Beneath the blazing sun of North Africa, bordered by the ancient tides of the Mediterranean and the vast breath of the Sahara, lies a land whose story has danced with gods, kings, conquerors, and revolutionaries. This is Libya: a nation born from the dust of myth, forged in the fires of empire, and reshaped in the hands of her people.
Long before cities rose and borders were drawn, the land we now call Libya was home to prehistoric peoples who left their mark in the rock art of the Tadrart Acacus, carvings of giraffes and hunters that tell of a greener Sahara, long vanished. By the Bronze Age, Libya was not one land, but many tribes. Chief among them were the Meshwesh and the Libu—nomadic Berber peoples who grazed their herds along the Nile’s western flanks. Egyptian scribes would scrawl their names in hieroglyphs, sometimes as foes, other times as mercenaries or neighbors. Though they lacked pyramids or written chronicles of their own, the Libyans lived rich oral traditions, passed from elder to youth beside desert fires. Their tongues were early Berber, ancestors to the Amazigh languages spoken to this day.
In one of history’s great ironies, these wandering tribes—once dismissed as desert raiders—would wear the crowns of Pharaohs. Around 945 BCE, a chieftain of the Meshwesh named Shoshenq I seized power in a divided Egypt. He founded the 22nd Dynasty, becoming the first Libyan Pharaoh. He was no usurper in chains, but a ruler accepted by Egypt’s priests and people, a man who walked the sacred halls of Karnak and marched his armies as far as Jerusalem. For over two centuries, Libyan dynasties ruled parts of Egypt. They wove themselves into Egyptian culture, marrying daughters into temple lineages and honoring the gods of old, while maintaining their tribal roots in the Delta’s tangled marshes.
Time, ever the patient sculptor, wore down Libya’s independent spirit. By the time of Herodotus in the 5th century BCE, Libya had become a vague term for "all lands west of Egypt." The Greeks founded Cyrene in eastern Libya, a shining jewel of Hellenistic culture. Later came the Romans, who tamed the coast and named it Tripolitania and Cyrenaica. Great cities bloomed, like Leptis Magna, where Emperor Septimius Severus—a Libyan by birth—would rise to rule the Roman world. With the coming of Islam in the 7th century CE, Libya joined the rising tide of Arab civilization. Arabic took root, and Berber tribes embraced the faith, blending it with ancient customs in a uniquely North African tapestry.
From the 16th to 19th centuries, Libya was ruled by the Ottomans, often in name more than presence. Local rulers like the Karamanlis in Tripoli built their own dynasties, their corsairs feared across the Mediterranean. But in 1911, the old world shifted once more—Italy invaded, snatching Libya from Ottoman control. The Libyans resisted fiercely under leaders like Omar Mukhtar, the "Lion of the Desert," whose guerilla war against Mussolini’s fascists became legend. Though captured and executed in 1931, Mukhtar’s spirit ignited a flame that would not die.
After World War II, Libya was stitched together from three provinces and granted independence in 1951 under King Idris I. For the first time in centuries, Libya was sovereign. But beneath the crown, discontent stirred. Oil wealth enriched a few, while many remained poor. In 1969, a young officer named Muammar Gaddafi led a bloodless coup, ending the monarchy and beginning one of the most controversial reigns in modern Arab history.
For 42 years, Gaddafi ruled with a blend of charisma, brutality, and eccentric philosophy. He styled himself as the "Brother Leader", preached his Green Book, and funded revolutions abroad. At times a pariah, at times an ally, he kept Libya's oil flowing and dissent smothered. But the winds of change were rising. When the Arab Spring swept across the region in 2011, Libyans—long repressed—rose in revolt. The uprising turned into a brutal civil war, drawing NATO intervention. In October 2011, Gaddafi was captured and killed. His fall was cheered, but peace did not follow.
