© 2023-2024 Oriental Institute, The Czech Academy of Sciences, Kevin L. Schwartz, and Ameem Lutfi
As
of
July
2024,
over
37,000
Palestinians
have
been
killed
in
the
Gaza
genocide
as
a
result
of
Israeli
attacks
and
the
denial
of
water,
food,
and
medical
aid
to
Gaza.
1
At
least
15,000
of
these
martyrs
are
children.
Over
87,000
are
injured,
many through the loss of their limbs, and over 10,000 are missing.
As
the
death
toll
in
Gaza
has
multiplied
exponentially
since
October
2023,
western
media
have
tended
to
report
these
figures
through
the
sanitized
language
of
“casualties.”
At
best,
we
hear
that
Palestinians
are
“victims”
of
war.
Yet
Palestinians
have
an
entirely
different
and
much
richer
vocabulary
for
describing
and
honoring
those
whose
lives
have
been
cut
short
by
Israel’s
war.
Those
who
have
been
killed
in
the
Gaza
genocide
are
honored
with
the
title
shahid,
meaning
“martyr.”
Although
shahid
is
an
exact
equivalent
for
the
ancient
Greek
noun
martus,
meaning
“witness,”
and
has
deep
roots
in
the
early
Christian
tradition,
the
term
is
often
censored
or
misunderstood,
as
if
it
were
somehow
culturally
alien
to
modern western sensibilities. This is partly due to the Global War on Terror, which has flattened the meaning of martyrdom and made it the exclusive domain of resistance fighters.
Rejecting
the
simplistic
logic
generated
by
the
War
on
Terror
and
its
binaries,
I
provide
here
some
necessary
context
for
understanding
what
martyrdom
means
for
Palestinians
today.
I
do
this
to
make
the
case
for
wider
usage
of
the
term
in
English,
and
also
because
“martyr”
is
the
only
term
that
does
justice
to
Palestinians’
plight
and
honors
their
sacrifice.
“Victim”
does
not
suffice
to
describe those who have been killed or starved to death in Gaza; it fails to convey the ingenuity, courage, and agency with which Palestinians are resisting genocide.
The
conceptual
framework
we
need
to
understand
what
martyrdom
means
for
Palestinians
today
is
much
more
proximate
to
us
than
we
might
think.
First,
we
need
to
understand
why
the
term
martyr
has
become
so
corrupted
in
modern
English.
References
to
martyrs
in
everyday
discussions
about
Palestine
in
European
and
North
American
spaces
are
avoided
out
of
fear
of
suggesting
support
for
terrorism.
In
mainstream
discourse,
the
term
has
become
almost
taboo.
Many
times
when
writing
about
Palestine
for
the
general
public,
I
was
asked
to
avoid
the
term
“martyr,”
and
to replace it by a more neutral term like “victim.” I am sure that this has happened even more frequently to Palestinians writing in English.
Groups
such
as
Hamas,
al-Qaeda,
and
Islamic
Jihad
that
engage
in
targeted
attacks
on
civilians
that
result
in
the
death
by
suicide
of
the
attacker
do
indeed
rely
on
the
concept
of
martyrdom
to
justify
their
violence.
When
they
do
so,
they
participate
in
the
logic
of
the
War
on
Terror
rather
than
present
us
with
an
alternative
to
it.
According
to
the
logic
of
the
War
on
Terror,
the
term
martyr
is
a
designation
bestowed
upon
the
attacker,
not
the
victims
of
the
attack.
Yet
the
majority
of
Muslims
around
the
world
use
the
term
martyr
to
commemorate
the
lives
and
honor
the
deaths
of
innocent
civilians,
in
ways
that
have
nothing
to
do
with
suicide
bombing.
Many
Muslims
recognize
civilian
victims
of
terrorist
attacks
as
martyrs,
be
they
Palestinian,
Israeli,
or
American. Yet the fact remains that the vast majority of martyrs in the Gaza Genocide are Palestinians.
