Could this war leave us questioning the essence of who we are? Militarily, we’ve recovered. Hezbollah has been restrained, Hamas has been struck hard and Gaza lies in devastation. The very people who celebrated the atrocities of October 7 are now fighting for survival, desperate for food and shelter.
Yet, in a deeper sense, it feels as though the ground beneath us has shifted. The power of Hamas was not just in its weapons or its destruction—it was in its ability to shake our identity, to fracture the values that once held us together.
Yahya Sinwar, his brother Mohammed, and much of Hamas’ leadership are gone, eliminated in targeted strikes. But the echoes of their actions remain, reverberating in the way we treat one another during this crisis. Families of hostages find themselves under attack—not from our enemies but from within—for daring to demand an end to the war, for not offering enough deference to political leaders. These attacks raise an unsettling truth: perhaps Hamas succeeded in hitting us where it hurts most—our sense of unity, our shared responsibility for one another. The spirit of "all of Israel is responsible for one another" now feels hollow, replaced by a fractured reality where solidarity is conditional and selective.
Perhaps Hamas succeeded in hitting us where it hurts most—our sense of unity, our shared responsibility for one another; The spirit of "all of Israel is responsible for one another" now feels hollow, replaced by a fractured reality where solidarity is conditional and selective
The shift is glaring. A loud minority, though not the majority, has reframed the hostage crisis as a personal tragedy rather than a national one. They’ve redefined loyalty—not to the country or its values but to the prime minister. Gratitude toward him has become the twisted yardstick by which we measure the worth of hostages and their families.
And then there’s the prime minister himself, a man presiding over the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. His decision to nominate a Shin Bet head reportedly opposed to hostage deals sends a chilling message: "This is an eternal war." To Hamas, these moves signal victory—not on the battlefield but in the erosion of our moral foundation.
The appointment of David Zini wasn’t about national security. It wasn’t about Israel’s best interests. It was a calculated political move, designed to appease the prime minister’s core supporters in the face of humanitarian aid going to Gaza. It was also a convenient distraction from Netanyahu’s ongoing trial. These decisions aren’t about accountability or leadership. They are about survival—his, not ours.
But the cracks in our society go deeper. Today, any voice that dares to question the morality of killing innocent civilians in Gaza is silenced with accusations of treason. Politicians and social media voices hint at unspeakable acts, with some even suggesting genocide as a solution. We must confront this head-on. Thousands of innocent people have died in Gaza—children, women, the elderly. Acknowledging this doesn’t betray Israel; it honors the moral foundation we claim to stand on.
Once, we held ourselves to this standard. Truth mattered, even when it was uncomfortable. Today, that commitment feels lost, replaced by a singular question: does this truth serve Netanyahu?
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And then there’s the concept of responsibility—a word that once carried immense weight in Israeli society. Every soldier learns its meaning in basic training: a commander is accountable for his soldiers, for their victories and, most of all, for their failures. Yet Netanyahu, the longest-serving prime minister in our history, has twisted the very idea of responsibility. How can a leader who once called Hamas "an asset" now deny accountability for the events of October 7? How can he claim ignorance about Qatari funds flowing to Hamas when these policies were enacted under his watch?
In a way, Hamas has achieved something Arab armies never could in 75 years. They’ve fractured our moral compass and eroded the unity that once defined us. But their so-called "victory" is neither complete nor permanent. The majority of Israelis still feel a profound sense of responsibility—for the hostages and their families, for the fallen and their loved ones. This majority rejects the divisive rhetoric of a leadership that spreads hatred and conspiracy theories, and calls for indiscriminate violence. They understand that a leader who once called Hamas "an asset" and enabled its growth cannot continue to lead this nation.
This war has tested us in ways we never imagined. It has exposed the worst in us—the cracks in our unity, the erosion of our values. But it has also revealed the resilience of the majority, the Israelis who refuse to abandon their humanity. They are the ones who will carry this country forward, ensuring that Hamas’ fleeting "victory" is nothing more than an illusion.