Tragic Futility
When a war has no workable political objective it is futile. And because it is a war, with the sheer human costs it imposes on all parties, it becames tragic. That is the war in Gaza. Repeating itself for the umpteenth time. Instead of taking sides, passing moral judgements it is far better (although equally despairing) just to look at the unfortunate stupidity of it all. No, the history clock cannot be rewinded so Israel cannot be uncreated. And no, short of killing each and every Palestinian, submission to the Israeli state will not happen.
In the background of Gaza, what we are witnessing in the Middle East is the shattering of the post-imperial order, dissolving the region into a war of clans and tribes. Not only Jew against Palestinian. But Sunni against Shia. The Christian heritage disappearing. Diversity being dissolved in a sea of slaughter. Be it in Iraq or Syria. Or in Gaza.
As for Israel, and as democracy, it should (and is) be judged on a higher standard. Unfortunately for its people, its soul is slowly being corrupted in the morass of its policy towards the Palestinians. From victory, to victory until the final defeat, that is how the last five leaders of the Shin Bet (Israeli Military Intelligence Service) described Israeli policy in the great documentary "The Gatekeepers". Not, that it doesn't have its reasons and grievances but because it is being led to a dead end and in that process it will lose itself and all that it holds dear. I could write about the killing of innocent civilians, of women and children, of which the region provides plenty of images. But I choose not. I prefer to use the words of Willy Peter Reese as they could be written by a young IDF soldier. Willy died at the age of 23. He was a German soldier in the Eastern Front involved in another war of annihilation with no end in sight except for the total elimination of one of its contenders.
"The armour of apathy with which I covered myself against terror, horror, fear, and madness, which saved me from suffering and screaming, crushed any tender stirring within me, snapped off the green shoots of hope, faith, and love of my fellow men, and turned my heart to stone.
...At the same time, I bore in mind that I was fighting men I didn't hate, who were never enemies to me, who in their destiny were more like brothers; and that I was only trying to perform an imposed duty.
...We served the imperative of history as specks of dust in the whirlwind and were priviliged to participate in the end of our world.."
Willy Peter Reese, A Stranger to Myself: The inhumanity of War: Russia, 1941-1944
