Mustapha Ezzarghani
I was not raised to see the world through the eyes of Israel. I was raised, like many in the Arab world, on stories of power and resistance, of pride and grievance. But life has a way of breaking the simplicity of inherited narratives. It forces you to confront reality, not as it is told to you, but as it unfolds before your own eyes.

And today, what I see is this: a small nation, surrounded by those who have sworn its destruction, refusing, once and for all, to live on borrowed time.
Let me speak plainly, as a Moroccan Muslim who has seen both sides of this story.
There are voices, loud, dramatic, endlessly pessimistic, claiming that Israel’s war was unnecessary, reckless, even futile. They speak as if strength itself were a sin. As if survival should come with apologies. As if a nation under constant threat must forever negotiate with those who dream of its disappearance.
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