While
martyrdom
is
a
foundational
concept
within
all
three
Abrahamic
religions,
it
has
a
special
meaning
for
Palestinians
in
their
struggle
for
freedom
and
justice
in
the
face
of
Israeli
violence.
As
one
Palestinian
in
Gaza
explained
to
me
in
May
2024,
amid
the
genocidal
attacks
on
Rafah:
“I
am
not
a
martyr
yet,
but
I
experienced
many
martyrdoms
first
hand
so
I
know
something
about
it.
The
first
and
foremost
truth
I
know
about
martyrdom
is
it
is
not
death
but
an
eternal
life.
For
true
believers,
martyrdom
is
not
to
be
mourned
but
accepted
with
gratitude
and
celebrated.”
For
this
Palestinian
man
who
chooses
to
remain
in
Gaza
amid
a
genocide
in
order
to
save
lives
and
attend
to
the
injured,
martyrdom
is
the
opposite
of
death;
it
is
the
noblest
cause
to
which
one can give one’s life.
Martyrdom
involves
the
readiness
to
die
as
well
as
the
will
to
celebrate
the
sacrifice
of
one’s
life.
While
this
will
to
celebrate
life
is
founded
in
a
political
vision
of
justice,
for
many
Palestinians,
it
also
emanates
from
a
spiritual
conviction,
which
is
forcefully
articulated
in
the
Quranic
verse:
“Do
not
say
that
those
who
are
killed
in
God’s
cause
are
dead;
they
are
alive,
though
you
do
not
realize
it”
(2:154).
It
would
be
superficial
to
claim
that
the
Islamic
concept
of
martyrdom
begins
with
the
Quran,
however,
because
it
long
predates
the
Quran
and
similar
articulations
can
be
found
in
the
early
Christian
tradition.
Yet
it
is
Muslims
more
than
Christians
or
Jews
who
have
kept
alive
the
meaning
of
martyrdom
across
the
centuries,
and
into
the
present.
In
so
doing,
they
have developed a way of dignifying death – particularly under circumstances of injustice –that has been lost to many modern and secular societies.
Failing
to
grapple
with
the
everyday
meaning
of
martyrdom
–
not
the
martyrdom
that
splashes
across
the
headlines
of
sensationalist
tabloids,
but
the
martyrdom
that
shapes
the
majority
of
Palestinian
lives
–
means
failing
to
grapple
with
the
Palestinian
experience
as
such.
As
anthropologist
Lori
Allen
explains
based
on
her
fieldwork
in
Palestine:
“ascribing
to
someone
the
status
of
martyr is first and foremost a mark of deep respect and a means of supporting the families of those who were killed by the Israeli occupation.”
2
Consider
the
following
three
examples
of
martyrdom
in
contemporary
Palestine.
First:
as
of
July
2024,
the
only
hospital
in
Gaza
that
is
even
partially
functioning
is
the
al-Aqsa
Martyrs
Hospital.
The
hospital
was
founded
in
2001
by
the
Palestinian
Authority
and
named
in
honor
of
the
Palestinians
who
died
during
the
Second
Intifada
(2000-2005),
also
known
as
the
al-Aqsa
Intifada
after
the
Aqsa
Mosque
in
Jerusalem.
The
intifada
was
given
this
name
because
it
began
when
Israeli
Prime
Minister
Ariel
Sharon
entered
the
al-Aqsa
Mosque
compound
and
initiated
a
violent
crackdown
on
Palestinian
worshippers
praying
there.
What
is
salient
here
is
the
way
in
which
Palestinians
remember
the
victims
of
this
violence
as
martyrs;
an
entire
movement
as
well
as
a
hospital in Gaza have been named in their honor.
Second:
one
of
the
most
popular
and
influential
social
media
platforms
for
sharing
information
about
the
atrocities
of
the
Gaza
Genocide
is
@GazaMartyrs
on
X
(formerly
known
as
Twitter).
