Peace is much more precious than a piece of land... let there be

Hear the voice of Anwar Sadat, leader of Egypt, who stood before the world and proclaimed with courage: “Peace is much more precious than a piece of land… let there be no more wars.” These words, spoken after years of bloodshed, were not born of weakness, but of strength. For it is easy to call for war, to demand vengeance, to fight over boundaries of soil. It is far harder, and far nobler, to say: life itself is worth more than territory, and the breath of a child is more sacred than the lines drawn on a map. Sadat’s words are the cry of one who had seen too many graves dug for the sake of land.

The ancients knew this truth. They told stories of kings who waged endless wars to enlarge their borders, only to leave behind deserts of ruin. What use is conquest, they asked, if the conquered land is soaked in the blood of its people? What value is land if the hands that till it are cut down in battle? Sadat, standing in the modern age, echoed the wisdom of old: a fertile valley gained by war is barren compared to the richness of peace.

Consider the story of Sadat himself. In 1973, he led Egypt in war against Israel, fighting fiercely to reclaim lost territory. Yet afterward, when victory seemed partial and fragile, he made a bold and unprecedented choice: to step upon the soil of Israel and speak in the Knesset, their parliament, declaring the desire for peace. In doing so, he shocked the world. For never before had an Arab leader entered Israel to speak of reconciliation. Many called him a traitor, yet he saw what others could not: that endless war over land would only consume generations. His courage brought forth the Camp David Accords, the first peace treaty between Israel and an Arab nation, proving that vision and trust can achieve what swords cannot.

The meaning of his words is thus heroic: peace is not the absence of struggle alone, but the deliberate choice to value human life above the hunger for territory. To fight for land is to chase dust, but to fight for peace is to preserve eternity. Sadat’s words remind us that maps may change, empires may rise and fall, but the suffering of war remains carved upon the hearts of those who endure it. Land can be taken, restored, or shared—but a life once lost is lost forever.

History offers other examples of this truth. After the Franco-Prussian War of the 19th century, France yearned for the lost provinces of Alsace and Lorraine. Generations were raised on the bitterness of that loss, and it fed the flames of another war—the Great War—which claimed millions of lives. Was the soil of those provinces worth the rivers of blood? In the end, the land was returned, but the cost was devastation across Europe. Here again we see Sadat’s wisdom: peace is more precious than land, for war leaves ashes where fields once flourished.

The lesson is clear: do not let the hunger for territory, wealth, or pride lead you into war without end. Nations, like men, must learn that dignity is not guarded by borders alone, but by the way they honor life and seek peace. In our personal lives, too, we must choose relationships over possessions, compassion over pride. How many families, how many friendships, have been broken because one refused to yield a small piece of ground? Yet those who choose peace, who value harmony above winning, preserve bonds that outlast any quarrel.

So, children of tomorrow, take Sadat’s words into your hearts: let there be no more wars. Do not cling so tightly to the soil beneath your feet that you forget the sky above your head, where peace dwells. Choose dialogue over conflict, reconciliation over vengeance, life over land. For in the end, peace is the true inheritance of humanity, far more precious than any piece of earth. This is the legacy of Anwar Sadat, and it is the call to all who would build a world where the living may flourish, and where the dead no longer rise as endless witnesses to mankind’s folly.