Palestinian author Basem Khandaqji, freshly released from Israeli captivity and now exiled to Egypt, held physical copies of his own novels in his hands for the first time in over two decades.

The works, which were clandestinely printed and distributed during his 21-year imprisonment, symbolize not just literary triumph but the unyielding spirit of Palestinian resistance amid profound adversity.

Khandaqji, 41, born in the West Bank city of Nablus in 1983, was arrested at age 21 in 2004 and sentenced to three life terms in 2005 for his alleged involvement in planning a suicide bombing at Tel Aviv's Carmel Market, which killed three Israelis and injured dozens. A former journalism student at An-Najah National University in Nablus, he later completed a degree in political science through Al-Quds University while behind bars, focusing his thesis on Israeli studies. Influenced by the First Intifada as a teenager, Khandaqji joined the Palestinian People's Party at 15, channeling his political awakening into a prolific writing career that flourished despite the confines of prison.

Inside Israel's Ofer and Megiddo prisons, Khandaqji authored at least six books—four novels and two poetry collections—smuggling manuscripts out through lawyers and fellow inmates. His works, including poetry volumes like Rituals of the First Time (2010), The Breath of a Nocturnal Poem (2013), and The Narcissus of Isolation (2017), as well as essays on Palestinian literature, politics, and the plight of female prisoners, were often banned within the prison system. One notable anecdote from his lawyer, Khaled Abbadi, recounts how a new inmate's request for Khandaqji's book was denied, underscoring the irony of his literary isolation.

Khandaqji's breakthrough came in 2024 when his novel A Mask, the Color of the Sky (2023)—a haunting exploration of family fragmentation, displacement, genocide, and racism through the eyes of a Palestinian archaeologist in a Ramallah refugee camp—clinched the prestigious International Prize for Arabic Fiction, known as the "Arabic Booker." The award, worth $50,000, was accepted on his behalf by his brother Yousef in Abu Dhabi, who dedicated it "to all the Palestinian people." Judges praised the book for its "delicate weaving of history, myth, and present-day narrative pulsing with compassion against dehumanization."

His release earlier this month was part of a broader cease-fire agreement between Israel and Hamas, under which Israel freed around 250 Palestinian prisoners—many serving life sentences—in exchange for the remaining hostages held by the militant group. More than half of those released, including Khandaqji, face exile, with destinations like Egypt, Algeria, and Turkey enforced as conditions of freedom. For Khandaqji, this marked not just liberation from his cell but the first opportunity to touch the tangible fruits of his labor.

In an emotional interview shortly after his arrival in Cairo, Khandaqji reflected on his ordeal and the broader Palestinian struggle. "I was sentenced to three life sentences in prison, and here I am today, sent forth as a liberated prisoner from inside these prisons," he said, his voice carrying the weight of years unspoken. "Thanks to the steadfastness of our people and their valiant and mighty resistance in the Gaza Strip."

He extended profound gratitude to Palestinians everywhere, reserving special reverence for Gaza: "Today, I convey the deepest and most sincere expressions of pride and honor in our great people everywhere, specifically in the Gaza Strip. Peace be upon Gaza the day it fights, the day it remains steadfast, and the day it resists this colonialism. Peace be upon Gaza the day it resurrects us alive from inside the prisons of the Israeli occupation regime."

When pressed by the interviewer on the hope for all prisoners' freedom and the suffering endured behind bars, Khandaqji redirected the focus to collective pain. "As much as we suffered as prisoners inside the prisons of the colonialism, all this suffering we endured cannot be compared to the extent of the suffering endured by our great people in the Gaza Strip, and in the West Bank, and everywhere," he emphasized. "We, as Palestinian prisoners, were inside the prisons, and even the Palestinian prisoners who are now inside the prisons of the Zionist colonialism, they offer the precious and the valuable, and they share with the people of Gaza the same trench in which they defend the rights of our people and in which they stand and form a solid and steadfast rock against all destructive projects aimed at liquidating our cause, displacing our people, and expelling them from their land. And for this, the prisoners truly suffer inside the prisons of the colonialism, but this suffering merges with the collective suffering endured by our people everywhere."

Khandaqji's story resonates beyond literature, embodying the intersection of art and activism in the Palestinian experience. From his family's legacy—tied to a Nablus library founded by his aunt Nadya Khandaqji after her own release from prison in 1971—to his dreams of opening a cultural café in Haifa to engage readers, his words bridge personal redemption with communal endurance. As he settles into exile, Khandaqji's embrace of his books serves as a quiet vow: that even in displacement, the narrative of resistance endures. (ILKHA)