The war in Gaza has brought the State of Israel and the Jewish people to a moment of profound pain, resolve, and moral testing. After the barbaric massacre of October 7 committed by Hamas and the taxing fighting that has followed, Israelis have stood united in grief, outrage, and a fierce commitment to self-defense. At the same time, this moment calls on us not only to be strong but also to remain true to who we are.
Hamas’s atrocities on October 7 were the most horrific crimes committed against Jews since the Holocaust: the deliberate slaughter of civilians, rape, torture, and the kidnapping of children and the elderly. Given the opportunity, Hamas would carry it out again.
Israel has the right and the duty to protect its citizens and dismantle this murderous threat. But as we do so, we must also uphold the values that define us: the sanctity of life, the rule of law, and the moral compass that has always guided the Jewish people, the State of Israel, and the IDF.
We must never lose sight of the scores of Israeli hostages who remain in Hamas’s brutal captivity. They are being held in cruel and inhumane conditions, deprived of the most basic rights, and used as bargaining chips by a terrorist organization that scorns international law. Their continued suffering is a national wound and a moral outrage.
The demand for their immediate and unconditional release must remain at the forefront of our national and international efforts.
Accusations that Israel is committing genocide are unfounded and constitute a dangerous distortion of the term. But that does not mean we should not acknowledge the suffering of civilians in Gaza. There are many men, women, and children with no connection to terrorism who are experiencing devastation, displacement, and loss.
Their anguish is real, and our moral tradition obligates us not to turn away from it. Hamas bears full responsibility for turning Gaza into a battlefield and embedding itself among civilians, using them as human shields in a blatant breach of international law, but that does not absolve us from striving to minimize harm to civilians. Seeing the humanity of others, even in war, is not a sign of weakness but a testament to our strength.
Misuse of Holocaust language by both critics and supporters of Israel
Unfortunately, the public discourse surrounding the war, in Israel and abroad, has often been overwhelmed by rhetoric that distorts, inflames, and divides. We have seen the misuse of Holocaust language by both critics and supporters of Israel, as well as by people of influence and power in our own society.
We have heard comparisons of Israel’s military actions to Nazi crimes, a slanderous and outrageous distortion of history. The Holocaust was a singular event: the systematic, ideologically driven, state-led annihilation of six million Jews by Nazi Germany.
Whatever one’s view of the current conflict, it bears no resemblance to the Shoah. To equate the IDF, fighting to protect Israeli citizens from a terrorist army that embeds itself within civilian areas, with the Nazis, is not only false but morally reprehensible. It dishonors the memory of the victims and trivializes the meaning of genocide.
But we must also be cautious not to allow our own language and emotions to obscure essential distinctions. In moments of grief and rage, it is understandable that Holocaust imagery surfaces, especially for a people whose trauma is so recent and deep. Yet calling October 7 “another Shoah” or branding Palestinians as “Nazis” risks damaging our own historical clarity and ethical integrity.
The Holocaust is not a rhetorical tool. If we demand that the world not abuse it, we must hold ourselves to the same standard.
Even more troubling are statements, sometimes by public figures and leaders, that appear to advocate measures inconsistent with moral values: calls for indiscriminate bombing, for denying humanitarian aid, or for erasing the distinction between civilians and terrorists. Such rhetoric is dangerous.
It contradicts our democratic, human, and Jewish values; it threatens the ethical legacy of the IDF; and it undermines our international standing. These statements can influence attitudes, affect decisions, and erode the moral guardrails we’ve built over decades.
Israel was forced into a just war it didn’t want. But war does not exempt us from the obligation to act with humanity. On the contrary: it is in our darkest hours that our values must shine brightest. The IDF’s commitment to the principle of “purity of arms” is not a luxury; it is part of what distinguishes us from those who celebrate death and terror.
Upholding that tradition is not weakness – it is strength. Some believe moral clarity requires an "all-or-nothing" approach in choosing sides: either you defend Israel without question or condemn it entirely. But real moral clarity lies in the ability to stand with Israel’s right to defend itself, while also advocating that it does so in a way that reflects our deepest values.
We can wholeheartedly reject accusations of genocide and still be vigilant about maintaining ethical standards. We can combat antisemitism without embracing dehumanizing rhetoric. We can support the mission to dismantle Hamas and still affirm the importance of preserving human dignity, even, and especially, in war.
That is not only possible – it is necessary. It is, in fact, the essence of Jewish strength. We embrace our tradition of memory, of striving to behave in good conscience, and of wrestling with complexity. Memory should not only remember the past but also shape the future.
The enemies we face reject life and law and even the most basic tenets of humanity. But our struggle is not only to defeat them – it is to emerge with our moral compass intact. The strength of Israel has always been measured not only on the battlefield but also in our commitment to justice and human dignity.
Let us defend our people. Let us protect our future. And at the same time, let us work to preserve the ethical legacy that has carried us through history and must guide us still.
The writer is the Chairman of Yad Vashem.