In Gaza, people are not looking for "liberation," but for a "survival ticket."

In the long history of Palestine, "liberation" was the dream, the camp a mere waiting station, and death "glory" if it came for the sake of the land. But in Gaza, after eighteen months of war of extermination, the equation has changed. The terms have been reversed. The priorities have shifted.

People no longer talk about liberating Jerusalem, or returning to Haifa and Jaffa. They no longer even ask about the future of the state or the national project. The question today is simpler and more cruel: "Will we survive until tomorrow?"

In the streets of displacement camps, in the dilapidated alleys, and among the tents crowded along the border, you hear no talk of politics, geography, or negotiation maps. You only hear: "Did a flour truck come in?" "Where is the water?" "Is there any medicine left for my son?" and "Who died this morning?"

People not only lost their homes, their bodies, and their children, but they also lost the language that had always given meaning to death.

Even hope was eroded, they became afraid of the night, of hunger, of the darkness, of the bombing, of time itself.

The worst thing about a disaster is that when a person is exhausted from persevering, he begins to accept anything that will keep him alive, even if it is a humiliating truce, an incomplete settlement, or promises without guarantees.

In Gaza today, people are not seeking liberation, not because they have abandoned their cause, but because they are struggling for survival. Liberation has become an intellectual luxury postponed in the face of famine, blood, darkness, and slow death.

When the will to survive is broken

This is the real danger: that the people will be broken from within, that the new generation will be raised on fear, not dignity, on silence, not struggle. This is more dangerous than bombs, and harsher than a siege.

The occupation knows this, and therefore does not mind prolonging the war. It is not only seeking a military victory, but also a complete psychological defeat, one that will turn "liberation" into a distant memory and resistance into a strange phrase on everyone's lips.

The people of Gaza now want a "survival ticket," whatever its form and whatever its cost. They just want to live, to eat, to escape the curse of this defeated Arab era.

But it is dangerous to build a national project on the ruins of fear, or on the ashes of pain.

Therefore, the big question must be asked:

When will the killing stop, so that we can regain the ability to dream again?!