The
profile
for
this
account
states:
“The
martyrs
of
Gaza
are
not
just
numbers;
each
martyr
has
a
story
and
will
be
documented
here.”
Note
in
particular
the
reference
to
the
“story”
of
every
martyr:
storytelling
is
a
key
dimension
of
martyrdom’s
everyday
meaning.
This
account
is
filled
with
stories
of
children
and
other
civilians
whose
lives
have
been
cut
short
by
Israel
bombs,
forced starvation, and sometimes targeted assassinations.
Third:
several
months
after
the
killing
of
scholar,
poet,
and
teacher
Refaat
Alareer
in
a
targeted
attack
on
his
home
in
December
2023,
Al-Jazeera
Arabic
featured
the
story
of
his
life
and
death
in
their coverage of Gaza. The broadcaster
stated
: “When we write about the martyrs, we must mention that the occupation killed them; we should not leave that action to the unknown.”
In
each
of
these
three
examples,
martyrdom
is
connected
with
storytelling.
Every
martyr
has
a
story,
and
the
act
of
telling
that
story
honors
the
lives
of
those
who
are,
in
the
words
of
the
Quran,
“alive,
though
you
do
not
realize
it.”
Martyrdom
must
be
remembered
and
even
celebrated
as
a
way
of
honoring
the
martyr’s
story,
and
the
story
of
everyone
whose
lives
were
touched
by the honorable person who gave his life for God’s cause.
In
his
autobiographical
reminiscences,
Mamdouh
Nofal,
the
military
head
of
the
leftist
DFLP
(Democratic
Front
for
the
Liberation
of
Palestine),
recalled
what
it
was
like
to
attend
as
a
child
the
funerals
of
Palestinians
who
were
killed
in
the
Israeli
attack
on
the
West
Bank
town
of
Qilqilya
in
1956.
For
days
after
the
funeral,
Nofal
recalled,
“my
siblings
and
I
accompanied
our
mother
in
visiting
the
homes
of
the
grieving
families.”
3
In
these
homes,
he
would
hear
“stories
of
courage
and
cowardice,
of
life
and
death,
of
paradise
and
hell,
of
the
special
status
of
the
martyrs
before
God.” For Nofal, they were “exciting and terrifying stories, almost like mystery tales, imprinted in our memories.” Such stories imprinted themselves on the child’s burgeoning consciousness.
For
Nofal
as
for
many
Palestinians,
these
tales
of
the
martyrs’
courage
and
cowardice
humanized
the
dead
and
made
life
without
their
departed
loved
ones
bearable.
Palestinian
poet
Mahmoud
Darwish (d. 2008) has shed light on the role of martyrdom in a different way in his poems. “If they ask you about Gaza” ( ) he says, “tell them” ( ):
Darwish
understood:
commemorating
martyrdom
keeps
cultural
memory
alive
in
the
present.
When
the
Israeli
state,
backed
by
the
United
States,
strives
to
eradicate
Palestinian
heritage
and
identity,
martyrdom
is
resistance
in
the
form
of
memory.
Telling
the
martyr’s
story
honors
their
unjust
death
and
consoles
those
who
remain
among
the
living.
Such
stories
convey
to
the
world
that the martyr’s life – and death – were not in vain.
Among
the
cruelest
outcomes
of
the
Global
War
on
Terror
is
the
inability
of
secular
western
societies
to
grasp
what
martyrdom
means
in
this
deeper
sense,
and
to
understand
why
it
matters
for
us
all,
not
just
for
the
people
of
the
Middle
East
whose
lives
have
been
cut
short
by
U.S.
and
Israeli
wars.
Not
everyone
will
die
in
an
unjust
war,
but
death
itself
is
an
injustice
that
is
partly,
if
imperfectly, rectified by our ability to honor the legacy of the dead.
When
we
in
western
societies
hear
of
martyrdom,
we
think
of
brutal
and
indiscriminate
attacks
on
civilians.
