Rania climbed up next to me and fell asleep against my shoulder.
I told them I loved them.
I told them to take care of their mother.
I told them to stay strong in Islam no matter what happened.
I had no idea those would be the last words I ever spoke to them as a Muslim.
February 3rd, 2026.
10:22 a.m.
They wheeled me into the operating room.
Dr. Chen, the anesthesiologist, told me to count backward from 10.
I remember reaching seven and then darkness, but not the darkness of sleep, the darkness of absence, of being nowhere and everywhere at once.
Suddenly, I was aware, not of my body, not of the operating room.
I was aware of myself as something separate from my body, as a soul, as pure consciousness.
And I was floating above the table.
I could see everything below me with a clarity that was sharper than any normal vision.
My body, chest open, surgeons working intensely, the machines, the monitors, and then the moment the flatline appeared on the screen.
Dr. Meta’s head snapped up.
“We’re losing him.”
Dr. Chen began compressions.
A nurse grabbed the defibrillator.
I watched all of it from above with an eerie stillness.
“That’s my body down there,” I thought.
“But I’m here.”
The shock.
Nothing.
Another shock.
Nothing.
If 5 minutes, 8 minutes.
I could see the team beginning to exhaust their hope.
And then I felt it.
A pull.
Not physical, spiritual, like being caught in a current you can’t see and can’t fight.
I accelerated through darkness so fast that time itself seemed to collapse.
And then just as suddenly, I stopped.
I was standing somewhere that defies description.
No ground, but I was standing.
No walls, but I felt contained.
No light source, but I could see infinitely.
In my Islamic training, I had always believed this place was Albarzak, the barrier between life and death, where the angels monk and nakir come to question the soul.
I prepared my answers.
My lord is Allah.
My religion is Islam.
My prophet is Muhammad, peace be upon him.
The angels never came.
Instead, I heard a voice behind me.
Not in my ears.
I had no ears.
This voice spoke directly into the center of who I am, into my soul.
It said, “Mujib,” just my name, not my title, not Imam Al-Hassan.
I just Mujib the way someone who has known you your entire life would say it.
I turned around.
Standing before me was a man, Middle Eastern, dark hair, a beard, simple white robe that seemed to glow from within rather than from any outside light.
He looked to be in his early 30s.
And when I looked into his eyes, I need you to understand that in that single moment, 51 years of Islamic teaching dissolved like smoke.
I knew three things with a certainty that went beyond belief or beyond argument beyond any possibility of doubt.
This was Jesus Christ, not Isa, the prophet of the Quran.
Jesus Christ, the son of God, God in flesh, second person of the Trinity.
Every word I had ever spoken against him came back to me in that instant.
Everything I had taught for 13 years was false.
Islam was false.
The Quran was not from God.
Muhammad was not the final prophet.
I had spent my entire adult life leading people away from truth.
I was in serious trouble.
All because in his eyes I saw everything, not judgment, not yet, but complete total exposure.
every sin, every moment of pride, every harsh word I spoke to my wife, every lie I told myself, every false teaching I preached that turned people away from him.
Everything laid bare in one eternal second.
I fell to my knees, not by choice.
His holiness pressed down on me like gravity.
I couldn’t stand.
I couldn’t speak.
I could only kneel shaking undone completely.
And then he spoke.
“Mujib al-Hassan son of Ibrahim father of Yasina Nadam and Rana, husband of Fatima, imam of the Islamic center of Dearbornne.”
His voice was quiet but carried the weight of everything that exists.
“I know you completely. I have known you since before the world was made. I counted the hairs on your head. I heard every prayer you prayed, even the ones directed at a false god.”
I was weeping.
I don’t know how.
I had no physical body, but I was weeping in a way I had never wept in 51 years of physical life.
“You stand at a threshold right now, Mujib. Your heart has stopped. In minutes, your medical team will call your time of death. If you die as you are, as a man who rejected me, who taught thousands to reject me, you will be separated from God forever.”
The weight of those words is impossible to put into human language.
Eternity without God.
in eternity in the full absence of everything good.
I understood in that moment what hell actually is.
And I understood I was on the edge of it.
But he said, “And” in that one word, there was more mercy than I had ever encountered in my entire life.
“I did not bring you here to condemn you. I brought you here because I love you.”
He extended his hand.
And that’s when I saw them.
The scars through his palms, nail scars, real, permanent, a physical proof of the crucifixion.
