Long before the horror of October 7, Israel was already bleeding from wounds of its own making. These were not external blows alone. They were fractures within our society, our politics, and even our collective spirit. Left to fester, they weakened us in ways our enemies studied and then exploited.

The summer of 2005 opened one of the deepest wounds. The Disengagement was a unilateral withdrawal from the Gaza Strip and from four communities in northern Samaria. It was carried out by an Israeli government against its own citizens. The images remain searing. Children crying and clutching parents. Young soldiers embracing the very families they were ordered to evacuate. Families reciting Tehillim as they left homes they had built for decades. Synagogues emptied of their Sifrei Torah. Even graves were opened and loved ones reburied. It was a trauma that entered the national bloodstream.

More than eight thousand Jews were uprooted. Some Israelis supported the move as a painful step toward separation and international standing. Many others, especially within the religious Zionist community, saw it as a rupture of Zionist purpose and a betrayal of the Brit. The country split. Orange ribbons appeared everywhere. Rallies filled city squares. A human chain stretched from Gush Katif toward the Kotel. Teenagers were arrested for civil disobedience. Rabbis fasted. Soldiers wept while doing their duty. National cohesion, once a bedrock, visibly cracked.

Advocates of the Disengagement argued that leaving Gaza would reduce friction, lower the security burden, and allow Israel to focus on larger threats. The aftermath was the opposite. The vacuum and the collapse of Palestinian Authority control allowed Hamas to consolidate power. Within a short time Hamas ruled Gaza by force. Rockets on the south multiplied. Sderot became a byword for trauma and resilience. Kindergartens needed reinforced rooms. Playgrounds doubled as shelters. Families lived to the rhythm of........

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