The Epic of the Iranian-Israeli Struggle and the Fractures of a Broken East

Amid the rubble of a fractured East, where powers clash like merciless clouds in a stormy sky, a conflict emerges unlike any other—a battle where ideology melts into ambition, and memory mingles with interests, creating a scene like clay statues dancing atop boiling metal. This is no mere confrontation between Israel and Iran-;- it is a fresh test for the doctrine of geography when it is led to the altar in the name of belief, and when memory becomes a poisoned dagger plunged into the heart of the oppressed—not to liberate him from injustice, but to reaffirm the torturer’s dominion over him.

Zionism, which hoisted the banner of religion to forge a new nationalism, now faces a Shiite theocracy draped in the shirt of Hussein to justify its geopolitical march over the wounds of the Sunni world. Each side has crafted its own gospel of salvation, fashioned its own supreme cause, while in essence, both are obedient servants to the lust for power and the delusion of expansion. Israel claims to be a haven for a persecuted people, while Iran proclaims itself a shield for a beleaguered sect. Yet history whispers to the attentive ear: tyranny has no creed, and despotism needs no identity—only an army, a narrative, and a trumpet.

The concept of Wilayat al-Faqih is not merely a theory in Shiite political jurisprudence-;- it is a manifestation of that historical absurdity where tragedy morphs into a state project, where metaphysical anticipation of the hidden Imam transforms into a nuclear agenda, and where Shiism becomes a strategic weapon. Thus, we are faced with two entities vying for the East as if they were the rightful heirs to a land never promised to them. And before them lie crushed peoples, burning in fires whose source they do not know, and lashed by whips that distinguish neither Sunni nor Shiite, neither Arab nor Kurd. The inferno is one, and the arsonists simply switch roles.

When the wise say, “O Lord, strike the oppressors with the oppressors,” they are not merely cursing both sides—they are warning us that when tyranny clashes with tyranny, it births not justice, but new massacres. And while both parties lay claim to purity, it is the oppressed—from Gaza to Ahvaz, from Kobani to Sanaa—who pay the price of this fabricated “purity.” Meanwhile, the powerful recline on their thrones, counting the dead with cold blood, smiling for the cameras as though tallying fruit in harvest season.

And here is the United States, as always, standing at the gate of war—neither hasty nor hesitant—sniffing the scent of blood as one tests bread in a clay oven, choosing the moment of intervention like a magician selecting the instant to flip his card. Trump, with the soul of a merchant, haggles over “unconditional surrender,” while Khamenei proclaims “paradise through martyrdom”—as if paradise were a Tuesday marketplace open to anyone who sets war ablaze in the chests of the poor.

But this war is not confined to a single front—it is a volcano erupting beneath the entire region. Turkey, like a snake with two tongues, curses occupation while shaking hands with the occupier-;- rejects normalization while signing military pacts-;- condemns Netanyahu from the pulpits while importing his drones without shame. Oh, the irony of Islamic brotherhood when it becomes a bargaining chip in the market of compromises! And how obscene the rhetoric when it serves as a veil for the prostitution of interests. From Ankara’s early recognition of Israel to today’s entanglement of pipelines, weapons, and self-interest—nothing has changed but the mask.

In the midst of this flood, the Kurdish question returns—a wound left open and untended in Tehran, Baghdad, and Ankara alike. Any earthquake shaking Iran will inevitably send tremors through Turkey, which dreads the prospect of a Kurdish entity in Iran more than it ever feared the federalism of Iraqi Kurdistan. For the fall of the turban in Tehran may open the gates of wind toward another Mahabad—and perhaps toward a Kurdistan more mature, more rooted—while Ankara possesses nothing but a brittle nationalist discourse sustained by denial of the other and the delusion of a monolithic state on a land overflowing with diversity.

History has taught us that borders are not only drawn in blood—they are also etched in betrayal. Just as the occupation of Baghdad in 2003 opened the door to the birth of the Kurdistan Region, so too may the burning of Iran’s frontlines today become a portal for redrawing geography—according to a new logic shaped by reality, not fantasy. Yet as always, it is the oppressed who pay the steepest price. Their names are not marked on the maps-;- their bodies are buried beneath them.

In this fractured moment, we do not know whether we are witnessing the beginning of the end for the regime of the mullahs—or merely a false dawn before a war that will devour what remains of regional dignity. The decision is no longer in the hands of those who suffer, but in the hands of those who negotiate over their suffering. And while decision-makers in Tehran, Tel Aviv, and Washington whisper their schemes, the entire region remains on high alert—waiting, as if holding its breath, for the sound of the first explosion to trigger a new cycle of bloodshed. A cycle whose beginning is imminent, but whose end remains unknown.

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