The very event the Quran says never happened.
The Quran says Allah would never allow his prophet to be killed in such a shameful way.
The Quran says someone else was made to look like Jesus and crucified in his place.
But here were the scars right in front of me.
Proof that he had died, proof that he had chosen it, proof that everything I had taught was a lie.
“I died for you, Mujib,” he said.
“Not just for Christians, for you specifically. I thought of you. I bore your sins. Every false sermon, every soul you led astray, every moment you denied me, I paid for all of it.”
“Why?” I managed.
It was the only word I could form.
“Why would you do that for someone like me?”
He smiled.
And in that smile was more love than I had experienced in 51 years of living, more than anything.
“Because you’re mine, Mujib, I created you. I want you with me for eternity. Not because of your scholarship or your prayers or your reputation. Just because you are mine and I love you.”
He stepped closer.
“I’m giving you a choice. and I’m giving you a mission. If you take my hand, if you confess me as Lord and Savior right now, I will send you back. Your heart will restart, but your life will never be the same. You will lose everything you’ve built.”
He paused.
“And I’m also going to show you eight events that are coming after Ramadan 2026. when they happen exactly as I show you. People will have to decide what to believe and you will be the one to tell them what you saw.”
I stared at his hand.
Every cell of my Islamic training screamed at me not to take it.
51 years of indoctrination.
The voices of my father, my grandfather, my teachers, my community.
But underneath all of that, a voice I had been silencing for nearly a decade whispered, “This is what you’ve been searching for. This is why you felt empty your whole life. This is home.”
I looked into his eyes one more time, and I reached out and took his hand.
The warmth that flooded through me, not physical warmth, something deeper, filled every hollow place in me that had been empty for years.
The emptiness I had carried for nearly a decade vanished in an instant.
For the first time in my life, I felt whole.
“Welcome home, Mujib,” he said.
“You are my son now. Now watch carefully. Remember every detail because what I’m about to show you is coming and when it does the you will testify.”
The vision opened over the Indus River basin, Pakistan and northern India.
It was late March, just days after aid aleter.
The Himalayan snowpack was melting faster than any recorded season.
An abnormally warm spring on top of catastrophic rainfall.
I watched rivers swell past their limits.
Dams strained.
And then one after another, four major dams failed within 36 hours of each other.
Walls of water 60 ft high tore through valleys and towns.
Entire villages gone in minutes.
Children swept from parents’ arms.
Millions running with nothing.
Jesus spoke.
“March 28th, 2026. 6 days after aid, the worst flooding Pakistan has seen in recorded history will begin. Four dams will fail. The initial death toll reported will be around 18,000. But the true number will exceed 90,000 within 3 weeks. 16 million people displaced, 350,000 homes destroyed.”
The vision showed the aftermath.
Overflowing refugee camps are disease spreading through stagnant water.
International aid completely overwhelmed.
And then something else.
Christian organizations arriving among the first, distributing food, setting up field hospitals, sitting with grieving families.
Pakistan is 97% Muslim.
Jesus said apostasy is punishable by death there.
Christians are secondass citizens.
Churches are burned.
But when this flood comes, my people will be the first to show up and love them.
And thousands of Muslims will ask, “Where is Allah? Why did this come right after our holiest month? Why are Christians the ones helping us?”
Many will have dreams of me in the weeks that follow.
Many will quietly come to faith.”
The second vision shifted to the night sky over Jerusalem.
An object appeared, bright, moving, but not behaving like any meteor or aircraft.
It descended slowly, impossibly physics defyingly slowly, and stopped, hovering, suspended over the holiest city on Earth, visible day and night, government scrambling, scientists offering increasingly desperate explanations, news coverage around the clock, millions standing in the streets of Jerusalem staring up at it.
“April 9th, 2026.”
Jesus said, “An object will enter Earth’s atmosphere and come to rest over Jerusalem. Astronomers will call it a meteor at first, then revise their explanation multiple times. It will remain for 11 days, visible to everyone in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, the West Bank, Gaza, and parts of Jordan, and Lebanon. On April 20th, it will ascend and vanish. Scientists will have no explanation. Muslims will claim it is a sign of the Madi. Jews will claim it signals the coming Messiah. Atheists will insist it’s extraterrestrial. But my followers will know it is a declaration, a signal that my return is closer than the world realizes. During those 11 days, churches will fill with new believers. Hundreds will be baptized daily. People who never once considered faith will find themselves unable to look away.”
