There are many ways to measure whether politicians are guided by principle or politics. One is to compare what provokes their outrage and what does not.
In April 2024, a Jewish student at UCLA tried to walk across his own campus.
Pro-Palestinian protesters physically blocked his path and decided, on their own authority, who could and could not pass. UCLA security officers stood by and did nothing. A federal judge later ruled that UCLA could not permit Jewish students to be excluded from parts of campus because of their identity or beliefs, calling such exclusion “unimaginable” and “abhorrent.”
Where were California’s Democratic members of Congress about the incident? Other “progressive” members of Congress? Where were the press conferences, the demands for investigations and the flood of social media condemnations?
Their silence was striking.
Then came Rep. Ro Khanna’s recent 7,500-mile trip to the West Bank in July 2026.
Khanna claimed that armed settlers and Israeli soldiers prevented his delegation from proceeding and that U.S. Embassy involvement helped resolve the situation. Israeli officials, the U.S. embassy, and various partiesdispute key parts of that account, saying the delegation entered a restricted security area without proper coordination and denying Khanna’s characterization of the encounter.
Yet progressive members of Congress like Ilhan Omar quickly rallied behind Khanna, condemning Israel and amplifying his account around the world.
The comparison is not between two people who were blocked. It is between two very different reasons for being blocked and the reactions that followed.
At UCLA, private protesters established their own checkpoint and allegedly decided which Americans could pass based on who they were or what they believed. A federal court concluded that a public university could not allow that to happen.
In the West Bank, the issue was about security. The area was subject to access restrictions because it was an active conflict zone. The dispute is over whether those security measures were properly applied not whether Ro Khanna had a right to unrestricted entry.
One concerns equal treatment under American law, the other concerns the exercise of security authority in a foreign conflict zone. Yet the louder political outrage came in response to the latter.
If elected officials cannot summon the same moral urgency when a Jewish American student is excluded from his own campus as they do when a colleague encounters a disputed security checkpoint overseas, the question is no longer whether they oppose injustice. It is what kinds of injustice – and for whom – they choose to notice.
We are witnessing more and more of the elected progressive wing marking American and Israeli Jews as “absolutely vile” people unworthy of basic protections and rights who “must be stopped.”
There is a popular belief that Palestine was a country stolen and occupied by invading Jews in 1948. This has no basis in fact.
When the British Mandate ended in May 1948, there was no sovereign Palestinian Arab government waiting to assume power. There was no functioning Arab parliament, cabinet, constitution, or national administration prepared to govern an independent state.
The Jewish community took a different path. Over decades it had built the institutions of self-government: representative political bodies, courts, schools, hospitals, financial institutions, and a defense force. When Britain withdrew, those institutions became the foundation of the State of Israel.
The local Arab leadership did not establish comparable institutions of national government. Not before 1948 nor after.
Instead, neighboring Arab armies invaded the newly declared Jewish state. Transjordan assumed control of the West Bank. Egypt administered Gaza. A short-lived All-Palestine Government was announced later that year, but it exercised little authority and never became an effective sovereign government.
For the next sixteen years, there was no effort to start a Palestinian State.
Only in 1964 did the Arab League create the Palestine Liberation Organization.
Even its name is revealing.
It was not called the State of Palestine. It was not called the Government of Palestine. It was called the Palestine “Liberation” Organization.
Governments are created to govern. Liberation movements are created to liberate territory from an existing sovereign.
First Chairman of the PLO, Ahmad al-Shukeiri, was born in Lebanon and served as both Syrian and Saudi Arabian delegate to the United Nations at different times. He had to resign in shame after failing to destroy Israel in 1967.
The PLO’s founding charter reinforces that distinction. Rather than outlining the institutions of a future Palestinian state, Article 24 declared:
“This Organization does not exercise any regional sovereignty over the West Bank in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, on the Gaza Strip, or in the Himmah Area [where Israel, Jordan and Syria meet].”
