SAEDNEWS: As Tehran mourns the aftermath of the 12-day Zionist assault, displaced residents now sheltered in Laleh Hotel recount the night their homes were destroyed—revealing a haunting mosaic of trauma, loss, and resilience.
According to Saed News, what began as a quiet June night for many families in Tehran ended in devastation as Israeli missiles tore through residential neighborhoods, leaving behind shattered buildings, broken families, and lasting scars. Among the most affected are residents now staying in Tehran’s Laleh Hotel—individuals who not only lost their homes but were plunged into psychological darkness from which many say there is no escape.
One of the hardest-hit sites was the Professors’ Building in Saadatabad, District 2, where at 3:22 AM on June 13, a direct missile strike upended the lives of 16 families. “The blast was deafening,” recalled Mr. Alikhan, a resident of the complex. “Within seconds, debris was falling, smoke filled the air, and screams echoed through the halls. I helped my wife out, then rushed back inside to get others.” Tragically, several residents—including educators, engineers, and academics—did not survive. “These were people of honor, dedicated to knowledge and family,” his wife later added, visibly shaken.
Among the victims was a young family on the third floor. Mr. Rasouli lost his daughter, son-in-law, and infant grandson—just two months old. Another child, barely 12, was thrown from a window. One mother, holding back tears, shared that her two-year-old daughter now repeats, “Daddy isn’t here.” The psychological wounds, residents say, are deeper than the structural damage.
Fatemeh Mohajerani, spokesperson for the government, confirmed that over 3,500 residential units were affected during the conflict, with 350 in Tehran alone. The Laleh Hotel, working in tandem with the Ministry of Cultural Heritage, is currently housing over 300 displaced individuals, according to its manager Mohammad Ghanbari.
The trauma, however, is ongoing. Mr. Alikhan noted that his wife wakes nightly at the hour of the strike, terrified by ordinary sounds. “She needs psychiatric help. We all do. We lost more than walls—we lost peace of mind.” Despite news reports about aid, he says no one has directly reached out with financial support or repair assistance. “We need arrangements for urgent recovery. Our furniture was under water for 24 hours. What’s left is barely salvageable.”
In another district, Tehranpars, Sara described a terrifying moment when a missile landed just after she locked her door and stepped outside with her mother-in-law. Her husband, sitting in a car four kilometers away, was wounded by shrapnel. “He was later found searching the wreckage for his father,” she said, voice trembling. Her in-laws were seriously injured, one with shrapnel embedded near his heart.
The destruction was total for many. Farzaneh Sadeghi, a retired educator, returned to find the building she lived in for over 40 years turned to rubble. “Windows blown out, cabinets gone, glass everywhere. I couldn’t answer my phone for days—I just couldn’t speak.” Now residing in the hotel, she struggles daily to hold back tears.
Though grateful for the hotel’s care, many say it is no replacement for the lives they once had. “The staff are kind,” said one survivor, “but we live in a fog. We visit what’s left of our homes and relive the pain each time.”
The Laleh Hotel will continue housing the displaced until permanent arrangements—such as rental support or new housing—are made. But for many survivors, the greatest challenge isn’t where they’ll sleep next—it’s how to rebuild a life from rubble, without closure, and with the haunting memory of what was lost in a single, shattering night.
