Mr. President, prime ministers, let us have ambitions: ambitions

“Mr. President, prime ministers, let us have ambitions: ambitions to move beyond the violence and occupation, to the day when two states, Palestine and Israel, can live together side by side in peace and security.” Thus spoke Abdullah II of Jordan, a king burdened with the weight of his region’s sorrows and yet steadfast in his hope for reconciliation. His words rise like a plea and a command alike: a plea for compassion, a command for courage. For in them lies an eternal truth—peace cannot be born from small desires, but only from great ambitions, strong enough to break the chains of hatred and fierce enough to uproot the seeds of endless war.

The heart of this declaration is the call to ambition beyond violence. Too often, nations and men lower their sights, accepting bitterness as fate, revenge as necessity, occupation as permanence. Abdullah refuses this. He dares to call upon leaders of the earth to lift their eyes from the dust of conflict and imagine a new horizon: a world where Palestine and Israel, two peoples bound by shared land and fractured history, dwell together not in enmity but in peace and security. To long for less is weakness; to dream for more is the courage of kings.

The ancients knew this truth. Recall the vision of Cyrus the Great, who, upon conquering Babylon, did not bind the people in chains but freed them, even allowing the exiled Jews to return and rebuild their temple. He understood that greatness lies not only in victory, but in the wisdom to build bridges between enemies. Abdullah’s call mirrors this ancient example: let ambition not be for domination, but for reconciliation, not for walls, but for a future where nations may walk side by side.

History in our own age bears witness too. When Anwar Sadat of Egypt journeyed to Jerusalem in 1977, he broke centuries of hostility with a single act of courage. Many called him reckless; others called him a traitor. Yet his ambition was greater than their scorn—he sought a future where Egypt and Israel might no longer shed each other’s blood. For this ambition, he paid with his life, yet the peace he signed endures. His story proves Abdullah’s wisdom: without ambition, there is no change; without risk, there is no peace.

Yet let us not be blind: Abdullah’s words are also heavy with sorrow. He speaks of occupation, of wounds unhealed, of blood not yet washed from the soil. His call is not naive, but born of decades of war witnessed, refugees sheltered, and lives broken. He knows that peace will not fall like rain—it must be crafted, forged in the fire of dialogue, hammered into shape by the will of leaders and peoples alike. His ambition is not fantasy, but necessity, for without it the cycle of violence will remain unbroken.

The lesson for us is clear: in our lives, as in the lives of nations, we must not be content with half-measures. When hatred divides us, when bitterness tempts us, when the easier path is vengeance, we must lift our gaze to a higher ambition: reconciliation, trust, and security for all. Whether between families, communities, or nations, peace is only possible when we dare to imagine it first—and then labor for it with courage.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, let Abdullah’s words be your guide: have ambitions beyond the quarrels of the present. Refuse the small vision of endless division. Seek the great ambition of harmony, where even ancient enemies may live side by side. Build with patience, forgive with strength, and dream with boldness. For peace, like every noble ambition, begins in the heart—but it must be carried into action by hands that do not falter. And when it is done, you will see that what once seemed impossible has become the new foundation of the world.