The PLO’s founding charter expressly declined to claim sovereignty over the parts of historic Palestine then under Arab administration. Yet throughout the document, its central mission was the “liberation of Palestine” – a struggle directed at Israel, the Jewish State. At its core, local Arabs wanted Arab rule, wherever it may come from. They opposed the so-called “Zionist invasion” and Jewish sovereignty “in any part of Palestine.“
When the first lasting Palestinian national organization finally appeared in 1964, it was constituted not as a government-in-waiting or a reclamation government but as a liberation movement, and its own charter expressly disclaimed sovereignty over the West Bank and Gaza while solely focusing its mission on Israel.
The Palestinian “liberation” movement is a pan-Arab effort to remove the Jewish state first and foremost. Current efforts to portray it as a people seeking to reclaim their historic country is without any basis in fact.
The Palestinian Authority had no trouble explaining what every nation deserves.
In a statement condemning Iran’s attacks on Bahrain, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, Oman, and Jordan, the PA repeatedly invokes the same principles: sovereignty, security, stability, and protection of civilians.
Where were these principles when Israel was attacked?
When Iran launched missiles at Israel, did the Palestinian Authority defend Israel’s sovereignty?
When Hezbollah rained rockets on Israeli cities for months, did it affirm Israel’s right to security and stability?
states “refrain… from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state.” UN Charter (Article 2(4))
When the Houthis fired missiles toward Israel, did it support Israel’s right to protect its people?
And most pointedly, when Hamas – fellow local Arabs of the Palestinian parliament – crossed an international border on October 7, murdered civilians, kidnapped hostages, and occupied Israeli communities, did the PA condemn it as an assault on Israel’s sovereignty?
“the inherent right of individual or collective self-defence if an armed attack occurs against a Member of the United Nations.” UN Charter (Article 51)
A principle that applies only to friends is not a principle. It is a preference.
The Palestinian Authority’s own statement demonstrates that it understands exactly what every nation deserves. Its silence when those same principles are violated openly and repeatedly against Israel says just as much as its words.
The debate over American support for Ukraine and Israel has largely focused on the cost. Politicians argue over billions of dollars appropriated, weapons transferred, and whether American taxpayers are carrying too much of the burden. Far less attention has been paid to the return on that investment.
Since 2022, the United States has authorized roughly $195 billion related to Ukraine and approximately $16–22 billion in supplemental wartime assistance for Israel. Critics see enormous expenditures. Strategically, however, those dollars have enabled two allies to inflict historic damage on two of America’s principal adversaries – Russia and Iran – without the United States deploying large combat formations or suffering the thousands of battlefield casualties that defined Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan.
That comparison matters.
The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan cost the United States more than $5 trillion in direct and related costs, with broader post-9/11 war obligations rising above $8 trillion when future veteran care, interest, and long-term commitments are included. Nearly 7,000 American service members were killed. More than 52,000 were wounded.
And what was the lasting strategic benefit?
Afghanistan ended with the Taliban back in power. Iraq removed Saddam Hussein, but the aftermath empowered Iran, fractured the region, drained American credibility, and produced years of instability. The United States paid in terrible blood and treasure, and the final balance sheet is hard to defend.
Ukraine and Israel present a very different model.
Consider Russia.
More than four years after launching its invasion of Ukraine, Russia has suffered an estimated1.4 million military casualties, including approximately 450,000 dead. Its armored forces have been severely depleted. The Black Sea Fleet has largely been driven from its historic operating areas. Ukraine has repeatedly demonstrated the ability to strike deep inside Russian territory. The military once regarded as NATO’s greatest conventional threat has been dramatically weakened.
“The number of Russian casualties and fatalities are astonishing. Since World War II, no major power has suffered anywhere near these numbers of casualties or fatalities in any war…. Russia’s economy is in distress, and Russia’s wartime spending may be increasingly untenable.” – Center for Strategic and International Studies July 2026
Now consider Iran.
For four decades the leading state sponsor of terrorism invested billions of dollars constructing what it proudly called the “Axis of Resistance” – a network stretching from Iran through Iraq and Syria to Lebanon and Gaza. Hamas, Hezbollah, Shiite militias, the Houthis, and the Assad regime were components of a single strategy designed to project Iranian power, surround Israel and challenge American influence in the region and threaten much of the global oil supply.
That strategy has suffered a tremendous setback.
