The “Erostratus effect”

In a forgotten corner of history, where records intertwine with legends, we find the figure of Erostratus, a pyromaniac whose flame set the ancient world ablaze in both a literal and symbolic way. Erostratus, born in Ephesus (modern-day Turkey, near the Aegean Sea) in Asia Minor, was an ordinary man without great deeds or glory to his name. But, unlike most mortals, he did not seek wealth, power, or prestige. What he wanted was eternity—a name that would withstand time. In 356 BC, this madness led him to commit an act as absurd as it was devastating: setting fire to the Temple of Artemis, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

On that fateful night, as flames licked the temple’s columns and the marble cracked under the intense heat, Erostratus watched with a mix of ecstasy and terror. He knew the world would never forget the one responsible for such destruction. His identity would be eternally engraved in collective memory, even through infamy. And indeed, his name endured, but not in the way he expected. The rulers of Ephesus, horrified by the crime and aware of Erostratus’s motives, decreed that his name should never be mentioned, and anyone who did would be punished with death.

However, the attempt to erase him from history had the opposite effect. The “Erostratus effect” became a perennial symbol of the desperate quest for immortality through destruction. Ironically, his name survived through time, reaching the farthest corners of human memory. Erostratus’s pyromania wasn’t limited to the physical destruction of an architectural marvel; it ignited the human imagination about the limits of ambition and the quest for notoriety.

But if you think this story is too old to repeat, take a stroll here in Israel. Among curses and casual aggressions, we find the new Erostratus, now without the toga and torch but dressed in a suit and looking like a B-movie character from the ’80s” Our modern version of the torch, Itamar Ben Gvir. In his religious/fascist fervor, he seems determined to set fire not to a temple but to an entire region. The flame he ignites is much more dangerous than Erostratus’s, but this time, it doesn’t lick marble columns; it threatens the fragile foundations of peace in our not-so-holy Land.

This pyromaniac came with a godfather, a “Don” or a “Capo di tutti i capi”, none other than Benjamin Netanyahu, who opened the mainstream doors for this modern pyromaniac. With his insatiable thirst for power, Netanyahu brought Ben Gvir from political obscurity to center stage in a desperate move to stay in control. In the chess game of Israeli politics, Netanyahu chose a mad bishop, and now we all pay the price.

The image is picturesque: Ben Gvir, with his suits that seem two sizes too small, struts through the corridors of power as if he owns the place. My theory is that the tight suits compress his figure like a poorly adjusted corset, almost preventing him from breathing—maybe even circulating ideas. It’s either that, or he’s just an angry idiot. Who knows, but my theory is good, isn’t it?

Like a misunderstood visionary, Ben Gvir asserts, with the confidence of a preacher speaking to the converted, that he, and only he, holds the key to true divine justice: Jewish prayer on the Temple Mount. And he does this without blinking as if lighting a candle to illuminate a dark room, without realizing he’s wielding a flamethrower in the middle of a powder keg.

In a desperate attempt to keep the match away from the gasoline, Prime Minister Netanyahu refutes his resident pyromaniac as often as he changes ties. “The policy to maintain the status quo on the Temple Mount has not changed and will not change,” he repeats, like a mantra against the madness threatening to explode right under his nose.

But Ben Gvir, like an obstinate pyromaniac, doesn’t give up. He claims the divine right to turn the Temple Mount into a theological battleground. With each incendiary statement, he adds more fuel to the fire of tensions between Israelis and Palestinians. Instead of using a fire extinguisher, he prefers to dance around the flames like a shaman of discord.

It’s no wonder that sensible figures within the government and the armed forces see Ben Gvir as a danger not only to Israel but to the entire Middle East. Defense Minister Yoav Gallant even called him “a pyromaniac trying to set the Middle East on fire” in an attempt to curb his incendiary aspirations of joining the war cabinet (which no longer exists!).

In short, our modern Erostratus, Itamar Ben Gvir, seems determined to leave his mark on history. But unlike Erostratus, who sought eternity through the destruction of a temple, Ben Gvir risks setting an entire nation ablaze with his flames of intolerance and unbridled ambition. If we continue to let him play with matches in our glass house, we risk seeing our entire history turn to ashes—and with Ben Gvir, even the tight, ill-fitting suits for the size of his ambitions and madness.