TEHRAN – I am in the Behesht-e Zahra Cemetery, the largest burial ground in Tehran which is the resting place of generations. Established in 1963 (1342 in the Persian calendar) and named “Behesht-e Zahra” after consultations among the city’s council of elders and merchants at the home of the late Seyyed Ahmad Khansari, this cemetery has since become a landmark in the capital’s history.

It was here, in 1979, that the Founder of the Islamic Revolution, Imam Khomeini, delivered his first speech after returning to the homeland — a historic gathering marked by a massive, unprecedented welcome from the people.

For some years after its establishment, the cemetery did not attract much attention. But as Tehran expanded, it became the city’s principal burial site. There are still smaller local cemeteries and shrines in different districts of Tehran, where social and economic factors influence burial choices. Yet Behesht-e Zahra remains the largest cemetery in Iran, home to the graves of people from every walk of life.

It is the morning of August 7. A cool breeze is blowing. I take an online taxi service to the site of my report. The driver happens to be an employee of the Behesht-e Zahra Organization, working as a driver for the funeral transport vehicles.

I ask him about the war days and how the martyrs and victims were brought here. He says that a few days after the attacks and the martyrdoms, burial operations began. He speaks about the “Martyrs’ Resting Place” (Me’raj al-Shohada). His vehicle, however, was not used for transporting martyrs — but the term “Me’raj al-Shohada” still catches my attention.

In the administrative offices of Behesht-e Zahra, one of the managers tells me that about 250 martyrs from Tehran are buried in Section 42. The actual number of Tehran’s martyrs is higher, but some were taken to their hometowns to be laid to rest there.

Section 42 is a square-shaped area next to the section for martyrs of the eight-year war with the Ba’athist regime of Iraq.

He explains that, to facilitate and speed up the burial process for martyrs, representatives from all relevant organizations were gathered into a single unit called the “War Headquarters.” This headquarters worked alongside the Burial Committee, the Ministry of Defense, the Martyrs Foundation, and the Civil Registry Organization, and maintained a dedicated morgue — all to honor and bid farewell to the martyrs. He adds that neither the emptiness of Tehran during those days nor the shock of the missile strikes prevented the grand farewell ceremonies from taking place. Every effort by the organization and the martyrs’ committee was directed toward ensuring the most dignified send-off possible.

It is about 8 a.m. A notable number of visitors have come to pay respects to the martyrs. A placard reads: This is Section 42; the same year in which Imam Khomeini described the infants in their cradles as the future soldiers of the struggle. It feels as if this “cradle” still raises children to become soldiers in defense and resistance.

The graves are white. Green and red flags flutter in the wind — the colors alongside white recalling the flag of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

After reciting the Fatiha over the graves and receiving warm thanks from the martyrs’ mothers and families, I begin speaking with them and the other visitors.

The mother of Martyr Commander Javad Pour Rajabi, a disabled veteran of the IRGC’s Aerospace Division, tells me: “When I bid farewell to my son, I said only one thing to God: ‘O God, accept this gift from us.’” Javad’s sister recounts how her brother’s body had gone missing, and how she dreamt of a sign showing where he would be found, and later, his remains were discovered in that very location.

Section 42 reflects the diversity of Iran’s people — a blend of professions, backgrounds, and even religious beliefs. Among the gravestones are doctors, nurses, engineers, civil servants, drivers, and students, all victims of an imposed and unjust war waged by an aggressor that claimed it was “not at war with the people.”

From two-month-old Rayan, who lies in his mother’s arms in eternal sleep, to father and son martyrs Reza and Amir Ali Amini, buried together in their final resting place — each grave tells a story. The section gradually fills with more visitors. Families and fellow citizens join in steadily. They offer condolences, pray, talk, and comfort one another. Each shows kindness in their own way — offering refreshments, serving sherbet and dates, speaking of the martyrs, or embracing the martyrs’ families with tears and trembling voices. Here, the word “martyr” is a badge of honor.

Among the visitors, I see young women wearing a variety of styles, some even in non-religious attires. In the city, you might not guess they, too, would come to visit the martyrs’ graves. They walk respectfully, sit by the graves, and whisper quietly. This war, with all its tragedies, has confronted Iran’s younger generation with profound realities, transforming their views on many things — including homeland, resistance, and, of course, martyrdom.

The father of Martyr Hossein Taghi Kako tells me: “My son wrote in his will many times that I should never allow anything other than ‘Martyr’ and ‘Soldier of the Leader’ to be engraved on his tombstone. He loved the Leader deeply and said no title could be greater for me than ‘martyr.’” His father speaks firmly and with pride.

The sound of elegies comes through the loudspeakers, filled with both passion and sorrow. I meet families of martyrs from the war with Saddam’s regime. They understand more than anyone the pain felt for the martyrs of Israel’s recent aggression, as well as the meaning of steadfastness, patience, and resistance.

On the far side of Section 42, a hospitality stand is set up. I ask a young man serving juice which organization is in charge of it.

“In charge? No one,” he replies. “We’ve been here ourselves since the very first days of the burials. We were supposed to stay until the fortieth day, but so many people came to visit the martyrs that now it’s been over fifty days and we’re still here.”

He stirs the large pot of sherbet, pours me a glass, and adds: “We’ll be here until after Arbaeen.”

Before leaving, I visit the graves of several more martyrs. I tell their mothers that, although I came for work, I also came to express my gratitude. These mothers — standing tall, resilient, and proud — each respond with kindness and a smile, however tinged with sorrow.