The Samaritans are a small religious minority living in the occupied Palestinian territories, specifically on Mount Gerizim in Nablus, and in the city of Holon in Israel. They consider themselves the true descendants of the Israelites who remained in the Holy Land when the Jews were exiled to Babylon in the 6th century BCE. They believe that they never deviated from the original faith, unlike the Jews who, according to their view, altered the religion after their return from the Babylonian exile.
The Samaritans only follow the Samaritan Torah, which differs from the Jewish Torah in several points, and they reject the Talmud, the main source of Jewish law after the Torah. For Samaritans, Mount Gerizim in Nablus is the holiest site, and they believe it is the true place of worship for God, not the Temple Mount in Jerusalem as the Jews believe. They view the Jews as having strayed from the true path when they chose Jerusalem as the center of their worship, leading to a deep religious divide between the two communities.
The conflict between the Jews and Samaritans dates back thousands of years. Jews believe that the Samaritans are not pure Israelites but a mix of the remnants of the ancient Israelites and pagan peoples who settled in the area after the Assyrian conquest. In contrast, the Samaritans believe that they are the true Israelites, and the Jews have distorted the religion and introduced incorrect teachings. This hostility became so intense that the Jews in ancient times considered Samaritan food impure and rejected intermarriage and interaction with them.
During the Persian period, the Jews tried to impose their control over the Samaritans and prevent them from building their temple on Mount Gerizim, leading to fierce conflicts between the two groups. During the reign of Alexander the Great, the Samaritans gained some privileges, but with the arrival of the Hasmoneans, the Jews persecuted them, and their temple on Mount Gerizim was destroyed.
Under Roman rule, the Samaritans faced great persecution, especially after their failed revolts against the Roman Empire, which led to the killing and displacement of many of them. With the rise of Christianity, they became further marginalized, as the Christians did not consider them Jews, nor did they regard them as part of their faith. During the Islamic era, the Samaritans were granted some protection as "People of the Book," but they remained a minority community.
Today, the number of Samaritans is around 800 people, making them one of the smallest religious communities in the world. Some hold Israeli citizenship, while others live in the West Bank under Palestinian authority. Despite their small number, they continue to hold onto their traditions, language, and celebrate their unique holidays, such as the Samaritan Passover, according to their distinct calendar.
The Samaritans are a living testament to the religious and political history of the region, carrying an ancient legacy of conflict and isolation, yet striving to preserve their identity despite the political and religious transformations that have taken place in the Holy Land. Do you think the hostility between the Samaritans and Jews still persists today?
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Love is an adventure, either you return from it regretful, repentant, or enamoured.
How did you come back?
Sen başkalarını sevgiyle karşılıyorsun
ama
özleyen olan benim.
This is the first time, that I see you with my eyes. For the first time, my hands don't tremble when you're sitting next to me. For the first time, I don't feel like I'm flying. It is the first time that I realize, you're much shorter than the sky of my dreams.
The wind hums secrets through the date-laden trees, whispering names of those who once walked this dust, where footprints fade but never truly leave, pressed deep in the memory of the earth’s quiet trust.
Oh, moon of longing, hung low and bright, do you still remember the songs we sang? Verses embroidered in the fabric of night, soft as jasmine, where old echoes hang.
A mother calls, her voice a prayer, threading through the hush of dawn, her hands—cracked, but full of care— building futures from threads long gone.
And here I stand, between past and now, a daughter of sand, of stars, of sea, asking the wind to teach me how to love, to lose, yet still be free.
Don't hint, say it like a thunderbolt.
Have I given up on illusions? Heavy nights train me And the rain of melodies were epics I became aware of war after war The sound of the sword inspired and inspired me! I search my halls and call out To me, to me, O formulated dream
-Sakaina Al-sharif
Don't love deeply, till you make sure that the other person loves you with the same depth, because the depth of your love today, is the depth of your wound tomorrow.
Art by : Julia Soboleva
"Onu ölesiye seviyor musun?" diye sordular.
"Mezarımda ondan bahset ve beni nasıl hayata döndürdüğünü izle" dedim.
- Mahmoud Darwish