Israel, finally free of its word
During the war against Hamas, Israel lost the narrative battle. In a world where war is now played as much on the battlefields as on social networks, the Hebrew state found itself, paradoxically, mute. He spoke, explained, and justified, but he was unable to move or convince. His words, saturated with numbers and maps, did not find an echo. This is the paradox of a country militarily overarmed but symbolically disarmed.
Since the massacres of October 7, Israel has wanted to impose a rational reading of horror: that of an attacked state, which defends itself. But this language of international legality and the right to defense did not weigh heavily against the register of Hamas, which was able to transform its military defeat into a narrative victory. On campuses, in forums, and in the media, Gaza has become a cry, a cause, and a flag. Israel, for its part, has locked itself into an administrative discourse, almost technocratic, incapable of recounting its own trauma.
This silence was not a choice. It resulted from a double impediment: psychological and political. A state of amazement gripped the entire country, creating a psychological impediment. We don’t speak well when we cry. This internal dissonance resulted in an external cacophony. Israel spoke too much—and poorly.
The Israeli leaders multiplied the press conferences, and the military spokespersons the briefings. But each rational explanation was responded to with an image of civilians killed. And in the world of networks, the image always prevails over the word. Israel wanted to prove; Hamas wanted to show. One explained why it was bombing; the other spread the consequences of the bombings. This discrepancy has created a gulf of misunderstanding: in Western opinions, Israel has lost control over its narrative. He was no longer the one attacked but the one who hit.
The recent US-driven agreements, mediated by Qatar, Turkey, and Egypt, marked a turning point. The return of the hostages alive and the gradual restitution of the bodies have made it possible to close a cycle of pain. For the first time , Israel no longer has to speak in justification but in reconstruction. This shift is fundamental: it signifies the liberation of Israeli speech. This liberation is not only diplomatic; it is existential. By recovering its hostages, Israel symbolically recovers its narrative. The country can once again call itself an actor and not a victim. It no longer speaks to defend itself but to redefine itself.
For decades, Israel has lived in a permanent narrative tension: how to reconcile the duty of memory, existential fear, and legitimacy of a modern state? During the Gaza war, this tension came to light. The government, a prisoner of its security rhetoric, spoke in terms of “victory” and “neutralization of threats.” But the world awaited a moral word—that of a nation conscious of its strength and responsibilities. This is perhaps the real contribution of recent agreements: to allow Israel to leave behind the discourse of survival and return to a political word. By mediating a pragmatic agreement, Donald Trump has, paradoxically, given Israel what its own leaders could no longer produce: a narrative framework. By shifting the conversation from Hamas to the future, Israel is reestablishing itself as a political actor rather than remaining a fortress in a constant state of alert. Israel seems to have understood that speaking no longer means justifying and that communication is not a shield but a mirror. Only by accepting his contradictions—defense and pain, power and vulnerability—can he be heard again.
Israel’s true liberation is not just its word but its self-perception. By stopping being obsessed with his image, he can finally become an actor of his destiny again. The war in Gaza revealed the power of narrative. In a world “full” of talks , Israel’s silence was perceived as a mistake. Perhaps it was a necessary step. Sometimes, it’s necessary to lose your voice in order to find it again.