The third vision was the hardest to watch.
Hospitals collapsing under the weight of patients.
Emergency rooms turning people away.
Medical staff in protective gear, exhausted, holloweyed.
And the patients symptoms I had never seen.
violent seizures, hemorrhaging, rapid organ failure.
“April 27th, 2026,” Jesus said, and his voice carried a weight of genuine sorrow.
“A new hemorrhagic disease will emerge in West Africa, ground zero in Northern Nigeria. The World Health Organization will designate it DN27. Initial symptoms will look like flu, fever, headache, body aches. Within 72 hours, victims experience cascading organ failure. The mortality rate will be 38%. More than one in three infected will die.”
The vision showed the speed of spread.
Airport screenings, travel bans, panic buying, stock markets crashing globally.
By May 15th, EDN27 detected in 80 countries across six continents.
Over 5 million confirmed cases, 1.9 million deaths.
“This is a warning.”
Jesus said, “The world learned almost nothing from the last pandemic. Humanity still trusts more in science and medicine and government than in God. This plague will remind the world that life is fragile, that security is an illusion, and that only I offer true eternal safety.”
Many who mocked faith during CO will break during this one.
And I will hear them when they call.
I was looking down at the western coast of North America, California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia.
It was early morning.
People were waking up, getting children ready for school, making coffee.
And then the ground moved.
Not a tremor, not a moderate quake.
The Cascadius abduction zone, the fault geologists have warned about for decades, finally ruptured.
Magnitude 9.4, the most powerful earthquake in North American recorded history.
I watched skyscrapers sway and crumble, bridges snapping, the earth itself liquefying and swallowing buildings whole.
“May 21st, 2026,” Jesus said.
“Seattle, Portland, Vancouver, San Francisco, all severely damaged. And then the tsunamis, 90 foot walls of water, everything within several miles of the coastline obliterated. True death toll exceeding 175,000 in the US and Canada combined. Infrastructure down for months. Power grids, water systems, to hospitals gone. The economic damage will exceed $1 trillion. The Pacific Northwest will become the largest domestic disaster zone America has ever seen.”
But here is what matters spiritually.
The Pacific Northwest has the highest concentration of atheists and agnostics in America.
Seattle is among the least religious cities in the Western world.
In the rubble, people who spent their lives dismissing God will cry out for meaning.
and my church will be there.
The fifth vision brought me to Jerusalem, the Temple Mount, the Dome of the Rock, one of Islam’s most sacred sites.
Morning prayers were underway.
Thousands of Muslims inside.
Without warning, a crack appeared in the foundation.
Not from an earthquake, not from an explosion.
Spontaneous structural failure.
The cracks spread with terrifying speed up the walls across the dome.
And then with a sound like a thunderclap, a section of the golden dome collapsed inward, screaming stampedes.
When the dust settled, I saw the extent of the damage.
A large section of the dome had fallen into the prayer hall.
“June 7th, 2026.”
Jesus said nine people will die in this collapse.
Hundreds injured.
Structural engineers brought in from around the world will find no seismic event.
No explosion.
No satisfactory cause.
The Muslim world will erupt.
Accusations that Israel sabotaged the site.
International crisis.
So the region brought to the edge of war.
But war will be delayed.
Not by diplomacy, by my intervention.
The spiritual meaning is this.
Allah could not protect the third holiest sight in Islam.
If he cannot protect a building, how can he protect your soul?
In the weeks after this collapse, millions of Muslims around the world will experience a genuine crisis of faith.
Many will begin secretly reading the Bible.
Many will have dreams of me and many will come.
The sixth vision was unlike the others.
Not a disaster, but something I can only describe as extraordinary.
Two men appeared in the streets of Jerusalem, simply dressed.
No signs announcing them.
They just began preaching, that Jesus is the Messiah, that his return is imminent, that humanity must repent now.
I watched as crowds gathered.
Some wept and fell to their knees.
Others jered and threw things.
And then I watched one of the witnesses pray and rain stopped falling from the sky.
I watched the other lay hands on a woman lying on the ground and watched her stand up healed.
“June 18th, 2026.”
