The Jihadist Delusion: Why Hamas Will Never Surrender

In the scorched annals of human folly, few spectacles rival the grotesque theater of Hamas's self-immolation. Here is a movement that cloaks its barbarism in the sanctity of jihad, invoking Allah's name not as a beacon of mercy but as a license for endless carnage. They cannot help themselves, as the old adage might cruelly quip, trapped in a theological straitjacket of their own forging, where the extermination of Jews, those eternal infidels in their medieval worldview, supersedes the very survival of the people they purport to champion.

Gaza, beleaguered strip of sand and sorrow, becomes not a homeland to nurture but a sacrificial altar, its inhabitants offered up like so many lambs to the god of grievance. And for what? A quixotic quest for a caliphate built on the bones of the innocent, where every rocket fired, every tunnel dug, every child radicalized is but a verse in their hymn of holy war.

Consider the architecture of this madness, etched indelibly into Hamas's founding charter of 1988, a document that reads less like a political manifesto and more like a fever dream of theocratic rage. "The land of Palestine is an Islamic Waqf consecrated for future Moslem generations until Judgement Day," it thunders, framing the conflict not as a territorial dispute but as a divine imperative to eradicate the Jewish presence.

Peace? A delusion for the weak-willed.

Negotiation? Treason against the ummah.

This isn't hyperbole; it's the unvarnished creed of an organization whose leaders, from the bombastic Yahya Sinwar to the shadowy Ismail Haniyeh, have time and again spurned olive branches extended by a weary world.

Remember the Oslo Accords, that fragile edifice of hope in the 1990s, sabotaged not by Israeli intransigence but by the very rejectionists who now cry foul from their Qatari exile?

Or the 2005 Gaza disengagement, when Israel unilaterally withdrew, only for Hamas to repay the gesture with a barrage of Qassams that turned the enclave into a launchpad for terror.

Fast-forward to the cataclysm of October 7, 2023, a date that will echo through history as the pinnacle of jihadist idiocy. In a paroxysm of savagery, Hamas's marauders breached the border, slaughtering 1,200 souls in a frenzy of rape, murder, and mutilation, dragging hostages back to Gaza like trophies from some primordial raid.

What followed was predictable: Israel's thunderous retaliation, a war that has claimed thousands of Gazan lives, many civilian, many collateral in the grim calculus of urban guerrilla warfare. Yet Hamas, ensconced in their labyrinthine bunkers, emerges not chastened but emboldened, their spokesmen intoning that every martyr's blood waters the seeds of victory.

Victory for whom? Not for the Gazans queuing for scraps of bread amid the rubble, their hospitals half-shuttered, their schools reduced to craters. No, victory is reserved for the ideologues who view Palestinian suffering as a currency to be spent lavishly on the global stage, antagonizing allies, alienating moderates, and ensuring that sympathy for the Palestinian cause curdles into revulsion.

This is the true scandal of Hamas's reign: their utter indifference to pragmatism, their fetishization of futility. Intelligence reports, from Mossad dossiers to UN assessments, paint a damning portrait of a regime that diverts billions in aid, Qatari cash, Iranian munitions, into rocket programs and smuggling empires, while 80% of Gazans teeter on the brink of famine.

They embed command centers beneath pediatric wards, fire from crowded marketplaces, and then wail about "disproportionate" response when the inevitable backlash arrives. It's a strategy not of resistance but of ritual suicide, where the deaths of every last Gazan are tallied not as tragedy but as triumph, a blood price paid to appease the jihadist gods.

Critics of Israel - and there are legions, from bien-pensant academics to performative activists -will clutch their pearls at such candor, decrying it as Islamophobic or Zionist apologetics. Spare me the sanctimony. This is not about religion's inherent venom; Islam, like Christianity, harbors streams of peace and streams of poison. It is about a specific strain of fanaticism, one that Hamas has distilled to its most lethal purity: the conviction that compromise is cowardice, that the infidel's existence is an affront to eternity.

They will not stop, cannot stop, because to cease fighting would be to confront the void at their ideology's core, a recognition that power, not paradise, is the prize they crave, and that paradise might just be a gated community in Doha.

So what now for Gaza's ghosts-in-waiting? The path forward demands not more ceasefires cobbled from Qatar's salons, but a reckoning with Hamas's monopoly on misery. Empower the Palestinian Authority's moderates, the weary bureaucrats in Ramallah who at least feign interest in two states. Isolate the jihadists through sanctions that starve their war machine, not their people.

Until Palestinians rise against this cult of death, demanding leaders who build clinics instead of IEDs, Gaza will remain a charnel house, its children's futures pawned for a prophet's promise that rings increasingly hollow.

Hamas's jihad is no epic; it's a farce, a tragicomedy of the terminally deluded. They fight not for liberation but for legend, dooming every Gazan soul to the pyre of their pride.

History will judge them not as warriors, but as the architects of their own apocalypse. And in the quiet aftermath, when the last rocket fades to a whimper, the world might finally ask: Was it worth it? The dead, piled high in Gaza's graves, already know the answer.

But this war could claim their lives and the lives of every single living Gazan, and they (Hamas) would die happily, the Gazans, not so much. And so wer continue, stuck in a never-ending cycle of death and destruction, the blame for which lies squarely at their door or burial plot.