These
attacks
are
often
used
to
justify
atrocities
that
are
much
greater
in
scope
and
scale than the incidents to which they are a response. These attacks by the U.S., Israel, and other western-aligned states are doubly dangerous because they have no definite end.
Instead
of
perpetuating
the
pernicious
logic
of
the
Global
War
on
Terror,
we
should
be
remembering
the
tens
of
thousands
of
Palestinians
who
have
been
killed
while
going
about
their
daily
life,
cooking food, playing with children, watching the birds, and reading books. These women and men, whose names are often erased from the reports of war, are the martyrs of Palestine.
In it there is a martyr, nursed by a martyr,
photographed by a martyr, sent off by a martyr,
and prayed for by a martyr.
4
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CONTACT
As
of
July
2024,
over
37,000
Palestinians
have
been
killed
in
the
Gaza
genocide
as
a
result
of
Israeli
attacks
and
the
denial
of
water,
food,
and
medical
aid
to
Gaza.
1
At
least
15,000
of
these
martyrs
are
children.
Over
87,000
are
injured,
many
through
the
loss
of
their
limbs,
and
over
10,000 are missing.
As
the
death
toll
in
Gaza
has
multiplied
exponentially
since
October
2023,
western
media
have
tended
to
report
these
figures
through
the
sanitized
language
of
“casualties.”
At
best,
we
hear
that
Palestinians
are
“victims”
of
war.
Yet
Palestinians
have
an
entirely
different
and
much
richer
vocabulary
for
describing
and
honoring
those
whose
lives
have
been
cut
short
by
Israel’s
war.
Those
who
have
been
killed
in
the
Gaza
genocide
are
honored
with
the
title
shahid,
meaning
“martyr.”
Although
shahid
is
an
exact
equivalent
for
the
ancient
Greek
noun
martus,
meaning
“witness,”
and
has
deep
roots
in
the
early
Christian
tradition,
the
term
is
often
censored
or
misunderstood,
as
if
it
were
somehow
culturally
alien
to
modern
western
sensibilities.
This
is
partly
due
to
the
Global
War
on
Terror,
which
has
flattened
the
meaning
of
martyrdom
and
made
it
the
exclusive
domain
of
resistance fighters.
Rejecting
the
simplistic
logic
generated
by
the
War
on
Terror
and
its
binaries,
I
provide
here
some
necessary
context
for
understanding
what
martyrdom
means
for
Palestinians
today.
I
do
this
to
make
the
case
for
wider
usage
of
the
term
in
English,
and
also
because
“martyr”
is
the
only
term
that
does
justice
to
Palestinians’
plight
and
honors
their
sacrifice.
“Victim”
does
not
suffice
to
describe
those
who
have
been
killed
or
starved
to
death
in
Gaza;
it
fails
to
convey
the
ingenuity,
courage,
and
agency
with
which
Palestinians are resisting genocide.
The
conceptual
framework
we
need
to
understand
what
martyrdom
means
for
Palestinians
today
is
much
more
proximate
to
us
than
we
might
think.
First,
we
need
to
understand
why
the
term
martyr
has
become
so
corrupted
in
modern
English.
References
to
martyrs
in
everyday
discussions
about
Palestine
in
European
and
North
American
spaces
are
avoided
out
of
fear
of
suggesting
support
for
terrorism.
In
mainstream
discourse,
the
term
has
become
almost
taboo.
Many
times
when
writing
about
Palestine
for
the
general
public,
I
was
asked
to
avoid
the
term
“martyr,”
and
to
replace
it
by
a
more
neutral
term
like
“victim.”
I
am
sure
that
this
has
happened
even
more
frequently to Palestinians writing in English.
Groups
such
as
Hamas,
al-Qaeda,
and
Islamic
Jihad
that
engage
in
targeted
attacks
on
civilians
that
result
in
the
death
by
suicide
of
the
attacker
do
indeed
rely
on
the
concept
of
martyrdom
to
justify
their
violence.