Jesus said, “Two witnesses will appear in Jerusalem. They will preach for 42 days. They will perform signs and miracles that cannot be explained away. the lame walking, the blind seeing, whether responding to their prayers. News cameras from every major outlet in the world will cover them. Their sermons will be streamed to hundreds of millions online. People will attempt to harm them. They will be unable to. These two men are under my direct protection for the full duration of their testimony. On July 30th, they will finish. They will disappear as suddenly as they came. Their message will be simple and singular. Jesus is Lord. He is returning. Prepare your hearts.”
The seventh vision surprised me.
I expected another catastrophe.
Instead, I saw living rooms in Saudi Arabia, apartments in Iran, rooftops in Egypt, small gatherings of people, 5, 8, 12 at a time, huddled together quietly with handwritten Bibles and photocopied pages worshiping Jesus in complete secrecy.
From late July into August 2026, Jesus said, “The largest underground Christian revival in the history of the Middle East will ignite. Not in churches, in living rooms, basements, back rooms of shops. In countries where confessing Christ carries the death penalty, hundreds of thousands of Muslims will convert in secret. Iran, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Indonesia, Malaysia. These conversions will not be reported by any government, by any news outlet. They will be invisible to the world. But I see every one of them. every single one. This is the hidden harvest, the most precious of all, because these people are choosing me at the cost of everything.”
The vision showed faces, ordinary faces, men and women and teenagers weeping quietly as they prayed to Jesus for the first time.
Police raids on some gatherings, people dragged away, others continuing in different locations.
The very next night, I wept watching it.
The final vision was the most overwhelming thing I have ever experienced in life or in death.
Churches around the world packed far beyond capacity.
Not just traditional churches, open fields, sports stadiums, street corners, river banks.
People of every background, in every religion, every age pressing in from every direction.
Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, people who had never set foot in a house of worship, all coming to Jesus.
Altar calls with thousands responding simultaneously.
Mass baptisms in rivers and lakes and swimming pools.
Missionaries being invited into countries that had previously banned them.
Underground churches in Muslim nations growing faster than they could manage.
Throughout August 2026, Jesus said, “The world will experience the greatest single month spiritual awakening in all of human history. Everything before it, the flood, the sign, the plague, the earthquake, the temple mount collapse, the two witnesses, the underground revival, all of it is preparation. All of it is designed to break open human hearts.”
More than 120 million people will come to me during this period.
The church will grow faster than at any point since Pentecost.
This is the final harvest before my return.
The last great gathering of souls before the end of the age.
I watched person after person fall to their knees.
former imams, atheist professors, hardened criminals, wealthy people who had trusted in their money, religious people who had trusted in their own goodness.
All of them broken open.
All of them finally understanding grace.
It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Jesus turned to me.
“This is why I’m sending you back, Mujib, to prepare the way so that when these events begin, people will remember what you said. And they will have to make a choice.”
He placed both hands on my shoulders.
“I know what it’s going to cost you. I’ve seen it. The divorce papers, the death threats, the spray paint on your wall, the night your mother tells you never to call again. I’ve seen all of it and I’m asking you to go through it anyway because the people watching this video, some of them are on the edge is some of them are one testimony away from coming home.”
He pulled me close and said something that I still hear every morning when I wake up in my empty house.
“I am with you always. Not sometimes. Always. Go now, my son. Wake up and tell them.”
I slammed back into my body like falling from a great height.
My eyes shot open.
Blinding lights, beeping machines.
Dr. Ma’s face above me, eyes wide.
“He’s back. Heart rhythm is normal. He’s breathing on his own.”
Doctor on Chen stared at the monitors, then at me, then back at the monitors.
“17 minutes,” she said.
“He was flatlined for 17 minutes and 31 seconds. That’s That’s not possible. He should have catastrophic brain damage.”
I didn’t have brain damage.
I was completely alert, completely aware, and I remembered everything.
Every single detail of everything I had been shown.
3 days later, the test results came back on my heart.
Dr. Ma came to my room with a look on his face I won’t forget.
“I don’t know how to explain this.”
He said, “The blockages are gone. Your heart looks like the heart of a healthy 30-year-old. Whatever happened in that operating room, it wasn’t medicine.”
I told him, “I know exactly what happened. His name is Jesus.”
When Fatima and the children came to visit that night, I told them everything.
The room went silent in a way I had never experienced in 22 years of marriage.
Fatima’s face went from relief to confusion to something I can only describe as grief.
“What are you saying, Mujib?”
