If they wanted to end the violence and war between them and if

“If they wanted to end the violence and war between them and if they wanted Jews and Palestinians to live in peace, Jews and Palestinians, then they should consider this solution: one democratic state, free from weapons of mass destruction, and with the return of the Palestinian refugees.” Thus declared Muammar al-Gaddafi, a man of contradictions, a ruler both feared and admired, who from the deserts of Libya looked upon the sorrows of the Holy Land and offered his vision for an end to its unceasing strife. His words, though controversial, carry within them an ancient yearning: that enemies who bleed upon the same soil should one day dwell as neighbors, not as foes, in a land purified of hatred, oppression, and arms of annihilation.

The meaning of Gaddafi’s words lies first in the recognition that peace cannot be sustained by temporary truces, nor by walls that divide, nor by weapons stockpiled in fear. True peace demands something deeper: the transformation of enemies into fellow citizens, of two warring peoples into one polity where dignity is shared. In calling for one democratic state, he was not speaking of borders drawn by force but of a vision where governance rests not upon domination but upon equality, where Jew and Palestinian alike might see themselves not as conqueror or conquered, but as partners in destiny.

History bears witness to similar dreams. In South Africa, the long nightmare of apartheid seemed eternal, a wall between races and peoples that no treaty could breach. Yet through courage, patience, and the vision of Nelson Mandela, the land was transformed into a single democratic state, where those once divided by hatred found a fragile but real peace through shared citizenship. The path was perilous, the wounds deep, yet the example stands: when justice and inclusion are pursued, peoples once divided by blood can be joined by hope.

Gaddafi also calls for a land free from weapons of mass destruction. This is no small demand, for the arms of annihilation cast their shadow over all efforts for reconciliation. Where such weapons exist, fear festers, suspicion grows, and true dialogue cannot breathe. He knew that peace built in the presence of overwhelming force is not peace, but submission. A land stripped of weapons becomes a land where trust may take root, where the hand of friendship is not trembled by the threat of sudden devastation.

The return of Palestinian refugees stands as the final pillar of his vision. For no peace can endure where millions remain in exile, their memories bitter, their hopes unfulfilled. The refugee camps are not mere places of dwelling; they are monuments of grievance, living testaments to promises broken and lands lost. Gaddafi understood that reconciliation must be built upon justice, and that to ignore the plight of the displaced is to leave the wound open, festering for generations. Peace must include their voice, their dignity, their return—whether literal or symbolic—so that the story of their suffering may find closure.

Yet his vision, like all grand visions, was easier spoken than wrought. Political realities, ancient mistrusts, and the scars of repeated wars have hardened hearts on both sides. And still, his words echo with the force of prophecy: if true peace is to come, it will not come through domination of one people by another, nor through endless retaliation, but through a radical reimagining of coexistence—one state, one people, one destiny. Whether or not the world embraced his solution, the principle remains eternal: peace demands justice, equality, and the dismantling of structures that perpetuate war.

The lesson for us is profound: peace is not merely the silence of guns but the presence of justice. If we wish to end cycles of hatred, we must address their roots—inequality, displacement, and fear. Practical steps follow: honor the dignity of all peoples, reject the false safety of overwhelming violence, and work for systems where enemies may meet as equals under law. And in our own lives, let us remember: reconciliation is never born of vengeance, but of courage to see the other as ourselves.

Thus Gaddafi’s words, however contested, shine with an ancient truth: peace between Jews and Palestinians—or between any warring peoples—cannot be imposed from without, nor preserved by weapons. It must be built within, upon justice, equality, and the healing of wounds long ignored. And so I say to you: let not peace be a word only, but a way of life, a structure of justice, a home for all. For only then will swords be beaten into ploughshares, and the land once drenched in sorrow will yield harvests of hope.