Haniyeh Meets Satan (and Reunites with Raisi)

Author’s note: The following is a work of satire. In late May, I wrote a fictionalized satire in which Satan brought a case before G-d to disallow Ebrahim Raisi, the former Iranian president who perished in a helicopter crash that month, to enter a more lenient level of hell. Given the recent influx of entries into hell, I have decided to dedicate a satirical column to Satan and any other major terrorist leader who may meet his end this year. It will be called The Satan Series. Here is the latest version:

July 31, 2024 (Gregorian calendar)
25 Tammuz 5784 (Jewish calendar)
Somewhere in hell (ninth floor)

Sergio: Master, your 2 a.m. is here. 

Satan (yawning): Let me guess: Haniyeh?

Sergio: Yes, master. I think it’s him. He doesn’t look so put together, if you know what I mean.

Satan: None of them do. Remember what Soleimani looked like after the Americans got him in 2020? I had to pay out of pocket for a dozen reconstructive surgeries just so we could identify him. Lousy, out-of-network plastic surgeons. They give hell a bad name. 

Sergio: Well, master, he’s here. What shall I do with him?

Satan: Is he alone?

Sergio: No, he arrived with a bodyguard. 

Satan: I’m impressed. It must have been very precise targeting. Wasn’t the head of Islamic Jihad also staying at the same house in Tehran tonight? Never mind. Put Haniyeh in the waiting room with [Mohammed] Deif and [Fuad] Shukr. On second thought, put him alone in the holding area. No happy reunions in hell. 

Sergio: Yes, master. Shall I offer him water?

Satan: What?! He’s in hell! Don’t tell me HR sent over new protocols. 

Sergio: I’m afraid so. 

Satan (shaking his head): Progressives have no place in hell. 

One hour later.

Satan: Ismael Haniyeh, for your hideous sins against humanity as the top political leader of Hamas, you have been sentenced to an eternity in hell. And there is a note in your file that states that you also have an outstanding balance of $1 million which you accrued during a recent hotel stay in Doha. You’ll have to pay that off doing data entry and switchboard operations on the third floor. 

Haniyeh: 

Satan: Cat got your tongue? 

Satan turns to his assistant, Sergio.

Satan: Sergio, was Haniyeh on the tongue-removal list today?

Sergio: No, master (Sergio checks his papers). I do see that he is scheduled for castration tomorrow. 

Haniyeh: Uh, I’m sorry. Did you say I’m in hell? I … I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I ordered the slaughter of countless Jews, sent thousands of my own people to their deaths while I was napping at luxury hotels abroad, and cheered when I watched live footage of Oct. 7. By the official Hamas playbook, I’m something of a hero. This is not what I expected. 

Satan: What did you expect?

Haniyeh (blushing): Well, you know. Don’t make me say it. 

Satan: What?

Haniyeh: The virgins. 

Satan (slapping his forehead with his clipboard): Again with the virgins. Raisi asked the same question. So did Deif and Shukr and all of the others. That was bin Laden’s first question. 

Haniyeh: Ebrahim, Osama, Mohammed and Fuad are here, too?! 

A chorus of desperate voices is heard in the background, shouting, “Ismael! Ismael! Save us!”

Satan: They’re all here, from the lowest level right to the top. You know, at first, I reveled when I informed each one of them that there were no virgins awaiting them after death. Only grapes, and wrinkled ones, at that. You should have seen the looks on their faces. But frankly, I’m getting sick of this. Sergio, ask the intern to print a large sign that reads, “No Virgins Here. Only Eternal Suffering and Dial-Up Internet.” Tell him to laminate it and hang it at the entrance. 

Haniyeh: Are you Satan?

Satan: You were the mastermind behind countless unspeakable atrocities, and you can’t even identify Satan when he’s addressing you in hell? 

Sergio, intervening: Master, please take it easy. You’re just overwhelmed with the onslaught of murderous terrorists the Israelis have sent us this past month.