When
they
do
so,
they
participate
in
the
logic
of
the
War
on
Terror
rather
than
present
us
with
an
alternative
to
it.
According
to
the
logic
of
the
War
on
Terror,
the
term
martyr
is
a
designation
bestowed
upon
the
attacker,
not
the
victims
of
the
attack.
Yet
the
majority
of
Muslims
around
the
world
use
the
term
martyr
to
commemorate
the
lives
and
honor
the
deaths
of
innocent
civilians,
in
ways
that
have
nothing
to
do
with
suicide
bombing.
Many
Muslims
recognize
civilian
victims
of
terrorist
attacks
as
martyrs,
be
they
Palestinian,
Israeli,
or
American.
Yet
the
fact
remains
that
the
vast
majority
of
martyrs
in
the
Gaza
Genocide are Palestinians.
While
martyrdom
is
a
foundational
concept
within
all
three
Abrahamic
religions,
it
has
a
special
meaning
for
Palestinians
in
their
struggle
for
freedom
and
justice
in
the
face
of
Israeli
violence.
As
one
Palestinian
in
Gaza
explained
to
me
in
May
2024,
amid
the
genocidal
attacks
on
Rafah:
“I
am
not
a
martyr
yet,
but
I
experienced
many
martyrdoms
first
hand
so
I
know
something
about
it.
The
first
and
foremost
truth
I
know
about
martyrdom
is
it
is
not
death
but
an
eternal
life.
For
true
believers,
martyrdom
is
not
to
be
mourned
but
accepted
with
gratitude
and
celebrated.”
For
this
Palestinian
man
who
chooses
to
remain
in
Gaza
amid
a
genocide
in
order
to
save
lives
and
attend
to
the
injured,
martyrdom
is
the
opposite
of
death;
it
is
the
noblest cause to which one can give one’s life.
Martyrdom
involves
the
readiness
to
die
as
well
as
the
will
to
celebrate
the
sacrifice
of
one’s
life.
While
this
will
to
celebrate
life
is
founded
in
a
political
vision
of
justice,
for
many
Palestinians,
it
also
emanates
from
a
spiritual
conviction,
which
is
forcefully
articulated
in
the
Quranic
verse:
“Do
not
say
that
those
who
are
killed
in
God’s
cause
are
dead;
they
are
alive,
though
you
do
not
realize
it”
(2:154).
It
would
be
superficial
to
claim
that
the
Islamic
concept
of
martyrdom
begins
with
the
Quran,
however,
because
it
long
predates
the
Quran
and
similar
articulations
can
be
found
in
the
early
Christian
tradition.
Yet
it
is
Muslims
more
than
Christians
or
Jews
who
have
kept
alive
the
meaning
of
martyrdom
across
the
centuries,
and
into
the
present.
In
so
doing,
they
have
developed
a
way
of
dignifying
death
–
particularly
under
circumstances
of
injustice
–that
has
been
lost
to
many
modern
and
secular
societies.
Failing
to
grapple
with
the
everyday
meaning
of
martyrdom
–
not
the
martyrdom
that
splashes
across
the
headlines
of
sensationalist
tabloids,
but
the
martyrdom
that
shapes
the
majority
of
Palestinian
lives
–
means
failing
to
grapple
with
the
Palestinian
experience
as
such.
As
anthropologist
Lori
Allen
explains
based
on
her
fieldwork
in
Palestine:
“ascribing
to
someone
the
status
of
martyr
is
first
and
foremost
a
mark
of
deep
respect
and
a
means
of
supporting
the
families
of
those
who
were
killed
by
the
Israeli
occupation.”
2
Consider
the
following
three
examples
of
martyrdom
in
contemporary
Palestine.
First:
as
of
July
2024,
the
only
hospital
in
Gaza
that
is
even
partially
functioning
is
the
al-Aqsa
Martyrs
Hospital.
