In the end, it was serendipity. A group of 18&19-year-old Israeli soldiers, barely out of high school, were being trained in the complex and dangerous art of urban warfare in Gaza. As they navigated the ruins of what was once a large and populated neighborhood in Rafah, they stumbled upon three Hamas terrorists who were as surprised by the encounter as the Israelis. In the chaos that ensued, a firefight broke out.
As the dust settled, their unit commander sent in a drone to the ruins of an apartment building to see whether the terrorists were dead. As the young soldiers watched the drone feed, one of them uttered words that would soon reverberate around the world: “This guy looks familiar. He looks just like Sinwar!” At first, the idea seemed absurd, too coincidental to be true. How could it be that these inexperienced soldiers had encountered the most wanted man in Gaza, Yahya Sinwar, the head of Hamas and the mastermind of the October 7th massacre?
For months, the Israeli military had been hunting Sinwar with a determination bordering on obsession. Since October 8th of last year, every intelligence asset, every piece of technology, and every human resource had been devoted to finding this man who had brought such devastation to Israel and Gaza. The frustration among Israeli forces was constant as Sinwar seemed to vanish into the labyrinthine tunnel systems beneath Gaza.
The assumption had always been that Sinwar would surround himself with hostages, using innocents as human shields to deter any attack. His constant movement made pinpointing his location nearly impossible, turning the search into a deadly game of cat and mouse. But on this day, Sinwar and two bodyguards were found above ground, exposed and vulnerable, without any hostages nearby. In a moment that will be etched in the annals of this conflict, Sinwar’s life was ended by a shell from an Israeli tank operated by soldiers who may not have fully grasped the magnitude of their actions until much later.
Upon hearing the news of Sinwar’s death, I felt a tremendous rush of relief, a sense that a dark chapter might be closing. This cold-blooded, ruthless killer, whose particular brand of hatred and violence had caused immeasurable suffering, was no more.
In that moment I said a prayer of thanksgiving to God that this scourge was gone. I thought of those young IDF recruits, barely adults, who will carry this story with them for the rest of their lives. They will recount it a million times to a million grateful Israelis, their unexpected role in history a reminder of the unpredictable nature of the conflict.
My thoughts also turned to the Palestinian people, particularly those in Gaza, who have suffered immensely under the rule of Hamas. I couldn’t help but imagine that many were quietly relieved at the news. Sinwar’s leadership had been characterized by a nihilistic indifference to the suffering of his own people, using their pain as a political tool rather than working towards their well-being and prosperity. His absence might create space for voices of moderation and reconciliation to emerge.
As our Vice President said yesterday, “Justice was done.” Amen to that. But justice, especially in the context of this long and bitter conflict, is a complex and often elusive concept. It’s a reminder that this moment is just a step on a long and tough path toward true peace and reconciliation.
Now, we all wonder: What next? Is this the first positive step toward a hostage release coupled with a ceasefire? Could this be the act that cracks open Hamas’ extremism, allowing more moderate voices to gain influence? Are there any moderate voices in Gaza? Or in Israel’s war cabinet? Will we actually see the dominoes begin to fall, making room for some sort of future amelioration of this seemingly intractable struggle?
As I’ve said many times, particularly during the High Holy Days, when we reflect on our past and look towards our future, hope is the fuel that makes imagining a better world something more than a pipe dream. In all of this blood and destruction, in the face of so much pain and loss on both sides, we must cling to the hope that there will come a day, soon and in our time, of something close to peace.
Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu v’al kol Yisrael, v’imru. Amen.
May the One who makes peace in the high heavens make peace for us, for all Israel, and for all who dwell on earth. And all say: Amen.
Before Shabbat 