During a tour in Spain, Ibrahim Nasrallah—a Jordanian writer of Palestinian descent—faces a difficult demand from journalists: condemning acts of terrorism in advance. The topic that follows is not about condemning any single action but about understanding why Hamas is described as preparing a casus belli within a far-right government. The commentary hints that what some call revenge could be interpreted as a possible pretext for a broader tragedy.
Nasrallah, a 69-year-old poet and novelist, traces his roots to a refugee camp in Jordan. His parents fled the Nakba, literally the catastrophe that Palestinians remember after the 1948 Arab-Israeli war. Across fourteen standalone novels, he chronicles the long arc of Palestinian history, offering a literary journey from Ottoman rule to the end of the British mandate in the region. His most recent work, Time of White Horses, explores the universe of letters as a mirror to contemporary life.
“I have spent more than two decades collecting family histories, because Palestinians need more than fragments to survive. Much of our past has been erased. When I visited my parents’ village, Alburaj, about 20 kilometers from Jerusalem, nothing remained to remind me of their memories—no houses, no town, only a weapons factory”, he notes.
Gaza: a place where the daily reality is always precarious
Crafting stories helps Palestinians connect with their past, yet Nasrallah believes narrative also allows outsiders to see beyond the categories of terrorists or victims. He argues that a culture, a philosophy, and a story deserve clear space to be heard.
Growing up in poverty
Nasrallah’s tale begins with a boy who endures harsh poverty and harsh living conditions, where his people were forced to survive in caves. In the 1950s and 1960s, international aid for refugees was scarce. There were no schools, limited access to healthcare, and harsh winters without relief. Yet, even in such conditions, the future poet found a path. Writing became a way to express pain and a path to healing, and he remained resilient long enough to keep producing despite the obstacles around him.
Nasrallah notes that art can serve as a form of release, a way to chart a personal and communal healing trajectory. He emphasizes that storytelling is not merely an act of nostalgia but a plan to articulate what is felt and endured in the present.
What Hamas does is only a fraction of the suffering endured by Palestinians
He explains that he does not seek political allegiance but confronts a stark reality. He recalls a memory from his early twenties when apartheid Africa and later decades in the Middle East shaped his understanding of power and poverty. Since October, the regime in his country of origin has pressed on with a course that has intensified everyday hardship. In a vivid description, he recalls a crowded city scene where a girl climbs to a roof to save a cat and is shot, while a boy on television expresses a grim vow to never grow old because they fear being killed first. This is the texture of daily life for many Palestinians under occupation, and Nasrallah places this in a broader historical frame: the 75-year conflict and the episodic raids that have punctuated life in Gaza and the West Bank for decades. He notes that Gaza endures a continuous blockade of land, sea, and air, with 2.3 million residents affected, and he observes that Israeli actions extend to the West Bank as well, even as Hamas operates differently in that region.
For Nasrallah, the claims about October 7 must be understood within a long history of conflict. He reflects on the tension between sudden upheaval and a protracted struggle, asking why a four-hour raid might be startling if the daily reality has long involved cycles of violence. He highlights the persistent violence and the toll on children and families, underscoring the need to see the broader context rather than reducing a complex situation to simple labels.
Hope amid devastation
In the face of grave loss, Nasrallah notes small signs of moral courage from countries like Belgium, Ireland, and Spain, which have spoken out against civilian casualties. He also points to shifts in U.S. support, suggesting that public opinion and demonstrations do influence policy more than many observers admit. He argues that a two-state solution remains a viable path to resolving the core conflict, though he is cautious about its immediate realization. He believes that a lasting peace would require all sides to acknowledge each other’s narratives and to move toward a framework that can sustain a future for both peoples. He observes that the era of certain leaders and unilateral strategies may be giving way to a broader search for compromise and accountability, while warning that violence only deepens distrust and suffering.
Nasrallah emphasizes that Rabin’s era, which featured a historic agreement with Arafat, signaled a moment when peace appeared possible. He notes that the assassination of Rabin reminds readers of the fragility of any accord and underscores the stubborn obstacles that remain. The path to a durable peace requires more than words; it demands a willingness to confront painful truths and to pursue policies that protect civilians and foster mutual recognition. In this view, compassion and historical memory become essential tools for building a future where coexistence is not a distant ideal but a practical aim.