Hamas has lost much of its military and infrastructure. Hezbollah has absorbed devastating blows to its command structure and missile capabilities. The Assad regime in Syria – Tehran’s indispensable Arab ally and the geographic bridge connecting Iran to Hezbollah – has fallen, shattering the land corridor that Iran spent decades building. The regional network that once appeared to surround Israel and terrorize America’s Arab allies now is dramatically weakened.
Iran’s nuclear ambitions have suffered major setbacks as well. Israeli and American strikes severely damaged key nuclear facilities, disrupted important elements of Iran’s enrichment infrastructure, and forced Tehran to devote enormous resources simply to rebuilding capabilities it once assumed were secure. Intelligence agencies continue to debate precisely how long the program has been delayed, but there is broad agreement that it suffered one of the most significant setbacks in its history.
None of this diminishes the immense human suffering. Ukraine has endured staggering casualties and destruction. Israel suffered the deadliest attack in its history on October 7 and has paid a heavy military, economic, and emotional price ever since.
But viewed through an American lens of grand strategy, another reality emerges.
Rather than sending hundreds of thousands of American troops to fight Russia or Iran directly as was done in Afghanistan and Iraq, the United States enabled allies already under attack to defend themselves. Those allies have imposed extraordinary military and strategic costs on governments that have spent decades challenging American interests.
This is what is so often missing from the public debate.
The wars are typically discussed separately. Ukraine is presented as a European conflict while Israel is portrayed as a Middle Eastern conflict. Yet both Russia and Iran were strategic partners, cooperating militarily, economically, and diplomatically while sharing an interest in weakening the United States and the Western alliance. Seen together, Ukraine and Israel have not merely been fighting for their own survival, they have been successfully degrading two pillars of a powerful anti-Western axis.
The long-term upside could be enormous. A surviving, Western-aligned Ukraine would become one of Europe’s most battle-tested militaries, a major reconstruction market, an energy and agricultural partner, and a permanent barrier to Russian expansion. A stronger Israel, with Iran weakened and Syria and Lebanon no longer functioning as Tehran’s strategic bridge, could help reshape the Middle East around technology, defense cooperation, energy corridors, trade, and normalization with Arab states that increasingly fear Iran more than they resent Israel.
That is the opportunity Iraq and Afghanistan never produced. Those wars consumed American power and America left no assets behind. These wars, fought by allies, may extend American power with powerful allies at the vanguard.
History may conclude that this period represents one of the most effective uses of American alliance power in generations. For roughly $215 billion – less than one-twentieth of the direct and related cost of Iraq and Afghanistan – the United States helped enable allies to severely weaken Russia’s conventional military, fracture Iran’s regional proxy empire, remove Syria and Lebanon from Tehran’s sphere of influence, and significantly set back Iran’s nuclear program, all without committing large American ground forces or sustaining the massive battlefield casualties that characterized previous generations of U.S. warfare.
America’s greatest military victory in the past 75 years may ultimately be its most subtle.
The train rolled quietly toward Tel Aviv, its rhythm broken only by the soft buzz of conversations and the glow of phone screens. Across from me sat two young soldiers. Their rifles rested casually against their legs while their attention was fixed on their cellphones – one scrolling through messages, the other smiling at a photo someone had sent. It was a striking image of modern Israel: a generation carrying both the tools of war and the ordinary routines of youth.
Israeli soldier with cellphone and gun (created by First One Through)
After two years of war, the sight no longer seemed unusual. Uniforms had become part of daily life. The soldiers were not isolated behind military bases; they were students, siblings and neighbors riding the same commuter trains as everyone else.
Stepping off at Tel Aviv’s HaShalom – “the Peace” – station, another reminder of the country’s debate awaited. Stickers were plastered on walls and signposts declaring, “גיוס שווה לכולם” – “The draft should be equal for everyone.” The slogan was impossible to miss. It reflected the growing frustration of many Israelis who believe military service should be shared by all citizens, particularly as the controversy over exemptions for many ultra-Orthodox men has intensified during a prolonged war.
Sticker on train station in Tel Aviv about the draft (created by First One Through)
From the station I walked up the street toward Sarona.
The mood shifted almost instantly. The urgency of the train gave way to quiet streets lined with restored nineteenth-century stone buildings, their green shutters and warm walls carefully preserved. Families strolled through the park, office workers carried coffee between meetings, and children played on the lawns.
