From the Nile to the Euphrates In September 2022, a curtain was drawn back at the United Nations, and behind it emerged a golden map. Not a map of the present, but of a distant past; a past that the Israeli Prime Minister spoke of with pride: This is the land promised in the Torah. From the Nile to the Euphrates. We are not new conquerors, but ancient heirs. There was a map showing Israel's borders from northern Lebanon to the Sinai Desert, from Baghdad to Amman, from Damascus to Riyadh. An old man in the corner of the room was quietly shedding tears. No one knew his name. But in his eyes was another map—a map of pain. It was not the prime minister who drew the map. Documents showed that it had come from sealed archives, a drawing by Ben-Gurion, Israel's founder, who had said years earlier: Zionism will only be complete when we return to the land God promised. In a small room in Beirut, Youssef, a history professor at American University, stared at a map. His students waited for him to speak. He said: This is not just a map. This is a rewriting of truth. This map turns religious belief into a title deed. A young student asked: But if their religious documents say this, does it also have a historical justification? Joseph paused. Then he said in a quiet voice: The Torah is a holy book, not a plotter. But politics often plays with holy books. In Amman, Riyadh, Damascus, Baghdad and Cairo, the news of the plan was on the front pages. Governments reacted. But the people… People looked in silence, at the walls, at the televisions, at the memories of their fathers. Could it really be that what "belongs to us" could one day be recorded in a book belonging to others? But the map wasn't just a border. The map was a dream. And dreams are sometimes more dangerous than reality. In Tel Aviv, a young girl named Leah was poring over Ben-Gurion's papers at the National Archives of Israel. Her grandfather was one of the early founders of the Zionist army. But unlike before, she was finding something new: In the margin of one of the maps, written in shaky handwriting: If we take the earth from the fire, will we find faith from the ashes? Leah didn't sleep that night until morning. At the end of the story, there was a world staring at a map; a map full of claims, but empty of peace. And a voice echoed in the heart of the night: God may have given the land, but has he also given the hearts? Explanation: This story attempts to portray, from a literary and political perspective, without explicit judgment, a picture of the clash between “religious beliefs” and “geographical claims.” The reference is to September 2022, Ben Gurion, and the Arab countries are real,

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