The day after tomorrow

As the smoke rises over Gaza, I witness a reality that weighs on my heart like lead. Benjamin Netanyahu’s words, resonating with the determination of a war leader, seem to echo not just through space but also time, bringing to mind the endless cycles of conflict that haunt our land. His recent statements, steadfast in resolving to continue the battle until the complete elimination of Hamas, paint a future of continual, perhaps endless war.

Netanyahu, with his promise of Gaza’s demilitarization and permanent security control by the Israel Defense Forces, seems to close any glimpse of a peaceful end to the conflict. This path he charts while promising security, makes me question: at what cost? Is security that comes with the perpetuation of suffering and desolation?

His rejection of any form of civil authority that doesn’t strictly align with his vision is concerning. To eliminate Hamas and impose strict control over Gaza is not just a Herculean task but one that could plunge the region into a humanitarian catastrophe of biblical proportions. Netanyahu seems to overlook the implications of his decisions on the life and soul of the people involved in this conflict.

The Prime Minister speaks of an endless war, a struggle that seems to have no exit. His condition for total freedom of action for Israeli forces in Gaza, without any international, Arab, or local intervention, reveals a desire to maintain absolute dominion, but at what price? And the lives of those in Gaza, the lives of those who will be displaced, the families that will be torn apart, the children who will grow up in the shadow of war?

Netanyahu’s approach, firmly rooted in a worldview where conflict is perpetual, seems to be a barrier to any genuine possibility of peace. I wonder, what is driving Netanyahu? Is it merely the desire to maintain power, to prolong his tenure as a leader, even at the cost of people’s suffering? Or is it something more profound, an unwavering belief in a worldview where peace is just a distant illusion?

As I ponder these questions, I feel a weight on my soul. It’s not just the weight of war but the weight of leadership that seems to have strayed from its path. Netanyahu, in his quest to shape the future of Israel and Gaza, might be losing sight of the heart and humanity of our people. In his iron wall, he might be building a wall that separates us not just from our neighbors but also from ourselves, our compassion, and our humanity.

Netanyahu speaks of living by the sword, but I wonder: what about living for peace? Where is the leadership that seeks healing, understanding, and coexistence? Where is the vision of a future where the children of Gaza and Israel can grow up without the sound of bombings, without the fear of war?

Amidst this reflection, I pray for a leadership that sees beyond war, seeks to build bridges rather than walls, and aspires to a future of peace and not just security. We need leadership that understands that true strength comes not only from the ability to fight but also from the courage to hope for a more peaceful tomorrow. Am I  asking too much?