Sarona, with its mix of old buildings and new skyscrapers (created by First One Through)
Rising above this tranquil scene were gleaming glass towers – headquarters of technology companies, investment firms and startups reaching into the Mediterranean sky. The contrast was remarkable. The old Templar colony had not been erased by progress; it had been woven into it. History remained at street level while the future climbed overhead.
From Sarona I continued west beneath long rows of jacaranda trees. The sidewalks were broad and shaded despite the afternoon heat. Cyclists glided silently along dedicated bike paths while dog walkers stopped to exchange greetings in Hebrew, English, French and Russian. The city moved at an easy rhythm, confident and unhurried.
Tel Aviv street winding its way from the train station to the beach (created by First One Through)
By the time I reached the Mediterranean, the sky had begun to soften into cooler shades of blue. A young woman played a steel drum near the promenade, the Caribbean melody drifting above the soft crash of the waves. Just up the gentle hill, an ultra-Orthodox man sat quietly, listening. His eyes wandered beyond the music toward the sailboats slowly crossing the horizon, their sails turning black against the fading sun.
As darkness approached, I turned back toward my hotel. Along the route, fresh rails stretched down the center of the boulevard. Fences, construction equipment and unfinished stations marked the slow progress of Tel Aviv’s expanding light rail. The war had left its mark here, as many Israeli construction workers had been called into reserve duty, while restrictions on Palestinian Arab workers entering Israel had reduced another important source of labor. Even in a city racing toward the future, history and security continued to shape the speed of ordinary life.
Tel Aviv’s light rail under construction (created by First One Through)
Night settled over the White City. Above the Bauhaus facades and surprisingly green parks, a deep red crescent moon hung low before slipping toward the Mediterranean. It seemed a fitting end to the day. Tel Aviv is often celebrated for its beaches, cafés and nightlife, yet what lingered most was something less obvious: a city where soldiers and software engineers share commuter trains, where old stone houses stand beside glass towers, where debates over duty appear on stickers at the station, and where, despite the burdens of war, people still ride bicycles beneath leafy boulevards toward the sea as both sun and moon set over Israel.
Red crescent moon sets over Tel Aviv (created by First One Through)
The next morning I woke before dawn, courtesy of jet lag. It was barely five o’clock, and rather than fight the early hour, I headed outside and walked toward the beach, turning south in the direction of Jaffa.
The city was just beginning to stir.
On a grassy stretch above the promenade, a group of women had gathered for morning exercise. Jews and Arabs stretched side by side as the first rays of sunlight crept across the lawn. No one seemed interested in the differences that so often dominate headlines. At that hour, they were simply neighbors greeting another day.
Jewish and Arab women stretching above Tel Aviv’s beach at daybreak (created by First One Through)
The rising sun appeared between the towers, casting long golden reflections across the sea. As I continued south, I crossed the invisible boundary where Tel Aviv gradually becomes Jaffa. There is no wall, no gate, no sign announcing the transition. Modern boulevards slowly yield to older stone buildings until, ahead, the ancient hill of Jaffa emerged from the morning haze.
Sunrise over Tel Aviv-Jaffa (created by First One Through)
The old city looked timeless. Its limestone walls glowed honey-gold beneath the rising sun, church towers rising above clusters of palms that have watched merchants, pilgrims and conquerors arrive for centuries. Behind me stretched one of the world’s youngest major cities; before me stood one of its oldest. Few places compress four thousand years into a morning walk.
Old City of Jaffa (created by First One Through)
Yet the promenade is also a walk through painful memory.
Every few hundred yards another monument interrupts the rhythm of the sea. A simple memorial recalls the Altalena, the tragic 1948 confrontation in which the fledgling Jewish state nearly fractured before it had fully been born. Farther along stands the memorial to the Dolphinarium bombing, where a Palestinian Arab suicide attack murdered young people waiting to enter a beachfront nightclub, freezing forever what should have been an ordinary summer evening.
The newest memorials are not carved in stone. They are printed on paper.