Sergio lovingly hands Satan a warm cup of herbal tea. 

Haniyeh: May I ask you a question?

Satan: Proceed. 

Haniyeh: Now I can’t help but wonder if the Zionists had something to do with Raisi’s helicopter crash, and that they probably anticipated I would attend the inauguration of the new Iranian president. Did you hear this rumor? The timing checks out. That was two months ago, around the same time they planted that blasted device in my house. 

Satan: No pun intended. Look, I don’t dabble much in earthly matters anymore. My hands are full with the unbelievable demands of the underworld. We’re still enacting justice against the monks of the Inquisition. Your time is up. I can’t spend this much time processing every new entry, even the notorious ones. 

Haniyeh: May I see the others, just for a moment? To be honest, I’m still in disbelief that I am here. 

Satan: If it means you will stop asking about the virgins, we’ll allow for a brief reunion. Bring them out, Sergio. 

Deif, the chief of Hamas’s military wing; Shukr, a founding member of Hezbollah’s armed wing; and Raisi, who was known to Iranians as “The Butcher of Tehran,” enter the holding area. 

Deif: Ismael! Now that you’re here, don’t ask about the virgins. 

Shukr: We found out the hard way that they’re grapes. 

Raisi: And don’t ask to be placed in a more lenient level of hell. Trust me, it’s not worth the legal trouble. How were the Zionists able to finally get you, Ismael?

Haniyeh: Let’s just put it this way: Never rent a guesthouse in Tehran after a presidential inauguration. How did you end up here? 

Deif and Shukr respond in unison: The Zionists. 

Raisi: You probably forgot that I had a rendezvous with the side of a mountain.

Haniyeh: Have you been suffering here?

Haniyeh’s colleagues are silent. 

Haniyeh: So all that murder, rape, stealing, maiming, cowardice, and desecration were in vain? 

Haniyeh looks around to see fire, brimstone, and a stack of Blue-Ray DVDs. 

Haniyeh: No, this can’t be paradise. 

Shukr: And the worst part is that we can’t even reach the world of the living to tell them we got it all wrong. I overheard the guard tell Satan that they expect a shipment of half a dozen more martyrs this summer, mostly sent from the Mossad. Also, the daily probing never gets easier.

Haniyeh (flustered): Please! Please, Mr. Satan! I’ll do anything. Just let me relocate anywhere else. I’m worth $4 billion. Did they tell you I’m worth $4 billion?

Satan: We don’t have money here in hell. Only Bitcoin. And you had 10 children (down from 13 earlier this year). They’re probably getting that inheritance. 

Haniyeh: No! They’ll blow it all on vacations and in-home saunas!

Satan: Like father, like children. 

Haniyeh: Ebrahim! Ebrahim! Do something!

Satan chuckles.  

Sergio: Something funny, Master?

Satan: I was just thinking: The new Iranian president was one of the last monsters Haniyeh saw when he was alive, and the old Iranian president was one of the first he saw when he got to hell. 

Haniyeh (screaming): Tell Sinwar never to leave Qatar! They’ll find him anywhere!

Satan: Sergio, bring Mr. Haniyeh into my office to finalize the sentencing. 

Haniyeh (pleading): No! Please! 

Haniyeh clutches desperately to the door and is pulled away by Sergio and two guards. 

Satan: Enough! Why is this one putting up such a fight? I don’t have time for this nonsense! I have to meet Mussolini at the pickleball court in 10 minutes. 

Sergio: Master, I’m afraid you may not make it to pickleball. 

Satan: Why not?

Sergio: We’re about to receive a new arrival, an Iranian: Hajj Habib Zadeh, a senior member of the IRGC. He was annihilated in Damascus.

Satan (sighing): What a week. Why doesn’t the Mossad ever sleep?

Tabby Refael is an award-winning writer, speaker and weekly columnist for The Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. Follow her on X and Instagram @TabbyRefael.