The narrative of Palestinian lives is often associated with death, suffering, and loss. This is the case no matter how media outlets depict Israel’s crimes. This relationship, fraught with historical and contemporary complexities, raises critical and profound questions about identity, resilience, and the pursuit of peace in a land marked by violence.
And why wouldn’t this be the case given that for Palestinians, life is certainly punctuated by the constant presence of death which extends from the loss of loved ones to the destruction of homes, land, and dreams. Decades of conflict, displacement, and occupation have only delivered us this.
Indeed, since the Nakba in 1948, when hundreds of thousands of Palestinians were forcibly displaced, an indelible mark was formed on the collective consciousness. Today, in Palestinian cities and refugee camps, everyday experiences are marked by checkpoints, military incursions, and the ever-looming threat of attacks.
Death becomes our everyday thought, and the repeated trauma of losing family, friends, and neighbours has desensitised many to it, as it is no longer largely abstract. It shapes our worldview, survival strategies, and even our sense of identity.
For Gazans, death also encompasses the ongoing loss of normal life — of homes, schools, and infrastructure — which compounds their grief and uncertainty.
Especially these days when basic needs like food, water, and medical supplies are scarce, and the prospect of lasting peace remains elusive, death feels almost inevitable. People have learned to live with an acute awareness that it could strike at any moment, whether from a missile, a collapsed building, a crushing by a tank, or the lack of basic needs.
Martyrs
Palestinians’ relationship to death is not, however, solely linked to our violent history, but it is also a reflection of our struggle for existence. In Palestinian culture, the act of remembering the dead—whether through rituals, poetry, or storytelling—serves as a means of preserving identity and resistance against erasure.
You see, the word martyr holds significant weight, honouring those who have been killed by the Israeli occupation in the struggle for liberation. In Gaza, there are many martyrs every day. Funeral prayers are held for them, they are shrouded and buried.
Many mass graves have been buried for groups of martyrs, sometimes they are even unidentified ones.
Not all martyrs have been granted traditional rituals, some haven’t even had their bodies left whole.
Some martyrs have not been retrieved from beneath the rubble since the first day of the Israel’s genocide.
There are martyrs who were buried in their homes because their loved ones could not risk going to graveyards amidst the invasions, attacks and siege.
There are many martyrs who were placed in bags instead of shrouds because there were simply not enough for the numbers being killed.
Yes, we have witnessed every form of death. Every day, every hour, up to this very moment we are surrounded by it.
Omnipresent
As a student of English literature, I find myself leaning on the classics as a reference for understanding all that is around me. I can’t help but see how so much of this reality is reflected in Shakespeare’s Hamlet and T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, for example. From the themes of death and loss, to how they both examine mortality and the quest for meaning amid chaos.
In Hamlet, whether through the ghost of the protagonist’s father, or the tragic deaths that unfold throughout the play, the theme is a constant. Hamlet’s preoccupation with mortality also parallels the Palestinian experience for me. Much like Hamlet’s struggle for justice and truth in a corrupt world, Palestinians fight for recognition and liberation in the face of occupation.
The Waste Land vividly captures the sense of fragmentation and despair in the aftermath of World War I. Cities, once centres of life and vitality, became symbols of disillusionment. In much the same way, Palestinian cities like Gaza and Jerusalem, though historically rich and vibrant, have become battlegrounds marked by division, destruction, and occupation.
For Palestinians, death is omnipresent, it is too familiar. Yet despite this, we still carry strength and defiance. Despite the countless years of loss and violence, we refuse to be defeated by death. Our spirit is fierce and we stand resolute, not only surviving but asserting our intention to outlast death itself.
We refuse to surrender our land, our identity, and our will to live as a free people.
As Palestinian poet Tamim Al-Barghouti powerfully wrote:
O Death, beware!
And do not be reassured because
you have counted us,
We, O death, are more.
We have known you,
O Death, to an extent that tires you.
O Death, our intention is declared,
We will overcome you,
And even if they kill us all here,
O Death, beware,
We are here, no longer afraid.
Huda Skaik is an English literature student, a writer, and a video maker. She is a member of We Are Not Numbers, and she also a contributor for Electronic Intifada and WRMEA. She dreams of a future as a professor, professional poet, and writer.
Join the conversation:
Have questions or comments? Email us at: editorial-english@newarab.com
Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of °®Âţµş, its editorial board or staff, or the author's employer.