Walls, bus stops and utility boxes are covered with hundreds of stickers bearing the faces of young men and women killed since the October 7 massacre and the war that followed. Some are soldiers, others are civilians. Each bears a photograph, a name and often a brief message from family or friends. Individually they are easy to pass without notice. Together they form an unofficial memorial stretching across the city, reminding everyone that the smiling faces should still be walking these same streets.
Stickers of young people who were killed in the Iranian proxy war against Israel (created by First One Through)
Turning back toward my hotel, I watched the city awaken.
At first there were only a handful of runners. Then another dozen. Within minutes the promenade had become a river of joggers moving north and south along the shoreline. Cyclists moved passed them in dedicated lanes while the Mediterranean rolled steadily against the seawall. The volleyball courts still stood empty, their nets waiting for the first matches of the day.
Despite the hundreds of people already enjoying the morning, security remained almost invisible. The only uniformed officers I encountered were two young policewomen sitting beside their patrol car, laughing as they leaned together to take a selfie. It was another reminder that life here is lived in layers. A country still at war. A city that had known rockets and sirens. Yet on this morning, two officers paused, like young people anywhere else, to capture a moment with a cellphone.
Policewomen taking a selfie in Tel Aviv (created by First One Through)
As I approached my hotel, another juxtaposition caught my eye. Apartment balconies facing the street served as tiny windows into the lives of their occupants. On one balcony hung a rainbow Pride flag. Just a window away fluttered a yellow Chabad Moshiach flag, proclaiming hope for the coming of the Messiah. In many places, those symbols might be seem irreconcilable. The flags did not suggest agreement but coexistence. The residents likely disagreed about politics, religion and the future of Israeli society. Yet neither had torn down the other’s banner. The building itself had become a quiet lesson in democratic life.
Pride flag and Moshiach flag hang together facing the Tel Aviv beach (created by First One Through)
Back at the hotel, breakfast was every bit as impressive as the Mediterranean outside the windows. Fresh salads, nuts, cheeses, shakshuka, breads still warm from the oven, amazing fruit, squares of halva and strong Israeli coffee made lingering far too tempting.
Eventually, I pushed away from the table and traded dawn’s leisurely pace for another walk, this time inland.
In barely forty minutes, the sea breeze gave way to glass towers, venture capital offices and the headquarters of companies whose software, artificial intelligence, cybersecurity and communications products are used around the world. The transformation was remarkable. One moment I was watching paddleboarders on the Mediterranean; the next I was surrounded by one of the world’s great technology hubs. Tel Aviv’s reputation as the “Startup Nation” is not an abstract slogan. It is a city where people can begin the morning watching the sunrise by the sea and arrive at meetings shaping the future before most cities have finished their commute.
Part of the Tel Aviv skyline near the train station (created by First One Through)
After the day’s meetings, I made the walk back toward the coast. The beach had transformed once again.
The jogging dawn promenade had given way to the rhythm of a summer afternoon. The surf clubs were busy, rows of brightly colored boards stacked outside while paddleboards waited for the next calm outing. A sign pointing toward the nearest bomb shelter hung beside the entrance, blending almost unnoticed into the scene.
Paddleboards for rent at Tel Aviv beach (created by First One Through)
The unmistakable crack of matkot echoed across the sand – the sharp wooden sound of paddle meeting ball, as much a part of an Israeli beach as the waves themselves. Surfers searched for the best breaks while others stood atop paddleboards gliding across the calm Mediterranean. Families spread towels across the sand. Friends settled into circles, talking for hours, absentmindedly cracking open sunflower seeds and dropping the shells into cups which had been drained of beer, as the afternoon slowly slipped toward evening.
After showering off the salt, I headed back into the city for dinner.
Tel Aviv has quietly become one of the world’s great food cities.
Its chefs draw inspiration from every corner of Jewish history and the Mediterranean – Galilean vegetables, Persian spices, North African traditions, Yemenite breads and European techniques – all combined with remarkable creativity. Restaurants that would command attention in New York, London or Paris line streets that only a generation ago were known more for falafel than fine dining.
One change particularly fascinated me.