The
hospital
was
founded
in
2001
by
the
Palestinian
Authority
and
named
in
honor
of
the
Palestinians
who
died
during
the
Second
Intifada
(2000-2005),
also
known
as
the
al-Aqsa
Intifada
after
the
Aqsa
Mosque
in
Jerusalem.
The
intifada
was
given
this
name
because
it
began
when
Israeli
Prime
Minister
Ariel
Sharon
entered
the
al-Aqsa
Mosque
compound
and
initiated
a
violent
crackdown
on
Palestinian
worshippers
praying
there.
What
is
salient
here
is
the
way
in
which
Palestinians
remember
the
victims
of
this
violence
as
martyrs;
an
entire
movement
as
well
as
a
hospital
in
Gaza
have
been named in their honor.
Second:
one
of
the
most
popular
and
influential
social
media
platforms
for
sharing
information
about
the
atrocities
of
the
Gaza
Genocide
is
@GazaMartyrs
on
X
(formerly
known
as
Twitter).
The
profile
for
this
account
states:
“The
martyrs
of
Gaza
are
not
just
numbers;
each
martyr
has
a
story
and
will
be
documented
here.”
Note
in
particular
the
reference
to
the
“story”
of
every
martyr:
storytelling
is
a
key
dimension
of
martyrdom’s
everyday
meaning.
This
account
is
filled
with
stories
of
children
and
other
civilians
whose
lives
have
been
cut
short
by
Israel
bombs,
forced
starvation,
and
sometimes
targeted
assassinations.
Third:
several
months
after
the
killing
of
scholar,
poet,
and
teacher
Refaat
Alareer
in
a
targeted
attack
on
his
home
in
December
2023,
Al-
Jazeera
Arabic
featured
the
story
of
his
life
and
death
in
their
coverage
of
Gaza.
The
broadcaster
stated
:
“When
we
write
about
the
martyrs,
we
must
mention
that
the
occupation
killed
them;
we
should
not
leave
that
action
to
the
unknown.”
In
each
of
these
three
examples,
martyrdom
is
connected
with
storytelling.
Every
martyr
has
a
story,
and
the
act
of
telling
that
story
honors
the
lives
of
those
who
are,
in
the
words
of
the
Quran,
“alive,
though
you
do
not
realize
it.”
Martyrdom
must
be
remembered
and
even
celebrated
as
a
way
of
honoring
the
martyr’s
story,
and
the
story
of
everyone
whose
lives
were
touched
by
the
honorable
person
who
gave his life for God’s cause.
In
his
autobiographical
reminiscences,
Mamdouh
Nofal,
the
military
head
of
the
leftist
DFLP
(Democratic
Front
for
the
Liberation
of
Palestine),
recalled
what
it
was
like
to
attend
as
a
child
the
funerals
of
Palestinians
who
were
killed
in
the
Israeli
attack
on
the
West
Bank
town
of
Qilqilya
in
1956.
For
days
after
the
funeral,
Nofal
recalled,
“my
siblings
and
I
accompanied
our
mother
in
visiting
the
homes
of
the
grieving
families.”
3
In
these
homes,
he
would
hear
“stories
of
courage
and
cowardice,
of
life
and
death,
of
paradise
and
hell,
of
the
special
status
of
the
martyrs
before
God.”
For
Nofal,
they
were
“exciting
and
terrifying
stories,
almost
like
mystery
tales,
imprinted
in
our
memories.”
Such
stories
imprinted
themselves
on
the
child’s
burgeoning consciousness.
For
Nofal
as
for
many
Palestinians,
these
tales
of
the
martyrs’
courage
and
cowardice
humanized
the
dead
and
made
life
without
their
departed
loved
ones
bearable.
Palestinian
poet
Mahmoud
Darwish
(d.
2008)
has
shed
light
on
the
role
of
martyrdom
in
a
different
way
in
his
poems.
“If
they ask you about Gaza” (
)