The Long Road Ahead: A Victory Shadowed by Reality
Let us begin, dear readers, with a moment of joy. And yes, joy is precisely the word we must use, however tempered it might feel. Joy, because soon, many of those who were wrenched from their families, from their lives, will finally return home. The news of their release should warm even the most cynically armored of hearts. The sight of their faces, their embrace with loved ones—it is the stuff of miracles in a world that so often feels bereft of them.
And yet, how quickly does that joy dissolve into an unrelenting truth: many of the hostages have not, and may never, return. This is not pessimism, nor some theatrical appeal to the darker corners of the soul. It is reality. For every family that will soon celebrate an embrace, there is another that will forever grapple with the absence of one that should have come home. What do we say to those parents, those children, those siblings? “It is a victory,” we tell them, and it is. But what a victory it is—so fragile, so stained with grief, so far removed from any sense of totality.
Indeed, the word “victory” itself feels strained, sitting awkwardly in the mouth when we consider who sits at the other end of the negotiating table. The very architects of October 7—those who planned or provided sanctuary to those who carried out the barbarism of that day—are the ones shaking hands and trading terms. It is impossible to ignore the grotesqueness of it. These are not adversaries who fought honorably on some distant battlefield. These are perpetrators of slaughter, enablers of atrocity, and they will walk away from these negotiations believing themselves vindicated, believing that their barbarism has granted them leverage.
This is not to diminish the lives saved, for nothing is more precious than the return of a captive. But we must confront the larger truth: a war was declared on October 7—not just against Israel, but against the very notion of the Jewish people and their right to exist as a free and sovereign nation. Those who orchestrated that day, whether in planning rooms or from the safety of their complicit havens, are not defeated. Not yet.
The war, then, is far from over. It is not only a war of bullets and missiles but a war of ideas, narratives, and truths. It is a war against those who dare to present themselves as victims even as they cloak themselves in the blood of October 7. It is a war against the many libels that have risen from the ashes of that day—the lies that seek to twist the moral compass, to justify the unjustifiable, to blame the victim while exonerating the perpetrator.
And let us be under no illusions: this will be a long and arduous war. The path ahead will be steep, fraught with obstacles both visible and unseen. It will require more than resilience—it will demand a depth of resolve that does not waver in the face of adversity, and an unrelenting commitment to truth and justice that defies even the most insidious attempts at distortion. It is not just a physical struggle but a moral one, a battle that reaches beyond borders, beyond governments, and into the very hearts and minds of people across the world.
For the stakes could not be higher. To lose this war, whether on the battlefield or in the arena of ideas, is to surrender to a future where terror dictates terms and falsehood stands unchallenged. It is to risk a world where the memory of those who perished on October 7 fades, where their suffering is contorted into narratives that exonerate the guilty and vilify the innocent. It is to concede to a moral relativism that erases accountability and allows the architects of barbarism to claim the mantle of victimhood.
This we cannot allow. We owe it to the hostages who will never return, to the families who will forever grieve, and to the generations who will follow us, to ensure that terror is not rewarded and lies are not enshrined as truth. And yet, our cause must be more than defensive. We are not merely resisting an enemy—we are asserting a vision of a world where human dignity prevails, where the rule of law is upheld, and where the Jewish people, like all peoples, can live freely and without fear.
But let us not deceive ourselves into thinking this will be easy. The forces we face are not only those who commit acts of terror but also those who enable them—through silence, complicity, or active distortion of the truth. We face narratives crafted to paint Israel as the oppressor, as the aggressor, as the sole cause of strife in the Middle East. These narratives are as much a weapon as any missile, for they seek to erode the moral clarity that is the bedrock of our cause.
And yet, despite the enormity of the challenge, we must hold fast to one undeniable truth: we will win. Not because the odds are in our favor, but because they must be. To falter is to accept a world where evil triumphs and justice is silenced. To give up is to dishonor the lives lost, the sacrifices made, and the principles we hold dear. For all the anguish of this moment, let it steel us. Let it remind us why we fight, why we speak, and why we cannot afford to let despair take hold.
So today, even as we rejoice in the release of hostages and the small victories we have won, we prepare for the battles yet to come. For while it is right to celebrate, it is equally important to remain vigilant. The war for truth, for justice, and for the very soul of our people is not over. The struggle to ensure that October 7 is remembered not as a triumph of terror but as the moment when the world united to reject it, is just beginning.
It will be long. It will be hard. But it will be won—not through might alone, but through the unyielding determination of a people who refuse to yield to despair. For we are a people who have endured centuries of exile, persecution, and denial of our right to exist. And yet, we are still here, not merely surviving but thriving, building, and contributing to the world. That resilience is our strength, and that strength will carry us forward.
Let us not shy away from the weight of this responsibility. Let us instead embrace it, knowing that we stand not just for ourselves but for the principles of freedom and justice that transcend any one nation or people. The road will be arduous, but we have walked difficult paths before. And we have prevailed.
So let us begin again, with resolve in our hearts and clarity in our purpose. For to contemplate any other outcome is unthinkable, and we are not a people who yield to despair. We are a people who press forward, carrying the torch of hope and justice through even the darkest of nights. And together, we will ensure that the light does not go out.