Not long ago, many ambitious chefs viewed kosher certification as a limitation. Today, more and more of the city’s finest restaurants proudly operate under kosher supervision. The change has been driven as much by economics as religion. As Israel’s high-tech economy expanded, so too did a generation of young Modern Orthodox professionals – engineers, entrepreneurs, venture capitalists and lawyers – who wanted exceptional dining without compromising Jewish dietary law. Restaurants discovered that serving remarkable food and remaining kosher were no longer competing ideas. In many neighborhoods, they had become a winning combination.
Dvora Restaurant on Ben Yehuda St. in Tel Aviv (created by First One Through)
Leaving Tel Aviv, I found myself thinking less about any single building or beach than about the extraordinary coexistence of opposites. Here, memory lives beside innovation. Faith shares walls with secular life. War intrudes, but never fully defines the city. Every morning begins with people running toward the sea rather than away from fear.
Perhaps that is Tel Aviv’s greatest contradiction. It has not escaped history’s burdens. It simply refuses to allow them to define the city. Despite carrying them every day, Tel Aviv has become one of the world’s most vibrant, creative and optimistic places to live.
Long before the current war began, prominent advocates for the Palestinian cause were describing Gaza as “hell on earth.”
In January 2009, Palestinian Queen Rania of Jordan released a video for UNRWA titled “Hell on Earth.” Eight months later, speaking at UNRWA’s 60th anniversary, she recalled that video and lamented that Gaza was still “Hell on Earth.”
Palestinian Queen of Jordan Rania called Gaza “Hell on Earth” in 2009
In May 2021, UN Secretary-General António Guterres declared, “If there is a hell on earth, it is the lives of children in Gaza today.”
When Israel began to respond to the war waged by Gazans in 2023, UNRWA Commissioner-General Philippe Lazzarini said Gaza had become “a living hell.” In January 2024, UN humanitarian coordinator Sigrid Kaag told the Security Council, “Gaza is hell on earth.”
The description has been remarkably consistent. What has often been missing is the question: Why?
Hell is not merely a place of suffering. It is a place where evil reigns.
Hamas violently seized Gaza in 2007 after defeating Fatah in a brief but brutal civil war. Fighters executed political rivals, threw some from rooftops, publicly brutalized opponents, and dragged the bodies of alleged collaborators through the streets. Those who challenged Hamas risked imprisonment, torture, or death. Independent political life disappeared, and an entire generation grew up under the rule of an armed Islamist movement that prioritized rockets, tunnels, and perpetual conflict over building a prosperous society.
Hamas drags a disloyal Gazan through the streets to his death
And Hamas was a known entity, a political party which won 56% of Palestinian parliament in elections with the most antisemitic political charter ever written. It remains the most popular political group to this day, expected to win Palestinian elections in every poll.
Calling Gaza “hell on earth” without acknowledging who built that system leaves the story unfinished. Should people want to transform the region, they must work to end the evil rule and worldview that turned part of the holy land into such a place in the first place.
Outside the Jaffa Gate in Jerusalem, the day unfolds with layers of complexity. The stone walls, ancient and storied, bear witness to the lives that pass through.
On this morning, an Arab man stands near the portal entrance, his posture slumped, eyes lowered. His expression speaks of a quiet sorrow—perhaps personal, perhaps born of circumstances beyond his control.
Picture amalgam of four different scenes, presenting a view of the entry portal of the Jaffa Gate in Jerusalem, Israel (by First One Through)
Meanwhile, just feet away, an Orthodox Jewish man, dressed in traditional black attire, moves with purpose. He hurries toward his daily prayers at the Kotel, following a routine as old as the stones beneath his feet. The rhythm of Jerusalem’s life, with its sacred moments, continues without pause.
Standing between them is a medic from Magen David Adom. His presence is a testament to the tension that often simmers beneath the surface of the city. He watches both men—attentive, calm, ready to act if needed. His role is not in the realm of politics or faith but in the safeguarding of human life.
This moment encapsulates the juxtaposition of daily routines—spiritual devotion, personal struggle, and the ever-present readiness to heal. In Jerusalem, where layers of history meet contemporary reality, even the quietest scene can tell a deeper story.
Much of the discussion about Israel’s security focuses on borders, settlements, or ceasefires. Less attention is paid to a more fundamental reality: Israel is surrounded by governments that have failed – or have yet to demonstrate they can function as sovereign states.