“I’m saying Islam is false. I’m saying Jesus is the son of God. I’m saying he died for our sins and rose from the dead. And I’m saying I belong to him now.”
Yasin stood up.
“Baba, you’re confused. The surgery, the medication.”
“I have never been less confused in my life,” I said.
“I’m sorry. I love you, but I cannot deny what I saw.”
Fatima gathered the children and left.
The divorce papers arrived 9 days later.
I signed them.
What followed was the hardest three weeks of my life.
Word spread through Dearbornne instantly.
The Islamic Center issued a statement saying, “I had experienced a mental break and could no longer be trusted.”
My phone filled with messages, some concerned, most furious, then threatening graphic, detailed threats.
Someone broke every window of my car.
Someone spray painted Myrtad uppastate across my garage door in red paint that looked like blood.
My brother in Morocco called to tell me I was dead to the family.
My mother, the woman who held my hand through every difficulty of my life, told me never to contact her again and hung up.
The Council of Islamic Organizations of Michigan released a public statement condemning me.
Former colleagues posted on social media calling me a CIA plant, a fraud, a traitor.
I lost my income.
I lost my reputation.
I lost my community.
I lost my family.
And somehow in a way that is genuinely impossible to explain without experiencing it.
I had more peace than I ever had in 51 years of living.
Because Jesus is real and he is with me.
Every morning when I wake up alone in a house that used to be full of the people I loved most, he is there.
That warmth I felt when I took his hand in that place between life and death.
It hasn’t left.
If you’re Muslim, please listen to me.
I know exactly who you are.
I was you.
I memorized the entire Quran.
I led thousands in prayer.
I debated missionaries.
I had every argument ready.
And I am telling you from the other side of death itself that Islam is false.
The God of Islam is not the God of love.
You cannot pray your way to heaven.
You cannot earn salvation through works and ritual.
You need a savior.
And that savior is Jesus Christ.
He is not who the Quran says he is.
He is exactly who the Bible says he is.
The son of God crucified for your sins, risen from the dead, alive, and calling you by name right now.
I know this feels like betrayal of everything you are.
I know the cost feels impossible, but I’m asking you, don’t let fear of what you’ll lose stop you from finding what you’ve been missing your whole life.
Because I know that emptiness you’ve been carrying.
I know that hollow feeling when you pray and nobody seems to be there.
Jesus is the answer to that emptiness.
He has always been the answer.
If you’re Christian, wake up.
Stop living a comfortable, lukewarm cultural Christianity that costs you nothing.
Jesus is coming back.
These events are the final warning.
The harvest is coming.
Be ready to love and disciple millions of new believers, including former Muslims who are going to need real, patient, gracious disciplehip.
Be ready to suffer for your faith.
Stop treating church like a weekly appointment and start treating it like a lifeline because it is.
If you’re an atheist or agnostic or just searching, I’m telling you that Jesus is real.
I met him.
He knows your name, too.
He loves you in a way that is completely unlike anything you have been told.
You don’t have to wait for these eight events to happen.
You can respond to him right now.
Confess him as Lord.
Believe that he died for you and rose from the dead.
Turn from your old life and follow him.
That is the message.
That is why I am willing to lose everything because Jesus is worth it.
He is worth losing your family.
He is worth losing your reputation.
He is worth losing your comfort and your safety and every earthly thing you have built.
He is worth everything because he is everything.
My name is Mujib Al-Hassan.
I am 51 years old.
I was the imam of the Islamic Center of Dearbornne for 13 years.
I died on a hospital table for 17 minutes and 31 seconds.
I met Jesus Christ face to face.
He showed me eight specific events coming after Ramadan 2026 and I cannot stay silent anymore.
Watch for the flood in Pakistan.
March 28th, watch for the sign over Jerusalem.
April 9th, watch for the plague.
April 27th, watch for the Cascadia earthquake.
May 21st, watch for the Temple Mount collapse.
June 7th, watch for the two witnesses.
June 18th, watch for the underground revival sweeping through the Muslim world in July.
and watch for the greatest harvest of souls in human history in August 2026.
When these things happen exactly as I’ve described them, you will remember this video and you will have a choice to make.
I’m asking you, don’t wait until then.
Don’t gamble your eternity on your pride or your tradition or your fear.
The door is open right now.
Jesus is calling right now.
Choose him.
Choose life.
Choose truth while there is still time.
