The Cost of Justice: Reflections on Terror and Release

My father, Superintendent Moshe Dayan z”l, always taught us the values of humility and modesty. His life’s philosophy was rooted in a deep desire to serve the people, the nation, and the greater good—above all, love for others, the very foundation of Israeli society. This humility was not just a slogan but a way of life, a sense of mission and inner quietude that guided how he lived: without fanfare or drama, without dwelling on personal pain, but through active dedication to advancing the Israeli police force, the people, the nation, and the common good. His life was a testament to helping others with devotion and unconditional love. To his fellow officers, he would often say: “Lead, follow, or get out of the way.” That was his mantra.

Twenty-three years after his death, I strive to walk in his footsteps, but I find it increasingly difficult to uphold these values in an era where grief and pain leave lasting scars. The loss of my father, who was murdered in a terrorist attack in March 2002, has accompanied me throughout my life. Yet, my passion to understand and honor his legacy has never faded—a legacy of love for the people and the land, of a healthy mind in a healthy body, of public service, and of pursuing justice.

When the possibility arose to release one of the six Fatah terrorists responsible for my father’s death as part of a hostage exchange deal, I was struck by a profound sense of personal injustice. The imbalance between our loss and the prospect of their release left me questioning: How is it possible that after so many years of suffering, convicted terrorists who deliberately took lives could walk free as if nothing happened? Why must we bear the weight of our grief while those who caused it are set free? And what, ultimately, is the right choice?

The thought that these terrorists enjoy meals, academic education, and healthcare—funded by Israeli taxpayers—feels like a cruel joke, especially as my friends and I juggle work assignments between reserve duty.

Visiting the families’ protest encampment in Jerusalem shifted my perspective. I realized that our pain is not isolated from the pain of others, and that we are part of a larger struggle. This understanding strengthened my resolve to honor my father’s memory and the values he held dear. True justice must begin with compassion. The biblical command, “Justice, justice you shall pursue” (Deuteronomy 16:20), is not just a call for justice but a reminder of the ongoing effort required to achieve it. It is the foundation of a fair moral and legal system, one that ensures no victim is left behind—especially not the hostages from among our people. This is the first step toward a just society.

And what is justice when it comes to releasing terrorists involved in acts of terror? Is justice served through such exchanges, which are entangled in the politics of life and death?

Sigmund Freud described two responses to loss: mourning, a healthy process of coming to terms with grief, and melancholia, a state of unresolved pain where the self becomes trapped in suffering. For years, I felt stuck in this trap. I wanted the terrorists to feel our pain, even just a fraction of it. I wanted them to be punished, to suffer, to understand the magnitude of their actions. The release of terrorists cannot be seen as an act of justice in my eyes; it feels like a cycle that fails to address the enormity of what these despicable individuals have taken from us. Yet, in the complex reality we live in, a hostage deal is an act of strength—not just to confront pain but to prevent further loss. Alongside the desire for revenge, choosing hope offers an opportunity for repair. Instead of allowing loss to become meaningless, we can and must honor the values that were so dear to those we loved.

Before we begin calculating how many released terrorists might return to terror and how many future victims we might endure, let me emphasize that releasing hostages is not a strategy but a tactical decision in the present moment. Afterward, we must focus on separation and security through aggressive operational deterrence. Any theoretical calculation about future victims must consider the environment surrounding these terrorists, whether they return to terror or not.

My brothers and sisters,

This is a personal journey, one that each of us must navigate in our own way. Grief is a heavy burden, but we do not have to carry it alone. We all have the right to our emotions, and there is no shame in holding opposing views. We can choose unity, to live in a society where we do not forget the dead, where we honor their memory, but where we also avoid compounding their loss by adding future wars and casualties. Hope is the true sign of the Jewish people’s strength—not the sword. By focusing on what unites us—our humanity, our shared loss, and our hope for a better tomorrow—we can find a way forward as a united Jewish people in our homeland.

Supporting the release of terrorists is a step toward restoring life. Not out of weakness or a desire for reconciliation, but as a refusal to let hatred define us. I will not allow my father’s death to be in vain. This is a choice for hope, even as the pain still burns. Today, 23 years after his death, the police officer who once led the way, still correcting the deviation in the path. The familiar eulogy, “In his death, he commanded us to live,” takes on new meaning in these times.