To Israel’s north lies Lebanon, a country where the government spent years unable to enforce a monopoly on force within its own territory. While the Lebanese Army wore the national uniform, Hezbollah built an independent army, amassed an enormous missile arsenal, dug tunnels, launched drones, and ultimately dragged the country into war. A sovereign state that cannot control its own territory has surrendered one of the defining responsibilities of statehood.
Lebanese pound to Israeli shekel exchange rate, defaulting on debt in March 2020, enormous explosion in Beirut for stored Hezbollah weapons in August 2020. The bank devalued currency by 90% in February 2023 and again in February 2024
Next to Lebanon is Syria. More than a decade of civil war shattered the country’s institutions, fractured its territory among competing armed groups and foreign militaries, and left millions displaced. Syria has long stood as one of the clearest examples of state failure in the modern Middle East.
Syrian civil war killed nearly 600,000 and dispersed 13 million. It is now ruled by Abu Mohammad al-Jolani who headed ISIS in the region
To Israel’s south lies Gaza. Hamas spent years and billions of dollars to build an underground military fortress instead of a functional society. The result was war after war after war. Destruction and death.
Hamas on October 7, 2023 slaughtered 1,200 people in Israel and brought over 250 people as hostages into Gaza to cheering crowds.
In the West Bank, the picture is different but equally troubling. The Palestinian Authority maintains civil institutions in parts of the territory, yet it has never established a monopoly on force or unified governance. Rival armed factions continue to operate, political legitimacy remains deeply contested, and governance has been divided from Gaza for nearly two decades.
The collapse of governance in the states surrounding Israel has turned the region into one of the world’s greatest concentrations of terrorist groups. This is the strategic reality Israel faces every day.
Its neighbors are not peaceful democracies with settled borders and accountable institutions. They are governments weakened by civil war, dominated by militias, or unable to establish unified authority. Israel is repeatedly asked to take security risks on the assumption that these entities will prevent terrorism and enforce agreements, even though their recent history demonstrates the opposite.
The tragedy is not only Israel’s. The greatest victims of failed governance are the Lebanese, Syrians, and Stateless Arabs from Palestine (SAPs) themselves. They deserve governments that build economies instead of militias, schools instead of tunnels, courts instead of armed factions, and national institutions instead of perpetual conflict.
Peace agreements are negotiated between states because states can make commitments and enforce them. Militias cannot. Failed governments cannot. A failed state in waiting cannot.
Until the governments surrounding Israel control their territory, uphold the rule of law, and prioritize their people over perpetual conflict, Israel’s security challenges will remain the consequence of failed governance, not simply hostile neighbors.
Human rights organizations earn credibility by applying the same principles to everyone. The moment they tell only half the story, they cease to document conflict and begin shaping a narrative.
That has been the history of Amnesty International‘s sole focus on Israel as it fights a multifront war. It showed why it deserves no support again this week as it took aim on Israel’s fight against Hezbollah, the Iranian proxy terrorist group inside Lebanon.
The report argues that a proposed ceasefire agreement could deny Lebanese victims an avenue to pursue justice for alleged Israeli war crimes. Astonishingly absent from Amnesty’s presentation is the war that made the agreement necessary in the first place and justice for Israeli victims.
There is virtually no discussion of Hezbollah’s decision to begin attacking Israel on October 8, 2023, opening a second front one day after the Hamas massacre. There is no meaningful discussion of the years Hezbollah spent building an armed state within a state in southern Lebanon despite international commitments to disarm. There is no recognition that Israeli towns endured months of rockets, missiles and drones, forcing tens of thousands of civilians from their homes. Instead, 98 percent of the focus is on alleged Israeli violations and on preserving legal avenues to prosecute Israel.
Perspective matters.
Imagine writing about the Second World War while barely mentioning who invaded whom. Or discussing a peace agreement without explaining why civilians had to flee their homes on both sides of the border. A report that omits the conflict’s central facts cannot claim to provide a complete moral picture.
Even when Hezbollah is mentioned, it is a single sentence in passing. The sustained campaign against Israeli communities, the human cost borne by Israeli civilians, and Hezbollah’s own violations of the laws of war receive scant attention compared with the extensive treatment of allegations against Israel.
Perhaps the clearest indication of how this report is perceived came not from Israel, but from Hezbollah’s own media ecosystem.
Al-Manar, Hezbollah’s media network, prominently highlighted the report’s conclusions.
When the propaganda outlet of a terrorist group that initiated the northern front eagerly amplifies your work, it is time to confront the reality that your organization no longer serves the cause of universal human rights.
On June 27, 1976, Palestinian terrorists hijacked Air France Flight 139, a civilian airliner traveling from Tel Aviv to Paris. The operation by the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine‘s external operations network diverted the aircraft to Entebbe, Uganda, where the hijackers, aided by Idi Amin’s regime, held more than one hundred civilians hostage while demanding the release of imprisoned terrorists.
Then came the moment that revealed the deeper nature of the conflict.
The hijackers separated Israeli and non-Israeli Jewish passengers from the rest of those on board. Many other passengers were eventually released. The Israelis and Jews remained in captivity.
Had nationality been the only issue, non-Israeli Jews would have been released alongside the other foreign passengers. Instead, Jewish identity itself became grounds for continued imprisonment. The selection demonstrated that the target extended beyond the State of Israel to the Jewish people themselves. Decades after the Holocaust, Jewish civilians once again found themselves sorted from their fellow passengers because they were Jews.
The crimes committed during the hijacking were numerous. Palestinian terrorists seized a civilian aircraft, held innocent men, women and children hostage, threatened mass murder to secure political concessions, and singled out Jews for continued captivity. Three hostages died during the Israeli rescue operation, and Dora Bloch, an elderly Jewish hostage who had been taken to a hospital in Kampala, was later murdered by Ugandan authorities.
Hostages saved from Palestinian terrorists in Entebbe Airport, Uganda, July 4, 1976
Palestinian terrorists and their sympathizers have often come for non-Israeli Jews. Synagogues and Jewish community centers were attacked in cities far removed from the Middle East battlefield. Rome. Athens. Istanbul. Hezbollah and Iran often acted in support of Palestinian Arabs, just as they have since October 7, 2023.
Palestinian Arab opened fire in the Great Synagogue in Rome, Italy October, 1982, killing a 2-year old and wounding 37
And the Palestinian Arabs don’t hide it. The 1988 Hamas Charter is not simply a terrorist manifesto, but a deeply antisemitic one. Palestinians voted Hamas to 56% of parliament with such screed and continue to vote for the group over Fatah in every poll.
Fifty years ago, on July 4, 1976, the Israeli Defense Forces saved over 100 Israeli and non-Israeli Jews who were held hostage by terrorists. The rescue operation only killed Ugandan soldiers and the terrorists themselves – no Ugandan nor Gazan civilian was harmed.
Libya: “Israel’s wanton aggression is a serious and grave crime against international law.”
Benin: “act of aggression committed by Israel against Uganda.”
Somalia: “Israel’s flagrant aggression against the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Uganda.”
Cuba: “The action of Israel… unquestionably constitutes a flagrant violation of the basic provisions of the United Nations Charter.”
Mauritius: “act of aggression.”
Pakistan: “the Council should demand that compensation for the great loss of life and property caused by the Israeli action be paid to Uganda.”
Mauritania, sponsored the complaint on behalf of the African Group.
“the Western Powers have manifested a racist and fanatic solidarity with the white minority settlement in Palestine. For them, the Israeli aggression merely demonstrated a highly successful operation performed by the white man against the blacks of Africa and against the browns of the Arab lands -against the blacks and the browns of another and hostile world, that of the Arab-African community.” – Libya regarding Israeli rescue of 100+ hostages held by Palestinian Arabs in Uganda
The total populations of Uganda and the countries above is roughly 373 million. The Jewish population in all of these countries combined is under 5,000, 0.001%. They are unwelcome and unwanted.
Wheelchair-bound, 69-year old American Leon Klinghoffer, killed by Palestinian terrorists October 8, 1985
Palestinian Arabs and their supporters in the Global South are ingrained with a deeply hostile view of Jews and the Global North. The latest manifestation has been seen since the barbaric attacks of October 7, 2023, but can be seen just as clearly fifty years ago, when Israel rescued other Jewish hostages.
First One Through 